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[megatraven]

🐝 ready or not

Alex x MC, S3 Canon-Divergent AU. Zeus decides to hunt MC down on Earth himself. Alex and MC learn of this via Aphrodite, and it becomes an incredibly high-stakes game of hide and seek, where getting found might very well result in MC's death. The hunt is on, and it's only a matter of time before they run out of places to hide from the king of gods ✨

🐝 send me a fake fic title, and I’ll make up a summary for it! 🐑 send me a fake set of fic tags, and I’ll try to come up with a summary for it! 🦮 send me a summary I already did for one of the above two, and I’ll try to write a snippet for that summary!

[aothotties]

Drunk Texting

Heyyyyy! Im Rachel, the other half of AOTHOTTIES. Like she said this is very much 18+ so minors DNI :)

I hope you enjoy this fic about your ex, Connie drunk texting you :)

CW: NSFW, oral (f. receiving), lil bit of overstimulation, pet names (daddy,papi,mami,baby, etc), creampie <3

also all the stuff in italics is flashback :)))) & there is a tiny crumb of Spanish in this cause Connie is literally Dominican idc.

Bitch fucj yoi

I hat evrythif about u 

Baby plse i muss you sm

I nevrw ment the things isaid to you

Fine syipid bitvh dont reply i literlt dont care 

Thats why i fckd spooo many bitcjes since i lefy your sorry ass

Y/N please answer me

You stared blankly at the multiple texts you received from your ex, Connie. You knew he was drunk, it seemed to be the only thing he did since you broke up. Messages like this were a common occurrence at this point.

Constance, get a fucking grip please 

You get a gril. You mak me sivk

Im begging you to get yourself together 

Shut up

I missyou sobmuch

Y/N im sorry

You’re fucking pathetic

Mami….

Turning on DND, throwing your phone to the opposite end of the couch you decided you were done with this sorry ass conversation. This was every fucking day. Connie spends the morning completely unbothered by you but by nightfall, an influx of jumbled messages that get progressively worse as the night goes on. If you're lucky you'll get a 10-minute-long voicemail that ranges from sweet words of him expressing his love to you all the way down to him cursing your name as he explains how much he hates you. You understood the apologies and the million i-love-yous, you deserved it. You were the best thing to ever happen to him and you both knew it. It was the anger and hatred that got to you. It didn't hurt your feelings, but it pissed you off. How could he be angry when he's the one in the wrong? He was the one that hurt you and he didn't deserve to be angry, you did. 

“Why the fuck are YOU angry, dickhead. You make me so fucking mad”, you mumbled to yourself as you thought about the day you broke up

“Baby, text my mom and let her know i’ll meet her at the airport at 8am and remind her not to forget my passport this time. And do your best to say it in spanish you know her ass can't speak english”

You were sad your man was leaving you to go to DR but his grandfather had passed and he was going to his funeral and to spend time with his family. His parents invited you to tag along but you weren't able to get the time off work at such a short notice. 

“Ok so i tried my best but i promise you she probably will know its me trying to speak spanish”

You laughed as you placed his phone back on the charger next to you. He shrugged his shoulders and chuckled and he continued playing his game as you sat next to him watching him lose for the 3rd time

His phone dinged next to you. You picked it up assuming it was his mom, but it was from an unsaved number.

“ what she say?” he asked also thinking his mother had responded

“It's not her it's just a random number”“Who is it?”

“I don't know I'll look”

Papi, te extraño.

Y extraño el bicho que me diste la ultima vez

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You didn't speak Spanish, but he had taught you enough to understand exactly what was happening. You couldn’t believe what you were reading as you felt tears well up in your eyes. Before you could even speak another message came in. a picture of her ass in the smallest thong you’ve seen with “Connie ❤️” tattooed on the cheek. At this point you couldn't stop yourself from crying.

Remembering seeing that image on his phone brought you to tears. “Dirty cheating bastard” you mumbled while you got up to wash your face in the bathroom. You kept replaying that moment in your head no matter how much you hated it, it was a day you'd never forget.

“Connie what the fuck? Are you serious?” yelling as you tossed his phone at him. He paused his game and shot you a confusing look then you watched as a guilty look washed over his expression when he looked at the phone

“Mami please, i can explain”

“Nah. save it. Get all your shit and get the fuck out”

You unplugged his xbox and removed it from your dresser. You tore through every drawer grabbing anything that was his and tossed it directly at him 

“Y/N please listen to me. It's not what it looks like Y/N i promise you. Baby please, look at me, please listen”

His words went in one ear and out the other as pain boiled over into anger and rage. The closet contained most of his things and you yanked the door open and began tearing all his clothes off the hangars, some ripping in the process

“Oh my god, Y/N you have to hear me ou – “

“I don't have to hear shit” you cut him off not wanting to hear another word out his mouth. “What can you even tell me right now? You're just going to explain something I can clearly see. There’s some bitch in DR you fucked when you stayed with your grandparents over the summer. Right now, she's eagerly waiting on you, missing the dick you gave her last time.”

Connie looked shocked and sad at the same time. He’s never seen you so angry before, you've always handled your emotions so well but this was the first time seeing you completely blow up

“Oh you thought i wouldn't understand what she said?” you laughed in his face. “ i know enough to see you're a piece of shit, get your shit off the fucking floor and get out connie” you tried to walk out but he grabbed you and pushed you against the wall

“No Y/N let me explain,please” tears ran down his cheeks as he begged you to listen. You tried to squirm out of his grip but he was too strong

“ i don't want to hear –”

“No please listen”

There was no escaping his grasp and you found yourself stuck listening to what he had to say.

You stared at your pathetic expression in the mirror as water trickled down your face. Could you really be here crying over a cheater? Was it seriously still affecting you after 5 months? Defeated, you slid down the wall in the bathroom and pulled your knees to your chest. With your face buried in your hand the tears began spilling as you continued to relive one of the most heartbreaking moments of your life 

“Y/N i know it looks bad but this is a misunderstanding”

It made you sick just looking at him. A cheating piece of shit staring down at you trying to make up some lies to get him out of the situation. If it wasn't for him having you pushed up against the wall you would have walked out, not even caring to listen.

“Look ok, we broke up that summer, remember? And I was kind of upset, so  my uncle decided to take me out to clear my head and I met her at a club. Y/N i don’t even know her real name. She goes by a nickname and I never even talked to her enough to find out – “ he was interrupted by you getting even angrier than before.

“So you don't even know this bitch? You just stuck your dick in the first person you saw when you got there? And don't give me that “we broke up” bullshit, Connie we talked the entire summer you were there and you know this. You called me every day to tell me how much you miss me and couldn't wait to come back so we can work on ourselves, just for it to be lies. You obviously didn't miss me enough to stop fucking around.”

“This was before that, it was when I literally first got there. Before I called you that one night, remember when I called you and we spent the entire night on the phone? That's when we started talking again. I had met her before that night and it was dumb but yes, I slept with her. But it meant nothing baby i promise you”

He started crying again as he was explaining what happened. You felt nothing while watching him fall apart in front of you. Even though he was practically falling to his knees there was something in your gut that made you feel like this was so much deeper that what he tried to make it 

“It was still  wrong, connie!” ,you found yourself screaming at this point, “if you KNEW you were on the island fucking with someone why would you even call me again? You knew exactly what the fuck you were doing!”

“Y/N, please listen, it was nothing. It was a stupid summer fling –”

Just like that..he told on himself. The situation he tried to pass off as a one-time quick fuck was actually a long term fling that lasted the entire time he was on vacation. 

In that instance you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. Tears began flooding from your eyes and you barely found the strength to whisper, “so it happened more than once?”

He swallowed hard before responding, “Yes Y/N, it did. And I know we were still talking but we still weren't technically together so i didn't think it was wrong. And she got the tattoo without even telling me, okay? She made it more important than what it really was. And when I came home I never spoke to her again. I can show you the messages i do not talk to this girl. I'm not even sure how she knows I'm coming again.”

With every word he spoke your heart broke more. He wanted to dismiss the situation and downplay it. This was obviously more than a summer fling to her and he must have given her reason to believe so. Connie was the love of your life and you never expected him to do something like this. You knew he was the one when you first met him. He treated you better than anyone ever had and no matter the ups and downs he was patient with you. He understood you were constantly at war with yourself, but he always calmed your storm and brought silence to your chaos. Yet here he was, standing in front of you, trying to justify infidelity. Anger arose in you again and you felt rage you've never felt before.

“Get your sorry ass out!”, you screamed as you slapped him across the face. He clenched his jaw and balled his fist and for a split second you though he was going to hit you back. But then he released the tension in his body and dawned a cold demeaner

“You know what Y/N, fuck you. And fuck this relationship. You're trying to make me the bad guy for acting single when i was….single. And as I'm here in front of you apologizing trying to show you that it was nothing, you act like the hard headed bitch you always are. I can't keep dealing with your bullshit, Y/N. so ill gladly get the fuck out because truthfully i fucking hate you.”

He grabbed your hand and slipped the ring off your finger then he turned to walk out of the closet as you stood there shocked. He had never spoken to you like this in the 4 years you were together. You had so much to say in that moment because how could he have the audacity to be angry right now, but you were unable to speak. You stood, dumbfounded, as you watched him grab his keys and walk out the door.

After that you didn't hear from him for 2 months straight. He reached out to you to genuinely check on you but in those months you had begun to heal and love yourself. You started therapy and worked closely with her to get over what he said and done. When you ignored the first message the angry, drunk, message started. 

You continued to sob on the floor. In these 5 months you gained so much strength, but you still had nights like this. Your broken heart still lingered no matter how much you thought you were over it and him. Every part of you still loved him and you wished you never saw the messages that day. You'd be married to the love of your life if you didn't. But instead of a happy life with him you were sitting on a cold floor crying so hard it was difficult to breathe. You decided to indulge in his coping mechanism. You pulled yourself up off the floor and went into the kitchen. You swung the freezer door open and grabbed the bottle of crown peach, it was his favorite and you avoided drinking it so as to not remind yourself of him. But you felt different tonight. In some sick way his favorite liquor made you feel as if you still had a part of him with you. The smooth liquor burned as you drank it straight from the bottle. As the liquor began coursing through your body you had an urge to text him. It was your turn to send the angry drunk texts and give him a taste of his own medicine. 

As you feverishly typed you heard your front door unlocking. Your best friend had a spare key but it wasn't like her to show up unexpected. You shrugged it off and locked your phone, taking her surprise visit as a sign you should just leave him alone. You heard footsteps through the hall that grew louder as they approached the kitchen. You turned to greet her but was shocked at the sight before. Connie, with bags under his eyes, was standing right in front of you, looking at you as if he’d seen an angel.  A few seconds of silence had passed as neither one of you knew what to say. A small part of you wanted to run into his arms, kiss him and tell him how much you missed him. But he cheated on you and told you he hated you. And he had to leave your house immediately.

“Connie leave. I forgot you still had your key, but you can leave it on the counter before you go”

There was no feeling in your voice and no expression on your face. You couldn't show him your hand and he had to believe you were over him. He started walking closer to you with tears pooling in his eyes.

“Y/N, i missed you so much. I'm sorry for barging in like this but I just had to see you.” words were spilling out of his mouth and he walked closer, “I'm a piece of shit okay? I know what i did was fucked up and not a day goes by that i don't regret it but baby i promise you she was nothing. I was wrong for being with her while promising you we’d get back together and I feel like such a dick. I hurt the only person I've ever loved and I'll never forgive myself for that but Y/N i can't stop loving you. I don't deserve it but please forgive me, please tell me you still love me as much as you did before this”, he sobbed, “i don't want to be with anyone else. I want you to marry me, Y/N. you're supposed to be my wife, we’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives together.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the ring he had given you before. He grabbed your hand to put it on your finger but you pulled away. At this point you were crying too. Those are words you wanted to hear this whole time. You spent many nights crying into your pillow wishing he’d call you to say that exact same thing to you. You wanted to take him back but you knew better than to give in

“How can we be together again, Connie?”, you spoke through tears, “I'll never be able to trust you again. You broke me, and I don't know if I can forgive you.” 

He grabbed your hands, fell to his knees and looked up at you as he pleaded, “Y/N please! I need you, I can't go on without you. I'll apologize every day for the rest of my life so you’ll forgive me, mami please I'm so sorry. I never meant the things i said to you before i left, i could never hate you, mami, you're the love of my life. The drunk texts were stupid, and all lies. I haven’t been with anyone since you because I can't get you off my mind. Please, please give me another chance, baby i promise i wont fuck it up this time. Please, I'll do anything to get you to forgive me” his sobs were uncontrollable as he begged for your forgiveness.

You looked down at him as he begged and cried. Unsure if it was the liquor in you or the lack of dick since he left but you became aroused at the sight in front of you. This man looking so pathetic on his knees, crying and begging for you to be with him again made a pool of wetness form in your panties. You stepped closer to him until his face touched your pelvis and you quietly thanked yourself for not wearing pants. 

“Anything?’ you seductively asked. Connie grabbed your hips to pull you closer as he took a deep breath of your scent. A bulge formed in his pants as your sweet smell filled his nose. He began kissing your clothed clit. A soft moan escaped your lips from the pleasure and was in this moment you realized how much you missed having his face between your thighs. His tongue darted out of his mouth and he licked your cunt through your panties. You whined, desperately wanting to feel his tongue again.

Connie grew hungry and couldn't bother to take your panties off. He moved the soaked fabric to the side and attached his mouth to your swollen clit. You let out a high pitched “baby” as the pleasure consumed you. His tongue licked from your hole up to your clit then back down. He continued this as your moans grew louder. The sound of your wetness echoed through your kitchen and Connie's dick pressed hard against the fabric of his pants that were now wet from his precum. 

He started to fuck your hole slowly with his tongue and you moved you hips up and down, grinding yourself on his face. Connie knew you loved this and knew it would bring you to your peak.

“Mm papi, just like that. please don't stop” you begged as your budding orgasm came close to the edge. “Cum for me mami, right in my mouth," he responded between licks. You put your leg over his shoulder for balance as you drew closer to your climax. His hands squeezed your thighs as your cunt clenched around his tongue, he knew from that alone you were about to cum for him. “Fuck baby, im cumming ah –” you shivered as your cum spilled into his mouth. He licked your juices making sure to not waste a drop.

He stood up and crashed his lips on yours. Connie kissed you as if it were the first time, the passion was tense between the two of you. You missed each other and your bodies missed each other too. He grabbed your thighs and lifted you up. He started kissing the spot on your neck that he knew would make you melt. You threw your head back and moaned his name, knowing that would awaken the beast in him. He carried you to the room you once shared and laid you on the bed. You spread your thighs as he crawled between them. You could feel his dick pressing on your core and started grinding on him. 

“connie , i need it” you panted, grinding on him even faster.

“Un uh mami, you know you have to give me another one before i fuck you. Don't act like you forgot the rules”

He lifted your shirt and kissed from your neck to your chest. He brought his lips to your left nipple and pinched the right then switched to ensure they both got love. He planted kisses down your abdomen until he reached your cunt. He removed your panties wasting no time before latching again to your now sensitive clit. 

“Fuck mami you taste better than before. I missed tasting your sweet pussy every night” 

“ i m-missed squirting - mmm - on your face” you brokenly responded through your moans. You passed your fingers through his short silver hair, instinctively pushing his face deeper into your pussy. 

The overstimulation from his mouth was too much. “Connie baby! Too much – daddy please!” tears ran down your face as you squirmed under him. Your thighs tried to close to escape the stimulation, but he pinned your thighs to the mattress, “you can do it mami, one more time, just for papi. Can you give me another, princess?”, he slid his fingers in your cunt and curled them to hit your g-spot. His mouth found its way back to your clit as he finger fucked you harder. “Papi, ‘m gonna cum again” your body began shaking and your climax washed over you. You squirted on his face and he lapped it up as it spilled out of you. “good girl” he whispered as he came back up to kiss your cheek.

He slid off the bed and dropped his pants, taking his boxers down with them. Your mouth watered as you watched his dick spring out from its confines. He crawled back on top of you and lined his tip with your entrance, soaking it with your slick.

“Baby please don't tease” you begged as he rubbed his dick up and down your folds. Pleasure overcoming him, he slid into your cunt, sighing at the feeling of you clenching around his length. 

“Diablo, mami” he groaned as he came down to kiss you. He slipped his tongue in your mouth and deepened his strokes. You felt his tip hitting your cervix causing you to jump at the feeling.

“connie – fuck right there baby you're hitting it just right” you whined.

Hearing you say those words drove him insane. He picked up his pace and began bullying his dick into you. Your moans turned to slight screams and his groans grew louder.

“Oh mami”, he sighed, “i missed this pussy so much. You feel so good on my dick.”

Your walls began spasming as you reached your third orgasm for the night. Your hand clung to his back leaving scratches. Connie was fucking into you like a wild person. The look in his eyes was feral and the only thing on his mind was how good you felt taking his cock.

“ ‘M cumming papi, ah-, mm cant take it baby'.  you were a mess, tears staining your face, drool pooling on your chin. Your fucked out expression brought connie to his peak.

 “I'm gonna cum inside you baby. You want that? You want to feel me cum inside that tight little pussy?”

“Yes, cum inside me please baby, wan’ to feel your cum inside of me”

He groaned loudly as he came deep inside of you, hot ropes filling you to your brim. He slid himself out slowly and stared at your cunt, watching his sticky cum spill out of your fucked out hole. He rolled off and laid next to you. He pulled you to his chest and wrapped his arms around you

“ i really am sorry Y/N for everything” he said while tracing circles on your back

You grabbed his jaw and turned his face towards you then planted a sweet kiss on his lips.

“I know baby. Lets work on us, i want to be with you forever.” you whispered as you broke the kiss

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and closed his eyes to stop his tears from falling.

“I love you”, he whispered.

“I love you too” you responded as you drifted off to sleep with the love of your life

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 15 - Have You Ever Seen The Rain

📖I need to make two apologies. First, I am so sorry for the long delay. While work was beating my ass, I actually received a rude comment on my Wattpad account for the last chapter that triggered a horrible writer's block. It was taken care of, and it didn't bother me at the time, but I didn't realize how much it affected me until I started to write. Then I decided to use it for inspiration!

Secondly, I'm so sorry for what is about to unfold. This one was planned from the get-go (which is also probably why I struggled because this is the one chapter I dreaded having to write).

(I'll be running from the pitchforks as they come, Woot Woot!)

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, verbal fights, sexist implications, one slap across the face, and Jake being Hangman.

#6k words

Part 14 | Masterlist | Part 16

The story behind how you started ego-checking some of the cocksure pilots at Hard Deck is less interesting than one might think.

It all started with a game. 

You weren't kidding when you told Jake you were a library, loving geek who'd rather spend her time deep in the stacks. That was the plot of your entire post-secondary experience. You didn't know how to flirt. You stayed clear of frat parties and cliquey groups. And if a guy tried to flirt with you, you ran for the freaking hills without a backward glance.

You only decided to take that bartending job in building H's damp, dark basement because you were dead-ass broke. But the thing about being a bartender on a University campus, there were moments when you had nothing but time on your hands.

You had to get creative.

Looking back, you would blame the writer-orientated part of your mind that decided to create that little game of making up stories for the people who regularly visited the miserable bar.

The quiet girl, always sitting in the back corner, cramming for a test or writing a paper. Did she like the ambience, or was she avoiding the library? Or was she trying to work up the nerve to ask out one of the bussers, waiting for the perfect meet cute?

Maybe the nerds who gathered every Friday at the arcade-style game consoles playing Pac-Man needed to leave their dorm because Friday nights tended to be the one night everyone liked to party.

Those popular girls sitting around a table with their $5 cocktails, lowcut tanktops, and jean shorts, always on their phones gossiping over the latest social media post from their favourite celebrities. Did they have Regina George in their ranks? Which one was sleeping with the other's boyfriend? How much blackmail did they have on each other?

Which one would murder the other first?

That little game you invented for yourself got you out of your shell. It also made it easier to deal with the persistent football jocks who'd try to flirt with you for a free shot.

Ridley would always get a kick out of it whenever you told her. You'd always imagined her curling up in a ball and kicking her feet back and forth while she squealed in laughter over the phone.

"Be a character in one of your freaking stories. Or better yet, act it out! You're a damn writer, Lizzie."

She was right. So you did. 

You'd never forget the laughter of that football jock when your rejection of his flirting attempts to weasel a free drink out of you resulted in his childish reply of, "Well, nobody's perfect, Sweetheart, least of all you."

"I never said I was," you had said with a smile.

You must have said something right because a few minutes later, Penny was introducing herself and chatting you up, asking if you wanted a better job bartending.

You were all too happy to leave. But nothing could have prepared you for the hotshot, ego-driven, and stupidly horny Top Gun pilots who frequented the Hard Deck. 

Between remembering their drink order or what side of the room they tended to gravitate towards, you needed more than your little guessing game to figure out their tells. You did pick up little things about them, though.

The WSOs were the kindest; ironically, they stood out in the crowds. Always a kind smile, never a bad thing to say about anyone.

The female pilots were always badass. At least, you thought so. Strong. Always commandeering the room the second they walked in. Always nice, no question about it. But mess with them; you got schooled hard.

They were the literal definition behind the saying, 'Do no harm, but take no shit.'

And with each new group that came in, the male pilots, the single flyers you had called them, paled compared to those jocks. They never changed. A pair constantly vied for first place with each new group that came through the Top Gun program.

Always a pair of males. Women always knew there was more at stake than a freaking trophy.

Those guys talked to you. Well... properly flirted at you.

That's where your little game came in handy. Picking out the little things about them, letting your mind do the creative parts next. It's how you turned Jake down so quickly that first time.

But the guy currently approaching the bar? He did not fit the bill of any regular customer you had seen in a while.

Tourists came and went without question. They stood out like a pack of flies, unsure where to go, with friendly faces and always asking what the best places were. They tipped great, and they never returned.

This guy? 

Not a tourist.

He was from out of town. The plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots were unusual for a California bar. It was also how he gaped at the walls and ceiling, taking in all the Navy memorabilia Penny had collected over the years. If you hadn't been paying attention, you could have sworn there was a look of distaste on his face with each new item he saw.

But what irked you was the sense of familiarity you couldn't place while looking at him. Blonde hair and a sharp face. Something in how he carried that toothpick between his teeth, not in the way god forbid fucking Tyler had, but as if it was a piece of grass. Also, in the way he walked.

Then he openly leered at a woman's ass as she walked by, and it all made sense.

Ah, a Wham, Bam, Thank You, Mam.

He sat in the empty chair directly in front of you, still watching the women's retreating form. You didn't want to serve him, but a tiny part of you hoped your assumption had been wrong.

It had been a while since you had to rebuff flirty advances; the newer pilots going through the Top Gun Program hardly said anything to you except smile and relay their order.

You suspected Jake was behind it.

"What can I get you?" you smiled at the guy. He slowly pulled his eyes away with a sly grin. The second he caught sight of your face, his mouth stretched even wider as he leaned forward on the bar.

"Your number and the name of a good hotel."

You should have known better. 

If it looked like a duck, it quacked like a duck too.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you straightened the line of shot glasses under the bar, not once looking up as you answered him. "Well, I can answer one out of two of those questions, but I'm afraid the only hotels around here are resorts. There is a bed and breakfast about ten minutes down the road that will give you a good deal."

"Will they give me a good deal if I mention your name?"

"Only my friends know my name, and you are simply a customer sitting at my bar wanting a drink?" you raised your eyebrow, tapping your finger against the bar.

He made a show of thinking about it, rocking his shoulders back and forth. He finally nodded, leaning forward to answer you.

"Whiskey. Straight."

You recognized his accent as you reached beneath the bar to grab the bottle. It was more pronounced and slightly more profound, but without a doubt, he sounded like Jake.

Good old southern Texas Charm.

Normally you'd engage in small talk, but you wanted nothing more than to leave this asshole alone. Thinking he'd leave it be after you poured him his drink, you slid the glass forward, then made your way over to the other side of the bar.

The words he called out after you made you stop in your tracks.

"You must get attention all the time. Having your pick of the litter each year."

You whipped around, offended. " Are you calling me easy?!"

He shrugged. "I'm just saying a good-looking woman like yourself, in this place... you clearly aren't sticking around because of the pay."

Oh, you wanted this guy gone. That could have been one of the most double-standard comments you had ever received. Old Liz would have sputtered, maybe run into the back fridge and asked one of the other bartenders to handle it.

You now? No chance in hell. If he were going to give it, you would give it right back. You weren't going to play the boyfriend card. You could fight your own battles, and something told you even if you told him you had a boyfriend, he'd think you were lying. He seemed like the type that wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You've got some nerve." You crossed your arms, matching back to him from the other side of the bar. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not here because I'm looking for attention or have trouble finding a date. You've spent all of two minutes sitting at this bar, talking shit, while I've been fighting the urge to point out your confusion regarding basic anatomy." 

He raised his eyebrows at your reply. "My confusion?" 

You leaned forward, resting your arms upon the bar, eyeing him sourly. "Is your mouth your asshole, or are you just one?" 

It was one of the more cruder remarks you had ever responded with. But this guy was trying to go for gold. Unphased, he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up. "Hey, no need to be aggressive. You should take it as a compliment. I never called you anything derogatory." 

You huffed, pushing yourself away from him, rolling your eyes. "Calling me good-looking, then proceeding to say I'm only working here because it's 'easy to access' is still calling a woman a slut. You don't need to say the word to imply the meaning." 

You ripped the dishrag from your shoulder, running it under the tap, muttering more to yourself, "There's no way that shit works on women."

"It does on the women back home," he answered you.

"Oh, so are you staying? Don't tell me you're a new pilot at Top Gun."

They'll beat that attitude right out of you.

"Oh, I'm just passing through. I figured I'd scout out the area. I heard this was a Navy bar. Don't understand what all the fuss is about." 

You didn't answer him. Opening your mouth only led to him replying, and the quicker he finished his drink, the faster he'd leave. He took your silence as a means to continue. 

"Still playing hard to get?" 

"You ask me a question. I might choose not to answer." 

"Wow. Subtle." 

You turned, a hand on your hip. "You can't honestly expect me to speak to you, a complete stranger, after the way you just undermined my job because I'm not giving to your attempts. There is nothing to get." 

He smiled, holding out his hand. "George Seresin. There, not a stranger."

Well, shit.

You wanted to hang your mouth open like a fish. You were staring down Jake's brother.

Now you understood Jake's reaction to Janet's warning. His anxious behaviour in the back of his truck. His lost-in-thought stares or the way he couldn't stop looking at you and Sadie when he came home from work this week.

George Seresin was a very unwelcome, uninvited and long-awaited guest.

Something snapped in your stomach, a twinge of weariness that Jake didn't confide in you. Then again, your slight disappointment was overshadowed by something greater.

Clearly, you were fated to ego-check both Seresin brothers while standing behind this bar. Because the idea came without warning, without doubt, or any sense of hesitancy. 

George Seresin was at the Hard Deck.

He was right in front of you, trying to flirt with you without any idea who you were. 

And he was sitting in the best spot in the entire place.

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

You stepped backwards, turning to lean up against the bar. As you did with Jake all those months ago, you took the rag and started to wipe.

"So let me get this straight," you said, dragging the damp cloth around his glass, not once looking up. "I tell you my name in some effort to prove we are not strangers. I'm supposed to forget about your 'comments,' so you can use that good old Texas charm to woo me into your bed with a promise of a good time?"

You finally looked up, George only staring back at you with a heated smoulder.

"Something tells me none of those loose cannons cannot even promise you a good time. A quick roll in the sheets before they let some brass monkey in a fancy suit tell them where to shoot. You look like you could let loose for once in your life."

You froze, losing your grip on the rag and fingers twitching. Scanning Jake’s brother, you leaned against the bar, resting your weight on your elbows, throwing the fabric over your shoulder as you got inside his bubble. You never once broke eye contact as you pinned him down.

George bought it, hook, line and sinker. He was so focused on you and your face that he was oblivious to everything and everyone around him, including how your hand slowly reached up toward the rope hanging from the top of the bar.

The second he looked at your lips, you tugged.

Cheers and music flooded the Hard Deck when everyone heard the distinct ring of the barbell. You guessed the song right away, old habits dying hard.  Slow Ride, its distinct beat letting you know Jake was here and he had seen the whole thing.

George reeled back, shocked as a few people came up and slapped him on the back, thanking him. You laughed softly at his reaction, pushing yourself away to help the few customers you knew who would take advantage of the free drink.

You had never rang the bell for someone like him. George Seresin would be the only exception.

"What the hell just happened?" he called after you. You didn't bother turning around, flinging your hand to gesture over your head, "Read the sign!"

George followed the direction of your hand, landing on the piece of wood dangling by the silver chain.

You disrespect a lady, the navy, or you put your cell phone on the bar, you buy a round.

You had already helped a few customers when he managed to tear his eyes away to glare at you heatedly. You turned to face him with a gleeful grin. Instead of asking him which one he thought you rang him out for, you started teasingly singing along to the chorus.

You hadn't done that in a while. It felt good.

"What did he do to warrant that?" 

You smiled up at Jake as he approached the bar. He never took his eyes off you as he leaned on his elbow against the top of the bar beside George. 

"What do you think?" you laughed at him.

Jake smirked. "I'd say he didn't take no for an answer."

"He did a little more than that. Tell him to put his cell phone on the bar, and he'd get three out of three."

"Ouch," Jake dramatically drawled. He finally turned his head, nodding once in his brother's direction. "Hi, Georgie." 

You stiffed a giggle. 

George huffed, jutting his chin out in your direction. "This one is trouble."

"Don't I know it," Jake said, looking back at you. "Pulled the same trick on me the first time I met her. Only she didn't ring the bell. Guess I did something right, considering she let me come back."

George glanced between you and Jake several times, and you could see the gears grinding in his head. 

"Hi," you beamed at him, walking over and holding out your hand. "Elizabeth Beck. Your brother's girlfriend. I guess we aren't strangers after all."

George stared down at your hand, then gritting his teeth, knocking back another gulp of whiskey. He spat out his following words with the glass still to his lips, "So you are real. Jake, there's no way you're dating her."

 You didn't try to hide the snark from your voice as you lowered your hand. "You thought I was imaginary? Sorry to disappoint."

George still chose to ignore you. "What's the matter, little brother? Need your girlfriend to speak for you?"

Jake stiffened, and it took everything in you not to ring the bell once more. Cause you knew if you did, Jake would be the one to help throw George out, and you didn't know what repercussions he could face.

"At least he has a girlfriend," you scoffed. "I can't imagine you've ever had a meaningful relationship with how you treat women."

You spied his empty whiskey glass, grabbing it firmly.

"Wham."

Sliding it across the bar's smooth surface, you caught it in the palm of your other hand.

"Bam."

Reaching into the pocket of your apron with your free hand, you slapped his bill down in front of him, rounds and all, attempting your best version of a Texan accent.

"Thank you, Mam."

Not wanting to waste more time on him, you turned to Jake, slightly worried. Some of you didn't know how to act around Jake when he was like this. When he was so... Hangman.

You gently touched his wrist, murmuring softly, "I'll see you in a half hour?"

He twisted his arm in your grasp, sliding his hand down so he could gently squeeze yours. But his eyes screamed a different, intense, unsettling story. As if he was assessing you for any threat.

"Sure."

You tried not to let it bother you, his non-chalent reply. Trying not to frown, you let go of his wrist to serve another customer, calling out as you walked away, "It was nice meeting you, Georgie!"

Jake watched you go with a slight turn of his head, proud you one-upped his brother but wishing you didn't leave him alone.

He knew why George was here. What he wanted him to do. No amount of smirk, cockiness, or even Hangman, could save Jake from this. George was the grave reminder that no matter where the Navy sent him, whether in California or on the other side of the world, there was no end to the metaphorical leash the 'hell bringer' had on both of his sons. 

George scraped his chair back to stand. "Come on, little brother," he gruffed out, tossing his credit card onto the bar. "We need to have a chat."

—-

With Ridley's Jean jacket in hand and your bag, you placed them on the bar as you greeted Jimmy after finishing your shift. "Can you watch these for a second, Jimmy? I'm just going to the bathroom before I find Jake. We're going to pick Sadie up from Penny's and take her out for dinner."

The older man smiled. "She's feeling better?"

You nodded. "Mild concussion. She was okay after a few days and back at school. Bummed about not being able to play in soccer playoffs, though. Hence the trip."

"That girl loves her soccer. What a shame."

"Jake's is making it easier on her. I don't know what I would do without him."

He tilted his head towards the bathroom hall with a knowing grin. "Go get ready for your date."

You blushed, walking away, calling over your shoulder, "It's not a date!"

After freshening yourself up, you took a few moments to stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You saw the famous callsign board hanging on the wall behind you. You scanned the names from the mirror, looking for Jake's, doing a double take when you couldn’t find it. You turned, properly facing the wall.  

Like the sign in the bar, it was a piece of wood with the words engraved into the top, “Ladies Beware: Navigate the Hard Deck with Care!” and underneath that, “Pilots who fly solo.” Several metal slots were glued to the surface, designed so she could easily slide plastic slate with a pilot’s callsign into place. 

You recognized a few, even Rooster's, though his was listed way further down, out of harm’s way. But Jake's was nowhere to be found. 

Then you realized - Penny had taken his name off.

She didn't do that for a lot of people. You could only recall one other instance when she removed a pilot's callsign from that board. She prided herself on it, so much so she never removed Maverick's at the top of the list, even after they got back together.

You needed to tell Jake. 

With a hint of a smile, you eagerly walked out of the bathroom to find him. He was standing with George at the pool table, the elder Seresin brother lining up a shot as he spoke. As you approached them, you honed in on Jake, realizing he looked uncomfortable. Stiff, shoulders square, and his fists were clenched tight.

The closer you got, the more you heard of their conversation, and when you heard Sadie's name fall from George's mouth, you froze. Hearing him utter her name, especially in that hardened tone, was a punch to the gut. The urge to hide behind one of the support pillars in the middle of the room at the last second was too great to ignore, and you made yourself as small as possible. 

You had stumbled upon a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. George’s voice accompanied the sound of the eight-ball scattering the balls across the table. 

"Come on, man," he said, his tone laced with arrogance. "Think about it. She threw her whole life away for her niece. She's tied down now, and you deserve someone who can give you more than that."

Jake remained silent. George continued, encouraged by his lack of protest. "You're a Navy pilot, for crying out loud. You could have anyone you want. Why settle for a girl with so much baggage?"

You weren’t stupid. You knew enough about George to realize he was the golden child, the favourite used to getting his way. George would only see you as Jake’s attempt to one-up him on something. 

“You know why I'm here,” you heard him say firmly. “Dad doesn’t approve. He wants you to know if you continue on with her, you will never be welcomed back home.”

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your stomach. There would never be a time when you asked Jake to choose you over his family, even with what you knew. You wanted to go out there, but this was Jake’s battle. Storming out to threaten anything but a kick to the balls was out of the question. 

But when Jake finally spoke, his words were like shards of ice piercing your skin.

"Yeah, you're right."

A strangled noise escaped from you, a sound of raw pain and disbelief. You clapped your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sob threatening to escape. George’s reply triggered the blood rushing through your ears, the pain in your forearm from your nails biting hard into the skin. 

“You know I am,” he laughed, another clack of the pool balls sounding out. “

There was only one way you saw this - Jake played you like he played those other bartenders. 

You couldn’t hide any longer. You pushed yourself away from the pillar, swerving around to confront them. 

“So Sadie and I were just a game to you?” 

Jake turned sharply, shock in his eyes. “Liz,” he held his hands out in front of him. “It’s not what…” 

“Not what?” you said heatedly, tears streaming from your eyes. “I heard plenty!” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat, confronted with your beat red face and tears. You were not supposed to hear all that. 

The shock on his face was not enough to erase the sting of his words.

"Come on, Liz. You don't understand... it's..."

"What's there to understand, Jake?" you interjected, your voice seething with a volatile mix of pain and anger. "That I'm just another one of your bartenders?"

“Liz, don’t.” 

“Enlighten me, Jake.” You crossed your arms. “Tell me all the reasons why. That bringing me flowers wasn’t a game. That getting close to my niece wasn’t a game. Asking me to give you a chance, taking me out on a date.”

 You sobbed. “Taking me up in that damn plane.” 

The thought was erupt, tearing itself from the deepest part of your mind. You couldn’t help it, the words spilling out in blinded anger. “Was my grief an opportunity for you to get into my pants? Telling me it would be alright so you could leave me high and dry? Telling me it was going to be okay?” 

There was a sudden shift in his expression, his gaze hardening. As if a switch had been flipped, the warm, understanding man you knew disappeared, replaced by a stranger draped in defensiveness and sarcasm.

"Oh, excuse me," he declared. "I didn't realize I was your knight in shining armour, rushing to your rescue the second you need all your problems fixed. The girl who never had a relationship, thinking a man would solve all her issues."

The words hit you like a physical blow, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. Jake's harsh gaze didn't match his usual soft and protective demeanour. It was like looking at a stranger, someone you didn't recognize. The man before you was not the Jake you'd fallen for.

This man reminded you of your father. 

Was this his plan all along? You racked your mind, searching for any indication this had been coming. But what only stood out was Rooster's words echoing in your head where you found none. 

Did you really only add your name to the list of women Hangman had pursued?

Because here and now, those months of working through the trauma of losing Ridley didn't matter. 

Was anything about this past year even worth it? The moments you worked through when you would avoid anyone mentioning her because acknowledging her in the past tense was too much. Avoiding the things that reminded you of her. Till helped you through it.  

She would know what to say right now. She would be the one beating his ass with verbiage and scathing remarks. She would nail the moment and get it right. 

It hit you, the hidden weight of how desperately you missed her. 

Suddenly, you were that girl again, starting her first shift in that basement bar, wondering what to say to the students who saw you as a mere bookworm with no character or class - because you couldn't compare to the girl sitting in the corner writing her paper, actually having the courage to ask that busboy out. 

Or the geeks in the corner cheering as hard as they did when they beat their high score on the console, uncaring of strange looks. Or that girl, finally standing up to her 'so-called friends' when one had been spreading rumours and crude remarks about her to the others behind her back. 

He really did leave you out to dry. 

"Stay the fuck away from my niece," you managed to gasp through your tears. "And stay the fuck away from me."

You wanted to believe your assumption that Jake was merely putting on a front. Hangman, his alternate self, was his attempt at protecting himself. 

You had a hard time doing so.

There, plain as day, across his face was the most condensing grin you had ever seen as he dramatically drawled out slowly, "No fucking problem, sweetheart."

You didn't believe in thinking about everything you regretted throughout your life. Ridley was the only exception; if you had done more, moved back home after school, or gone to the police the day you kicked Tyler out, maybe she'd still be here. You couldn't change what had happened in your life, so spending time thinking about it in the present wouldn't do you much good. 

So it was no surprise to you when you followed through with your knee-deep reaction, your hand coming up out of nowhere, open and firm, slapping Jake hard enough across the side of his face, his head turning with the force of it.

You knew you shouldn't have. You weren't a violent person by any means. Next to Tyler, you never had raised a hand to anyone. You were too hurt to care you just slapped him.

That should have scared you shitless.

Rather than voice the obvious, you remained silent, allowing every repressed thought, every buried emotion to resurface.

Ridley - dead. 

Sadie - hurt. 

Tyler - lurking. 

Bradley - damaging.

It was all too much.

George's figure stood out from behind Jake amongst your blurry vision, tears creating a vignette in your line of sight. You tore past Jake, sticking your finger out only to push George square in his chest. He stepped back at the force, hand shooting out to balance himself against the pool table.

Jake wouldn't have done that had George not shown up. Had he not played with Jake's emotions.

"You need a fucking ego check and to grow the fuck up," you seethed at him. "I don't know whose got your balls on a very tight leash, but you have no right to go around and fucking up other people's relationships."

George didn't answer you, taking his hand off the table to stand properly. You pressed him again. "Does it give you some sick fucking pleasure to hurt your brother? Dad loves me best, so I'm going to remind everyone just cause I can?"

George was still avoiding your heated glare, fixating on his football ring, twisting the piece of metal back and forth. It only pissed you off further.

"My eyes are over here, Jackass! Have the decency to look me in the fucking eyes when I'm talking to you."

If nobody had been watching when you slapped Jake, you clearly had their attention now. Even with the music blasting from the speakers, every conversation in the Hard deck had gone quiet. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you couldn't care less.

You were too far gone.

George slowly cocked his head to face you. Your breath was harsh, your body jolting with each gasp as you gave in to the anger. "My sister died, and I took in my niece. What's so fucking wrong about that? That I threw my life away, that I have no future?" 

He shifted on his feet, about to transfer the pool stick into his other hand, when you reached out and snatched it out of his grasp, tossing it behind you with a clack. 

"You're damn right I did! That's what you do for people you love. I would sacrifice my entire life so she could have hers. And I would do it again in a fucking heartbeat. I will stay on the other side of that bar for the rest of my so-called miserable life, getting catcalled and dealing with assholes like you if it gives her the best shot with the shitty hand she's dealt. You, George Seresin, have no right to judge the choices I've made in my life." 

Your breathing was harsh, ribs aching with effort. Every vein, every pore, was consumed with pure white rage. And yet, you still found yourself growling out, "You have no right judging your brothers either." 

Even after breaking your heart, you still stood up for Jake. 

"He risks his life every single time he goes up in that jet just so the whole world can fucking survive. So you can go on day in and day out and let your father control what you want to do with your life. So you can gallant around letting someone who has lived their life decide what you do with the rest of yours? So Jake’s here for you to bully and control every time he comes home? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The burning sensation in your cheeks mirrored the fire in your eyes, unshed tears making them shine brighter. The salty sting of tears blurring your vision did little to diminish the searing gaze you levelled at George.

"My sister believed everyone deserved a chance. That people cared, regardless of what they did or who they were. I had forgotten that until my niece invited Jake to a barbeque, till she invited him on a hike because he was being treated differently. Despite what I heard and everyone telling me otherwise, listing off why I shouldn’t. That he will hurt me and my niece, and I still gave him a chance.”  

Squaring your shoulders and balling your hands to fists at your side, you take a step forward, a dangerous glint in your eyes. You lean towards him, your face close enough to feel his breath, your jaw clenched and muscles tight.  

"You are the first person ever to prove my sister wrong,” your voice is dangerously low, underlying anger accompanying each word. “You sure as hell don't deserve that sentiment." 

As you stepped away, George lifted his head to glance around the room, everyone's eyes pinning him down. The older Top Gun instructors had stood at their tables and chairs, arms crossed. Some of the current students in the program also stood, the others sending him the most scathing glares they could manage. Even some regulars who weren't aviators were casting him a scornful glance.

You spun, ready to leave him in embarrassment and escape this literal fucking mess, when you caught Jake's bewildered gaze, his mouth hanging open in slight shock.

You weren't sure whether it was that look or the dying embers of your outburst that made you spin back around to snarl, "So, leave your brother the fuck alone! Live your own goddamn life without judging others for the choices they make! Cause you sure as hell don't know what it means to sacrifice something for those you love. If you need an example, look around this goddamn room."

Jake reached for your wrist as you charged toward the front door. The second you felt his touch, you shook your hand loose, a wrenching sob tearing through your chest.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

You didn't bother seeing his reaction to your remark, rushing to grab your bag and Ridley's jean jacket off the bar.

The skin around your wrist burned from his touch, the rough callouses once a comfort but now felt like coarse sandpaper. You wanted to get under a shower or jump in the sea, hoping to remove the feeling of every memory, kiss, and word.

God, you let him touch you. Do things with you.

You were going to throw up.

God forbid you didn't want to walk home. But you needed to go, be anywhere but here, and you didn't have your car. Barely keeping it together as you took off toward the door, you had half a mind to look up to watch where you were going, deaf to Jake's shouts of your name.

There was Bradley, sitting in the first booth by the door. His brow furrowed as you made your way over to him, probably having witnessed the ordeal. You were too upset even to question why he wasn't marching across the bar, ready to knock Jake to next Sunday.

It had been weeks since the fight, with no communication in between. But it was a distant memory compared to this. 

It didn't matter what he implied. It didn't matter what happened in your hallway.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

You just needed your friend.

With each step you took toward him, your shame only grew greater. You couldn't even look him in the eye when you stopped, standing next to his side of the booth, hugging yourself tighter.

"Can you take me home, Bradley? I don't want to be here anymore."

Bradley's opportunity to act smug had finally arrived. But he didn't do anything other than frown. Standing up from his booth, he threw a few bills onto the table before blocking everyone's view of you. He placed a comforting hand on your back, gently pressing you forward as he uttered quietly, "Of course I can, Liz."

You kept your head down as you stepped towards the door, but Bradley, so willing to help you without so much of an 'I told you so,' made whatever resolve you had, crumble. Your knees wobbled, and your heart dropped into your stomach. You fell, and Bradley's arm whipped out, gripping your hip and pulling you tight to his side to support your weight.

Burying your head into Bradley's shoulder, you hid your face. You didn't want to see the looks of everyone in the Hard Deck, whether pity, concern, or applause, as another wave of tears wrecked your body.

Closing your eyes seemed better than reliving the truth.

And because you kept them shut, you didn't see George place a hand on Jake's shoulder, preventing him from going after you. Nor did you see the look of devastation wreck his face; the weight of every wrong decision he had ever made coming back to haunt him. 

Whether Jake turned on a dime to punch George square in the jaw, you heard none of it. You hadn't even bothered to turn back to look as Bradley carried you out the front door.

.... So... Who is going to pitchfork me first? 👀

Tag List:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook

Part 16 - In the Blood coming soon

Wickett ;)

[drchenquill]

Big ol' tag game bundle~

thank you @the-inkwell-variable , @theink-stainedfolk @agirlandherquill , @frostedlemonwriter, @kaylinalexanderbooks and

@willtheweaver for the tags!

Since this is a mix of "seven sentence" + "writing share" + "Wip Wednesday", I've taken the liberty to give you a bit more than usual from "Him and Me - Bound by Fate". Enjoy~

~~~

I sit behind my desk and watch the last child leave my class after they have all said their sweet goodbyes. A deep sigh escapes my lips as I tilt my head back and allow myself to close my eyes for a moment. I need to calm down again, I need to learn to just swallow the things that happen so they don't send me into a complete panic every time.

It wasn't an attack with Midas, he was just asking a question.

He interferes so that he can then put him out of the picture.

Maybe he's just curious.

Curious about the best way to slit his throat.

He knows Kilian has been hiding it from me, so he probably wants to know if his friend has finally come out into the open.

It's all a conspiracy. They want to drive him into a corner.

My head tilts forward again. There's no point in all this. It would be best if I allowed myself to forget it and put it behind me.

I pull myself to my feet, gather everything together and step out. In the corridor, I can hear the laughter and chatter of the children in the other classes.

How nice it is to be a child, untouched by the problems of the world.

He was a child too and the world was merciless to him.

Unfortunately, that's true, but it was my own fault. If I hadn't brought my parents to their deaths, none of this would have happened. I would have been loved like those children, I would have gone to school without any problems, I could have had friends. But I have myself to blame, so I grit my teeth and keep going.

My lesson is over, so I step out of school and breathe in the fresh breeze that tickles my skin. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the birds are chirping. Even Kilian, who is leaning against one of the walls, is smiling happily.

Kilian.

My heart is racing and I almost choke on my spit. What the hell is he doing here? Alone at that? He's not supposed to be out alone, what if Dr. Steffens or his Fera sees him?

He catches sight of me and his smile widens.

I ignore my heated cheeks and pounding heart and take quick steps towards him. Despite the sun, he's wearing a dark hoodie with his hands tucked into his pockets. His jeans fit tightly on his well-toned legs.

I swallow hard and stand in front of him with a furrowed brow. He pulls a hand out of his pocket and places it on my lower back. A shudder runs through my body, but I ignore it.

I shouldn't like it, his tenderness shouldn't send warmth through me. I want to move away from him, but my body won't listen to me. So instead of moving away, I whisper accusingly, “What are you doing here?”

He looks confused, but whispers as he says, “Picking you up. What else?”

“You're technically a panther in a human body, since Steffens can't know you've regained your humanity. You can't just walk around the city!”

I surprise myself with the stern tone I've taken, just as I've surprised Kilian with it. He blinks slightly, but quickly plasters a smile on his lips.

“I'm sorry, this is the first and last time I'll do something like this. I promise.”

He's not angry that I snapped at him? He even apologizes? He lightly pushes my frozen body and leads me towards the street. “Come on, I promised you a trip.”

I wonder if I've misheard and look up at him. A trip? Promised? Him to me? Have I missed something? Sometimes I feel like I've landed in the wrong movie.

“You look confused, Leon.”

“I am.”

He laughs.

“When did you promise me a trip?” I ask skeptically, trying not to listen to my dark thoughts of a planned murder.

Kilian doesn't think twice and says, “Right now.”

His hand, which has been resting on my back, creeps up to mine to wrap around it. I feel my hand tense slightly, but Kilian doesn't seem to give it a second thought and starts stroking the back of it with his thumb. I suppress the creeping feeling that I don't want to name and take a deep breath.

Apparently we're going on a trip.

~~~~

Tagging with no pressure @the-golden-comet , @inseasofgreen , @novel-nook-blog , and open tag~

[highlordofkrypton]

I am going to ask way to many of these

2, 3, 5, 7, 20, 31

I want to ask many more but I am restraining myself

PLEASE ASK AS MUCH AS YOU WANT, I'M IN A YAPPING MOOD!!

Linking to the ask game in question!

2. Anything you want to write but feel like you're unable to?

Porn. Straight up raunchy multiple thousand words for just filth. Feelings get in the way, we're all laughing or crying. I think it's an art to be able to focus on just the kinky stuff in a way that's engaging but not too anatomical. That's dirty but in a way that isn't gross, but just right, if you know what I mean?

I love smut, but the mental toll it takes on me to write pure smut is wild. I can usually shoot out 1k words in 15 minutes if I'm focused. It can take me three days to figure out like... where the character should kiss next 😭

3. How would you describe your writing style?

Oh gosh, are we supposed to use real writing terms? I don't know what styles there are out there, but my way of describing my writing would be: lived in.

I always say I'm a lazy writer, so I don't describe anything more than I have to. Usually, I will describe what matters to the character. I live in their shoes at that moment, and when I write, I embody their emotions as well. If the character is crying, my ass is sobbing over the keyboard. If they're angry, I'm rolling my eyes.

I do think that my style also means that the details I do include are a bit miscellaneous. It's natural to describe the setting, and clothes and items, but I feel like if you're really living in a universe, you get attached to the really random, if weird, shit.

5. What's a tag you never want to use for your works even when it applies?

THIS IS A TRICKY ONE!

Okay, let me start off by saying I am both pro and against tags. I think tags are a great way of searching up fics to make sure that you get exactly what you want, but I also think that for some fics it does a disservice to the fic. Disclaimer: I'm new to AO3 and I don't think I tag well enough.

So, on the point of disservice, I'll use my fic for example because I've been thinking about it for a while. So for Wildflowers, I consider it an ACOTAR prequel, first and foremost. While Tamsand is the main ship, I think by tagging the ship, it does the fic a disservice because the world is so rich, it doesn't just focus on the ship. There's so much more I want to gush about with people, and I find it answers so many complaints I see from ACOTAR fans who were disappointed by the rest of the books, but people will stop at the ship tag.

Also both characters are so polarizing in the fandom that if you hate one, you won't give this fic a shot which is FAIR but one of my goals was to convince readers to fall for the one they might not have thought they would, but yeah, I played myself with that idea.

I also tag to be safe than sorry so not to trigger anyone, but I'm very much a reader that is in for the ride no matter what, and I feel like tags can be spoilers, etc. Still, I do want to be respectful of others, but for me, I worry that if I tag 'SA' the fic might be misconstrued as it focuses on that topic whereas it's one scene that impacts later character development.

I wouldn't use the term never tag, but that's how I feel about tagging.

7. Your favourite AO3 tag.

Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne.

That's it. That's the whole tag LMAO.

20. Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?

I've tried both and HOLY CRAP, I'm bad at multi-tasking. A SINGLE PROJECT. DO NOT LET ME START OTHER SHIT AT THE SAME TIME, I WLL FORGET TO UPDATE THE OTHER PROJECT.

Hyperfocus or bust, apparently.

31. What was the most difficult fic to write (but in the end you made it)?

Pick any of my smut oneshots, except Regrets and that is probably one of them.

I would say that my Lucien x Elain (Elucien) fic Warmth was difficult because I knew the setting and how I was gonna start it, but I don't know Elain very well (I haven't finished reading the series) and I don't write Lucien enough. It's one thing to know the character, but another thing to know how they are when they are being intimate. That was really tricky.

I always try not to re-use the same tropes, positions, expressions and wording in my smut, but since I don't write enough of it, to me, it reads like I'm writing more or less the same and... I hate that.

MY GOD I RAMBLED SO MUCH I'M SORRY

I STILL LIKED IT IT WAS FUN!!

[valeriianz]

WIP word search game!

tagged by... @tj-dragonblade @hardly-an-escape @seiya-starsniper @lenreli @teejaystumbles and @issylra

*deep inhale* FELLAS-- between y'all i have 35 words. that's basically a whole fic lmao. i'll just pick a few from each of you otherwise this is gonna be far too long and far too revealing.

Let Me Down Easy ch3: "red" and "blanket" and "lips"

“Who is this?” Morpheus asks quietly, pointing to a portrait of a woman with red hair, the sunset behind her making her hair look like fire. 

Hob takes a long breath, holding it. The lack of response must be telling, as Hob blows out the breath only after Morpheus turns to look at him.

“Eleanor.” Hob takes a long gulp of his wine and turns toward the couch on the other side of the room.

=============================

Eleanor was actually… probably perfect.

Which was why he confessed to her how he was still hung up on Morpheus. Trusting her to understand and help him forget. Hob had clung to her like a security blanket, which made him feel pathetic and her, smothered. Eleanor encouraged him to try therapy but it wasn’t enough. Hob knew now, in horrible ironic hindsight, that he had sabotaged himself. And when Eleanor left him, Hob didn’t fight for her to stay.

=============================

Dream breathes into Hob’s hair, his lips pressing into the crown of his head.

Human AU, Hob meets Dream at a resort: "sigh" and "difficult"

“Can I plead my case?”

Dream sighs. Finally actually turns to glare at Hob and Hob feels just a little smug at how the young man obviously looks him over.

=============================

“You are making this very difficult.” But Hob is still smiling. “Bet you’re bossy in bed.”

“I am.”

Bolt in the Blue ch8: "sleep" and "step"

Dream has been singing again.

It’s nothing outstanding. Just this backing hum that Hob had assumed was either done by Dessi or a single bass chord... it was such a low note.

Despite the short feature, Hob had been struck still the first night he heard it, standing behind Dream and knowing he'd set up a mic for him, but unsure why. And even now, on night three, the low timbre still stuns Hob. It's a pleasant, deep, rumbling sound. Like lulling someone to sleep.

=============================

“Play me a song.” Dream picks out a bass at random and hands it over without so much as a moment for Hob to fully realize what was about to happen. As Hob takes it, arms working on autopilot, Dream takes a step back, crosses his arms, and waits. 

Vampire Hunter!Hob AU: "fall"

They meet up through the years, Hob slowly realizing what Dream is but refusing to believe it. Because he’s falling for him. Utterly and foolishly.

breaking the chain again and not tagging anyone ;ajshdfjk; im sorry lol i havent been paying attention to who has/hasn't done this im sorry! but i am bonus tagging @notallsandmen because the way i answered your ask about BitB was a cop out so i wanna make sure you see dis! <3

[ginoeh]

Shipper Tag Game

I was tagged by the lovely @tj-dragonblade , thank you!

What ship were you completely obsessed with as a teenager, but now you don’t care about anymore?

As a teenager... well, that was quite a while ago lol. I suppose that would have been Harry/Draco. First fandom, first queer pairing, first smut stories. I was such a sweet sweet summer child XD The early 00s were wild

Which ship would you consider your first one?

Soooo. Funny story. Way back when, I got into fanfiction via fanfiction.net. You know how their filter system is bad/non-existent? Yeah. Little me, on her first outing to ffnet, didn’t know how to operate the character settings. I clicked on the first story on the top of the first page of the HP section. It was a Snape/Hermione star-crossed lover deal. It flash-fried my brain, taught me content curation in a crash course and incidentially made me partial to the ship for quite a few years...

Your first fanfic was about which couple?

See above lol. I will never ever forget the experience. I tried to find that story later for downloading (like an ugly beloved keepsake ig lol) but never managed.

If you mean fanfic I've written: it was gen.

Do you remember the first couple you saw fan art of?

Kakashi/Obito

Have you ever gotten into ship discourse?

Nope. Scraped by a few times since I entered the tumblr bubble but managed to stay out of it. I don’t get the point. It's freaking fictional characters in fictional worlds. Go touch grass or something instead... (but you will make me fucking mad if you try to drag me into these things with wild ad hom accusations based on what i ship or dont ship)

Did you used to have a NOTP or have one currently?

No, not really. It's only ever preferences. There are some I dislike due to my own hc/inability to suspend my disbelief but I wouldn’t call them NOTPs. I just don’t read them.

Who were the last couple in the last fanfic you read?

Dreamling

Currently, do you have any OTPs?

I actually dislike the term OTP. It's a scale of preferences for me. There are few (read: none) fav characters that I can only see with one love interest (and anyway, sometimes i do prefer plot over love story. wild take i know) and the more time I spend in a fandom the more I diversify.

Is there any couple that, to this day, you are extremely mad about not getting into?

I don’t get this question, sorry. If I'm interested, I'll search it out. Even if the fandom is old. AO3 is an archive for exactly that reason.

Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they’re kind of interesting?

Not that I can think of, at the moment!

Do you have any ship that, in the past, would have been considered normal but now you would be cancelled over?

Probably? I'm not clear on what all one is getting cancelled over this week/month/year by which group of 'concerend bystanders'. I suppose I might get cancelled for the mentioned Hermione/Snape?

What is your favourite crack ship?

I'm so glad you asked. It's clearly Dream/Helm (thank you for that @writing-for-life ) Or Gollum/The One Ring (thanks go to Neil himself here). Or - actually, never mind lol.

What is the couple you read the most fanfics about?

At the moment it's Dreamling. But I cycle through fandoms/pairings periodically...(btw im looking for more Johanna/Death? If anyone could point me in the right direction?)

What do most of your ships have in common?

At least one character has a dark/unknown/violent/tragic past (they can be victim or perpetrator!!! I'm all for character development babey)

What do you absolutely hate in a ship?

I don’t hate ships? As I said above. Possibly the reduction on 'I can fix him/her' or 'my love will save him/her from depression/"the darkness"/etc.' but that is mostly a matter of the author's style of crafting characterization and plot and has nothing to do with the ship itself.

I'm tagging @bazzybelle , @seiya-starsniper , @writing-for-life if you want to or maybe just point me towards your post if you've done it already?

[electricbluebutterflies]

Chris/Melissa + "give me your hands, i'll warm them up."

Post-6B, PG-ish, also on ao3.

They’re lost. Melissa is convinced.

She’s trying to be a good girlfriend – a goal that has never ended well for her, let her just point that out now, she’s very self-aware when making questionable life choices – and in her current dynamic that means tagging along to check the sensors in an unusually cold rainstorm because there is a Schedule and nothing short of a gateway to hell could throw Chris off-course… and even then, she thinks, he’d probably still keep routines as much as possible. The man has some definite trauma-related personality issues, and-

She’s not going to say anything. She is really, really trying to be a good girlfriend this time. Whatever her face does is not her problem.

She does enjoy these outings, when the weather is a little less questionable. She’s always been attracted to men who know what they’re doing, and this one… she doesn’t necessarily understand what he’s doing, or why he can’t manage to squirrel-proof the trackers, but she likes the intention of it, the repurposing of his past to help protect the people they love and-

“You could go back to the truck.”

She knows he means well. Ever since he came back from whatever dumbass adventure he went on south of the border – conveniently after Melissa started applying a don’t-ask-don’t-tell approach to anything supernatural that did not descend upon her house or her workplace – if not even earlier than that, she’s trusted his attentions. At worst, his idea of appropriate courtship is a little awkward, protective not minimizing, and-

“You’re not going to,” she counters.

“I’m much more used to the elements. I’m fine.”

Yeah no. While those two little words tend to be a little more dangerous in a significantly higher vocal range, they’re not exactly believable in this one either, and there’s probably a fun conversation they’re going to have later about what exactly happened to you to make you Like This and she’s pretty sure there’s enough wine in the house to get them through that one and-

“Bravado gets nowhere with me. Hasn’t since before my divorce. If you’re out here, I’m out here.”

This is, admittedly, a particular flavor of overkill. She’s reminded more and more often lately that she’s relatively petite and a little too human for most of the life choices that have been inflicted upon her in the past few years, and she’d never liked hiking before, she ran track in high school but that was a different skill set and also over twenty-five years ago and-

She’s a good girlfriend. That shouldn’t be such a part of her identity. Too bad.

Besides, this is at least more stimulating than her usual experience of hanging out in someone’s questionably clean apartment, pretending to watch some sports game on TV, and having disappointing sex. None of those issues apply this time, and it’s been such a delightful change of pace that she can forgive her frustrations, and-

“Give me your hands. I’ll warm them up.”

She does as she’s told, and there are moments she feels infinitely and beautifully small, her gloved hands entwined with her partner’s and-

“I did not know heated gloves were a thing,” she murmurs.

“They’re not… shit, did I forget to give you hand warmers?”

She takes no responsibility for what her face does, she reminds herself, and whatever displeased look she’s giving him is deserved. “Give me what?”

“Sounds like a no. Give me a moment.”

Chris reaches into one of his jacket pockets – it is truly unfair that he has pockets, let alone big enough ones to hold multiple purses worth of stuff – and pulls out two little orange gel things. “Ever use one of these?”

“No idea what you’re even holding.”

He does something with his hands to the packets and then hands them to her. “Slip these inside your gloves. Hold them. You’ll stay warm.”

She does, and the little things work, and-

“Onward?”

“Onward. Just a few more sensors to check…”

[everybodyshusband]

oooo, a tag game !! :D thank you so much @devoured-by-shadows for tagging me <3

are you named after anyone?

nope ! i picked my name alllll by myself !!

when was the last time you cried?

uhm, this morning, actually (over a bluey episode of all things). i've never ever been a big crier, but this year's been a big one for tears so far :')

do you have kids?

definitely not, and i'd like to keep it that way, at least for now (and probably forever, haha ! kids scare me so much...)

do you use sarcasm a lot?

i think i do :) i definitely use it more often in person than i do online, purely because i struggle typing out sarcasm in a way that doesn't sound genuinely mean and nasty :(

what’s the first thing you notice about people?

to be honest, i have no idea !! i'm more of a stare at their shoes to avoid looking at them kind of person, so i don't really tend to notice anything specific about people apart from their shoes, but even then i don't really pay much attention, haha !

what’s your eye colour?

hazel, i believe

scary movies or happy endings?

i've never actually seen a proper horror movie, but i actually quite like movies with a sad and/or ambiguous endings, so i guess... neither ? but i think if i get the chance to watch a few scary movies i'd really enjoy them :)

any special talents?

i like to think i'm okay at writing :) apart from that i can play the piano and the viola, and i tend to be able to pick up the basics of most instruments i pick up !! (emphasis on basics)

where were you born?

the sunshine state baybeee (queensland, australia)

hobbies?

writing, when i can manage it ! and if avoiding practicing my instruments is a hobby then goodness me, i'm winning at my hobbies, haha :')

pets?

yes !! a cat called adi and a few silkie bantam chickens !!

what sports do you play/have played?

i played netball for most of my primary school years, then i dabbled in volleyball for about a year when i was... twelve or thirteen(?), and during that same year i raced HPV trikes (Human Powered Vehicle, not Human PapillomaVirus) but i haven’t played any sports since :0

how tall are you?

soooo incredibly tall. like, suuuuper duper tall (lying)

favourite subject in school?

i know i keep banging on about it in every ask game i've been doing, but i'm really loving the research subject i'm doing at the moment !! although, maybe that's just because i'm researching ghost... apart from that, i'm not very good at it, but i adore biology :)

dream job?

i'm not sure... i've had a lot of ideas for my future dream job over the years but as i've gotten older, i can't picture one that seems to make me jump for joy just yet !! the medical field has always interested me, so i may end up going down that route if i'm able to, but i suppose we'll see what the future brings <3

goodness this took me a horrendously long time to get around to properly answering, i'm so sorry, shadow !! it was yet another case of the "i'll put it in my drafts for safe-keeping, so i don't forget" and then i immediately forgot 😅 i'm not quite sure who's done this tag game and who hasn't at this point buuut i'll tag @cirrus-ghoulette and @spoiledleaff !! but if you come across this and want to give it a shot, consider yourself tagged :)

[phioneplatinum]

"Never forget how far you've come. And don't try to bury the past."

- Ex, Puyo Tetris 2

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Welcome to the Leviathan's Den!

(remaking my pinned post because I feel like it!!)

Hiya! I'm Phione. I also go by other name's, such as AquariaPhione on Twitter, Aquamarine Aquarium, and Aqua! But most of the time I prefer Phione (pronounced like the Pokemon!), so please refer me with that name!

I go by She/Her pronouns and I'm also a lesbian! So if you dont like woke stuff like that, I kindly ask you to leave!

My main interests at the moment are Puyo Puyo, HarmoKnight, Pokemon, Touhou, Spiritfarer, and more! So if you see me around those tags, dont be afraid to say hi!

I also do a lot of art stuff here! I love drawing things I like, and I'm hoping I'll be able to make some money with my drawing skills when I need it! I have some OCs as well—I hope you share them the same love and appreciation with my fandom posts!

My main dream is to develop a video game with those OCs as well! I also hope that when the time comes, you'll share the same love that I do with them.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

DNI IF:

You're homophobic, or mainly just a jerk in general.

If you're mainly an NSFW person. I don't wanna be interacting with those kinda people--thank you!

If you're into AI Art. This one's pretty self explanatory since I'm an artist.

Shipping Jay/Elle. This ones more of a personal thing. I just don't want my reblogs to have "Jay x Elle" in there. I'm 99 percent sure most of the Puyo fandom can agree on this too.

Affiliated or are mutuals with a person called "JustVibin". This ones ALSO a personal thing, but personally I've had very bad experiences with Vibin, and personally I'd rather not be reminded of those experiences. I'm sorry!

Other basic DNI behavior! (ei: racists, proshippers)

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Thank you for reading through this!! If you wanna talk with me, go ahead!! I might take a bit to respond mostly cause I'm nervous to talking to new people, but you can send over a friend request on discord and I'll be happy to ramble about things! (aquamarineaquarium, though I'm very likely to change it to phioneplatinum soon, so if that's not working, thats probably why!)

I also have my own server in which I ramble about things every now and then, plus you can talk to other people!! (Gasp! Isnt that so cool? I bet it is.)

Anyways! Thanks for stopping by! Be sure to drink some water, and I hope you have a nice day!

[mindrole]

Question about reposting to Twitter (sorry if it's silly): by reposting you just mean stuff you post here, right? You're not going to change course and only post there and not here?

I wish I could give advice otherwise, but I don't use Twitter (which is why I'm asking this in the first place) also hope you recovered well from being sick!

i've been good and healthy! thanks for the well wishes!

when it comes to this i prefer posting on tumblr massively, so don't worry about me moving and setting up there as a main platform or whatever! its comfy here! i like the base of lurkers i've cultivated.

tbh it is mostly a "i wanna post art on twitter because the fanbase is largely over there" kind of ego thing. at first, i assumed i would be posting in parallel, but.. honestly tweeting should be a spur of the moment thing for me, and i have no sense for maintaining side accounts and accounts for specific subjects in particular (this blog in and of itself is a miracle). also i feel watched if i'm out of my element. i don't think it's possible for me to suddenly switch my main hub of cell series posting unless i somehow gained a group of people to bounce off of on a daily basis. i can't use twitter just to post mindlessly like i do here, i like to be chatty instead. at least on tumblr i entertain myself. idk what the difference is. i can use my own personal account just fine weirdly enough, but side accounts never tend to work out and i forget they exist quickly.

basically all i've been wondering from anyone who may know or may be interested in seeing it... the methodology of crossposting my art to twitter when its been a while.. tbh all i draw these days are doodles and stuff that's only funny to me so the mental block is a little strong. it's like "eh... it's not worth the effort.."

initially i intended on mirroring my longer text posts too, like on fusetter or something, but eh... ehhh.... i'll just keep it on tumblr... it's the same thing isn't it. so i'm only concerned with my art right now

also i feel kinda dumb tagging most of the art whenever i post it. but i also don't have much reach on twitter yet, so posting art without tagging it and having people follow until i build something up feels pointless. but also back to the point feeling dumb, i don't mind being seen at all, but i don't want anyone to scroll and go "what's this guy doing here" and such... idk why but it's probably mental illness. i just don't like to stand out in a way that makes me look like i'm trying too hard. but idk how to appear effortless (<-see i overthink too much, there's probably nothing of the sort going on)

but i want to at least semi-cultivate a habit of crossposting stuff even if it's not all of it!! idk if that makes sense.

ironically i think there is very little audience on tumblr compared to twitter for the corner/niche i've accidentally occupied (i.e. being obsessed with the interlude+com+characters that barely exist for some reason especially since i don't post about the main game that much anymore). also just in general i feel like my way of thinking is too strange. i can't fathom that people keep coming back to check over here. thank yew🥺🩷 (<-he was shot out back for this)

every day i am perplexed why this blog has people keeping watch on it, i feel very humbled and happy about it but i also scratch my head a little bit. it's very fun even if confusing. i like the level of interaction i have. so i'm not gonna switch over...!!! don't worry!!!

at the very least i have every intention continuing to archive my art in the poipiku attached to the twitter account... the twitter account itself however, is at a standstill, i have no idea what to do with it, which is why i'm doing the last ditch "phone-a-follower" effort

[rookflower]

ok, so. i drew every warrior cat! here's a long rambling sentimental reflective-type post on the blog i guess.

I started this blog when I was 15, in 2018. I was bored at a summer job, scribbled Onestar on the back of a sticker sheet, and thought "huh, there sure is a lot of Warrior Cats characters! I've seen some design blogs around, I think there's a "draw 100 cats challenge" people do, wouldn't it be fun if I gave that a try?" I had nothing going on art-wise at the moment, I was losing steam on my Pokemon webcomic and had given up askblogs a while ago, so I quickly fell into it.

Starting out was weird- I'd only read up to about Power of Three at the time, and hadn't read TPB or TNP in quite a while. I vivdly remember someone sending me a request to draw Tawnypelt about 20 cats in or so, and I genuinely couldn't remember who she even was. I think I got a request to draw Jagged Peak before I even knew DOTC existed? I wasn't working off of a specific list, and would miss certain cats out entirely due to forgetting them which frustrated me. Drawing cats was fun, and once I got to 100 eventually I found myself going "well, now what? I haven't even drawn Sorreltail, Nightstar, Appledusk, Spiderleg..." so, i kept going!

Then 2020 rolled around and lockdown hit, and I was suddenly stuck in my house with no plans, seemingly unlimited time, and a desperate need for some kind of outlet that offered escapism from the world.

Drawing Warrior Cats was something mundane and rhythmic but creative and enjoyable, and I found the aspect of looking at it as a challenge alluring, the same way I had when the goal was "100 random warrior cats". How far could I get before having to stop? I couldn't do over 1000 cats, right?

uh.

I could!

sunk cost fallacy or whatever, I guess?

Lot has changed in my life over the course of this. I started the challenge just after leaving high school, and now I'm headed into my third year of uni. Some family's moved around, we have a cat now, I started playing video games again, my bedroom's been revamped, I met some internet friends IRL for the first time, I'm more or less publicly out as gay, all different kinds of stuff. It's fucking wild to consider that one of the biggest constants in my life these past few years has been drawing goddamn warrior cats. I've had the Warriors wiki list of characters open on my computer basically forever, and finally closing it feels like a goodbye.

So what's happening with this blog? Well, I'm not upkeeping a daily queue anymore, that's for sure. There are some cats here I KNOW I'm going to want to go back and redesign at some point though, so this isn't over! Even if I'm less active here, for now, I'm not going anywhere. I'll probably also use this for any general warriors art/posts I want to make, as well as those "send me asks" request meme thingies. those are fun.

I'm hoping to be maybe more active on my youtube now, as well as just generally experimenting with my art more. One of the biggest downsides of spending 3 years drawing fullbody flatcolours of warrior cats and not that much else is that my improvement on every ground except cat anatomy and character design has become pretty fuckin stagnant lmao. I need to make art with backgrounds and shading and non-cat characters again or i think ill explode. time to get out of this comfort zone!!

speaking of, very lucky this thing ended right at the start of Artfight. I'm @/RioBlitzle there and I try to revenge back attacks! Will probably put my energy into that for a wee while.

@daily-mario-characters might come back,, eventually but I'm not promising anything, and if I haven't learned anything from running this blog you might see me on a "drawing every pokemon" streak in a few months. it is how it is.

Anyways, thank you all so much for your support. Massive shoutout to everyone who's ever left nice comments in the tags of my posts, I don't really have a way to respond but I read every one of those and please know that they absolutely make my day.

Thanks for sticking through this challenge with me!

[thera-daydreams]

PLUS ONE

》 A TRESE TWOSHOT 《

[Maliksi x Reader]

📝 Summary: In which your beloved best friend snatches you from your apartment at dawn asking you to be his plus one for his cousin's wedding. Unbeknownst to the clueless you, everything is just going according to Maliksi's ultimate masterplan. With the help of friends and family, the Prince of the Tikbalang finally gets the girl he's been longing for. And oh, Señor Armanaz gets his dream daughter-in-law and the promise of grandchildren within the year.

📌 Warning: May contain some slight NSFW for spicy suggestiveness and cussing. No smut or anything super SPG—this girl can't write that for her life—but just be prepared. It's Maliksi we're talking about. We've got friends-to-lovers, obliviousness, pining, fluff, and a tikbalang simp. Figure it out. 😃

(word count: 7,454) ♥︎ Part Two: ?

》 AUTHOR'S NOTE 《

Not an Inday spinoff, but a lengthy oneshot in celebration of this blog getting 90 followers. Just ten more to 100, yay! Thank you so much for the love and support, everyone. I also promised that I'll be making this brainrot that @binibiningbabaylan and I have fangirled over a few days ago (find the original post here) when I finished the latest chapter of Inday. Here it is! 🥰

Before I forget, I was also inspired by the cute fic made by @crispybasil titled "Sunshowers" and the "Trese Boys As Things My Guy Friends Do" made by the amazing @smolla-than-a-bug (I bow down to your wonderful works in the Trese fandom). I definitely see Maliksi to be the type to go on spontaneous roadtrips and be the boyfriend to drive you around eveeeerywhere (while also driving you crazy). 🚘

There are also some songs mentioned throughout this work. You should probably listen to them while reading for the full experience. Ending was somewhat rushed but eh, I'm too exhausted and I've rewritten it too many times. Also, if someone makes some actual tikbalang smut, tag me please. Anyways, enjoy! 💕

The way it all started was hilarious. Absolutely fucking hilarious. It happened like a blur. Literally. One second, you were snoozing in your bed. The next? You had a seatbelt on in the shotgun seat of a sophisticated-looking car. Your brain didn't even get to process it yet.

"... So let me get this straight," you grumbled, still half-asleep from your sleep marathon. You just finished a hugely successful project at work yesterday, got promoted, and wanted to make up for the restless nights you spent overtime in the office. Of course you were irritated from being disturbed. You were on vacation leave for two entire weeks, originally planning to go into temporary isolation by deactivating your social media accounts and reserving a beach cabana for yourself in Batangas.

Well, turns out, you weren't going to Batangas anytime soon. All because your unreasonably spontaneous bestfriend of ten hectic years stole you from your apartment at 2AM. Was this considered kidnapping? Was this him just being more in touch with his tikbalang side, taking unsuspecting women in their sleep and leading them to their inevitable death? (He was going over the speed limit, so it was a valid thought.) Will wearing your shirt inside-out save you today? Lord, masyado ka pang pagod para mag-isip ngayon.

"Go on."

"You abducted picked me up in the middle of the night because you want me to be your plus one at your cousin's wedding in Tagaytay?"

"Yup. And technically, the venue is right on the outskirts of Cavite going to Tagaytay," he corrected you as a matter-of-factly.

"Same thing, whatever," you huffed tiredly. "Your cousin's wedding is at 6AM today. In a few hours. In four hours."

"Uh-huh."

You groaned exasperatedly, "Mal naman, eh! You didn't even let me bring anything. Could've at least given me a heads-up a few hours ago. I'm practically emptyhanded right now save for my phone! Sinungaling ka, you said this was just a normal midnight drive—not a freaking wedding!"

The Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang, son of the Great Stallion, heir to the Armanaz herd, and the Top Drag Racer of C-5 Expressway—if that was even one of his Game of Thrones-like titles—grinned as he continued driving beside you. He let you continue ranting in the passenger seat while he mulled over his ultimate masterplan that would change his entire life later on. He was a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, so all this wasn't his thing. But for you? He'll make plans, alright.

"Wala man lang akong dinalang masusuot o kahit konting makeup para maging presentable sa harapan ng buong pamilya mo," you exclaimed, in absolute despair. "Do you know how out of my league you are? Your rich-ass family might judge me—hell, your dad might see me as a hampaslupa if I show up there in my pambahay and tsinelas!"

"Psh, I'm not out of your league," Maliksi waved it off, smoothly turning a corner. "And calm down. We've known each other for a decade! My dad practically loves you as his own daughter. Heck, the entire family knows you and keeps telling me they want you adopted in already. Lolo Andres and Lola Perlita said they'd have the paperwork settled. You just need to sign them."

It would be even better (and easier) if you married into the family. To him, specifically (as if he'd let anyone else have you). God, he was already being so obvious in his advances, but you were just so damn oblivious whenever it came to romance. None of this needed to happen if you just got it through your thick skull that he was madly in love with you.

"That's not the point, idiot!" you slumped back into your seat, hopeless. "Do you think the bride and the groom will get offended? Shit, baka masumpaan ako kung magagalit sila, Mal. Mukha akong patay galing sa South Cemetery."

The long-haired tikbalang rolled his eyes, "Huwag kang mag-alala. Nothing's going to go wrong. Chill ka lang diyan. I've got everything under control, babe."

Babe. Yes, he even called you babe but you thought it was him being a himbo and a massive flirt. Now, it was his common term of endearment for you, but you still assumed it was him just being irksome to you and that you couldn't stop the man from saying it anymore. Thus, you let it be (the most obvious hint of his attraction to you, bestie).

"... Ugh, why didn't you ask Hannah or Amie to go with you?"

He just smiled knowingly, shrugging and making up an excuse, "Nagmamadali ako, eh. Hannah and Amie are also coming, but they already have the other tikbalang as dates."

"'Luh, ako pala ang backup choice mo?"

"Heh. Whatever you want to think."

Little did you know that you were always his first choice. Always. Even when he pursued Alexandra Trese many years ago, trying to convince himself you were just his best friend, it was always you. How did he come to that realization? Well, an international band he was a fan of released a song a couple years ago and he heard it being played in a club in BGC. The song title?

It Was Always You by Maroon 5.

Needless to say, after hearing the song and being unable to get it—get you—out of his mind at night, he stopped courting Alexandra. Unfortunately for him, that time, you'd started dating other men. Therefore, he was left on the sidelines... until your latest and most painful breakup, at least. That was five years ago. You still hadn't dated anyone since then, kind of traumatized from getting into another failed relationship like that.

In the present day, as if the fates were playing on you two, one of your favorite artists played on the radio. A very ironic song given the situation you two were in.

Best Friend by Rex Orange County.

Maliksi knew it was a favorite of yours. He knew it by the way your eyes lit up like a star brightening the twinkling night sky. Like the sun first rising in the morning at Apolaki's command. Like the moon extending its gentle rays from the magic of Mayari herself. If there was anything he wanted to ask of the old gods, it was you—everything else be damned.

"I wanna be the one that makes your day, the one you think about as you lie awake," you half-sang and half-screamed happily, somewhat out-of-tune. "I can't wait to be your number oooooone! I'll be your biggest fan and you'll be mine—"

Maliksi glanced at you, not minding that his eardrums were probably getting microscopic ruptures from your aggressive singing. As much as he wanted to stare at you all day, he had to keep his eyes on the road. But the lyrics you were singing were wrong; the Prince of the Tikbalang was already yours from day one.

"Babe, McDo drive-through tayo for breakfast. Let me make it up to you. Gusto mo ng caramel sundae for your promotion gift? Sige. Ako bahala. Chicken nuggets din? Mabubusog ka ba niyan? I don't think they serve those this early..."

》》》

"Sandali lang!" you shouted out from inside an empty room. You'd just arrived at the venue—the Alta Veranda de Tibig in Silang, Cavite (practically the gateway to Tagaytay)—an hour or so ago. The hired makeup artist just left so that you could privately change into the outfit that had been bought specifically for you. Curse Mal and his ability to buy anything (perhaps anyone) he wanted. "Bwiset, Mal, you didn't tell me we'd be part of the damn entourage. We have to be walking the aisle in thirty minutes, simbako! You just love rushing me, don't you!?"

If only you were the one walking down the aisle today towards him.

When you exited the room, Maliksi couldn't help but let his jaw drop as he skimmed your figure, clad in the luxurious, silky satin blush midi dress he bought in one of those fancy stores in Makati yesterday. He imagined that it would look great on you, but now, seeing it on you in person... you looked divine (and frankly, he wanted to see it off your body to see what was underneath—but don't get too ahead of yourself, Mal). It was a whole 'nother level from his imagination. The deep cowl neckline and thin spaghetti straps showed your lovely collarbones... as well as a peek of your cleavage. His favorite and the best part of it all? It was backless, allowing him to gaze at the tempting curve of your spine.

He hadn't realized he had grown silent until you smiled and closed his mouth, tapping his chin.

"Lalangawin ang bibig mo, Mal," you laughed softly. Never had you seen him so speechless. You then flicked your hair back, ridiculously posing for him like you were on the cover of Vogue magazine (haba ng hair mo, gurl!). "Do I look that good? Char lang."

"... You look absolutely ravishing—I mean, uh, stunning. Hot. Yeah." That was all he could say. He mentally punched himself for not showering you with more suave compliments.

Still, your face brightened up, not knowing that the man in front of you just fell for you a thousand times harder, "Wow! Really? Damn. Ang galing talaga ng MUA na kinuha mo, ginawa akong artista. Give me their contact number later! May work event pa naman ako in two months. I'm shocked, it's like they made me rise from the dead! Even my eyebags are gone, Mal! How'd they do that?" Heck yeah, your confidence was boosted. He offered his arm to you like a gentleman, making you half-heartedly roll your eyes (you took it anyway). From holding it alone, you could tell that your best friend was a sinewy man (well, you knew that already after seeing his tikbalang form before—the little shit didn't even wear a loincloth like all his clanmates; your poor eyes were eternally scarred).

You looked him up and down. You wouldn't lie—Maliksi is and always has been an attractive man. Now? With his hair in a ponytail (pun not intended), definitely one of the hunkiest men you've ever known. "You're not looking too bad yourself, horsey."

"Ako pa!" He puffed his chest out in pride. You chuckled at his reaction.

"By the way, how do you even know my dress size and my shoe size?"

"Babe, I've known you too long. You know almost everything about me, I know everything about you."

You snorted at his confident tone, "'Di nga? You don't know every single thing about me, Mal. Assuming ka masyado."

"Alam ko nga anong cup size mo. Wala lang 'yang shoe and dress size."

You slapped his shoulder, cheeks quickly flushing red, "Huy, umayos ka! Walang hiyang tikbalang na 'to." With this guy as your best friend? You heard dirty jokes at least once a day. "Don't be inappropriate here!"

"What? It's only fair I know!" He looked down on you suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You already know I always go commando, so of course I know that your bra is a size—"

"Shhh! Baka marinig ka, 'nyeta."

"So? Let them hear. My best friend has a nice set of melons!" he shouted. You were grateful there was no one around. Hopefully.

"Oh my God..."

Your best friend chortled at how flustered you'd become. He led you to where some of his family was waiting, with a couple of his relatives already greeting you. You instantly and quite easily mingled with them, your worries of them not accepting you far from even true (they all knew how much their prince loved the innocent you).

"Kayo na talaga, pare?" one of his older tikbalang clanmates asked while you went away to be fawned over by his aunts.

Maliksi chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched you from afar, "Heh. Hindi pa."

Another one of his clanmates—a younger one—laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, "Talaga? That's cap, bro. You two are like a married couple already and you guys still aren't a thing?"

"Ilang taon na ba kayong magkakaibigan?" the older one asked him.

"Almost ten years," Maliksi responded, a smile unconsciously pulling his lips up as he remembered your moments together. He watched you converse with his female relatives (who adored you the moment Maliksi brought you to a family event many moons ago).

The two tikbalang snickered as they saw the look on the Great Stallion's heir.

"You're down bad," the younger one said, snapping a photo of his lovestruck kuya. "You've got it so bad for her, dudeparechong!"

"Balak mong ligawan anytime soon?" the older tikbalang inquired.

"Heh. Balak ko na ngang pakasalan. Kung pwede, ngayon."

They looked at Maliksi as if he was crazy. He was very much serious, though, even if there was a huge, lopsided smile on his face. The Prince of the Tikbalang raised a brow at them.

"What? Don't give me that look. Our ten years of being best friends is practically the courting and the dating stage already."

"Eh... you're right. Don't waste anymore time. Go and marry her today, dude. Suporta kami sa'yo, basta groomsmen kami sa kasal niyo, ha!"

"Ge. Without question."

Meanwhile, on your end with the ladies of the family, they started pestering you on your love life (like all typical Filipino aunties). Chismis everywhere.

"O, iha, single ka pa ba?"

"Kailan ka magpapakasal? Malapit ka nang pumasok sa thirties mo."

"Do you want kids? How many?"

"Are you and Maliksi a couple? You look good together! Kayo na, 'di ba?"

"Will you be getting married next? Are you engaged? When's the wedding? Invite niyo kami!"

Before you could get overwhelmed by their questions, Maliksi swept you off your feet to lead you to the entourage that was lining up outside the chapel area. Again, it happened like a blur. He laughed at the partially nauseated look on your face.

"You okay there?" he asked, grinning.

"Your family thinks we're together," you muttered quietly, not meeting his eyes. You weren't sure why you felt... tingly about their statements.

He tilted his head at you curiously, gently setting you down on your feet and helping you stand.

"Do you hate the idea?" It hurt him to ask you the question, but he wanted your thoughts on it. Perhaps doing this was a bad idea. Maliksi was competitive in many things, including wanting you to be his, but if you were so opposed to it, he would never force you into something you didn't want. He let go of your hand; you didn't even notice he'd been holding it until he let go. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Your wide-eyed gaze snapped back to look up at him, "No! No, it's not that! And... it's not bad." Your hand felt strangely empty now that his was gone. Biting your lip, you disclosed, "You're not making me uncomfortable, Mal. Don't ever think that."

With that, you shyly interlocked your arm with his, tearing your eyes from his to mask the growing warmth you felt spreading in your veins. You two didn't say anything else when the ushers let you walk down the beautiful, petal-covered aisle together.

The man beside you was starstruck. Hopeful. Maybe both of you did have a chance. Maybe somewhere in the depths of your soul, his feelings for you were being reciprocated. For the rest of the sacred ceremony in the gorgeous main pavilion, both of you relished in short, comfortable, and low conversations. He even cracked jokes every once in a while—really funny ones that made it challenging for you to you stifle your laughter.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride."

Maliksi fervently prayed to Bathala that he'd experience the same opportunity he was seeing with you someday. One day.

Even while the sun was brightly out, the sky began showering down light rain onto the land. You were in awe as you looked out the window.

"Hala, totoo nga pala! Tignan mo!" you laughed, tugging Maliksi's suit sleeve, pointing at the window.

"Na ano?" he curiously inquired, not understanding what you were referring to.

"Na kapag may tikbalang na kinakasal, umuulan habang may araw pa," you replied, eyes filled with childlike mirth and wonder. A rainbow had even begun to form by the clouds. "Look, it's magical! Ang ganda pala ng view dito kasama ang old Spanish architecture. Timeless na timeless. It's so pretty, 'no? Picture tayo 'maya, Mal."

Unlike you, it wasn't the sky outside that the prince was looking at. Amidst the loud cheers for the newlywed couple and the bubbles the guests were blowing, his vision could only focus on how magnificent you looked while being amazed. You were his best view. (Ed from 90-Day Fiancé, kabahan ka na, may katapat ka sa pickup line mo.)

》》》

"Smile for the picture!"

You giggled as Maliksi was dragged into a photo-op with the bridesmaids and the important older wedding sponsors a few feet away (funnily, he looked a little constipated around them). All of a sudden, when he was heading back to your direction, you were roughly pushed into the said man's arms. When you turned around, there was nothing (except maybe a gust of wind that came out of nowhere).

"Ooh, gotcha. Careful," the tikbalang steadied you, strong hands holding your biceps. "Natapilok ka?"

"... Huh, hindi naman," you wondered suspiciously, looking around. "I think someone pushed me? Parang tinulak ako... but wala namang tao."

"Weird. Maybe it was just the wind."

It actually was. Really. Maliksi knew for a fact that it was those two taong hangin who were spying on you from the corner, trying to pair you up. He gave them a thumbs-up while your back was turned in the opposite direction. Hannah and Amie returned the thumbs-up before vanishing. Suddenly, the two wedding photographers had moved on from the bridesmaids and were right beside you.

"What a lovely couple you two are!" she praised. Before you could correct her, she held up the black contraption she held towards you two. "Pose for the camera, lovelies!"

And so you did, the photographer guiding you two on what to do. Maliksi wrapped his arm around your waist and you leaned on his side, looking sidewards to the camera with one leg cocked in front of the other. Her assistant, who was holding a polaroid camera, printed out two photos for you.

"Thank you," you told him, taking the photos from his hands then flicking them rapidly to make the images develop. You and Mal were about to walk to the reception area when the photographer stopped you, handing the male beside you a business card.

"If you two need a photographer or a videographer for your wedding, call me," she signaled to both of you before running to another guest, bringing her assistant with her.

You gawked, "Mal, did you just hear what she said?"

"Loud and clear." A grin was on his face. He seemed very pleased at what he heard.

"... How can she even tell if someone is married or not?"

Maliksi's free hand took your left hand, tapping the ring finger, "Nothing here."

"Ooooooh. I get it now." Your brows creased. "Huh. This is like the fifth time today the people here have mistaken us for a couple."

Maliksi shrugged, teasing you, "Who knows? Baka may potential tayo, babe."

Before you could ask him what he meant, he was hurriedly towing you to the reception venue. While he was doing that, you stared at the now-developed polaroid photos you were holding. Huh. Maybe you two did look like a couple.

"Come on, they're serving some snacks at the welcome reception area. Peach pie and mango float-flavored. Paborito mo, babe."

》》》

The rest of the night went by without a hitch. You were actually enjoying the event—the host was great, the food was great, the music was great. Everything was great... that was, until the games.

"Alright! Now that the bride's garter has been removed, let's have the bouquet and garter toss... starting with the females!" the host announced. "Dear bride, please stay here in front. And all single ladies—and by single I mean ready to mingle and are not married—please rise and stand here on the dance floor. Let's play matchmaker tonight, everyone!"

"Uy, single ladies daw," Maliksi nudged your side. "Sign mo na 'yan." You snorted like a pig.

"Nope, ayokong madamay sa bouquet toss," you whisper-yelled at your best friend. "Do you know how embarrassing that is?! Besides, they won't notice if I don't join! Special tactic ko 'yan sa weddings: pretending I'm not single. Katabi naman kita."

More women came to the front, making you feel assured that you didn't need to participate. The host was about to say something, when the bride interrupted to whisper something into his ear.

"Hala, halaaa! Sabi ko all single ladies, pero may isang single lady na nagtatago pa!" he announced, making you freeze. Please don't let it be you. "What's her name, beloved bride?"

"Y/N L/N." You nearly spat out your champagne. You? Did they just call out your name? How did they know?

"Oh fuck," you cursed quietly.

"'Di ka makakatakas dito, babe," Maliksi jabbed, making you stand up. "Tinatawag ka na."

"Baka may ibang Y/N L/N dito," you resisted, attempting to sit back down. "I can't do this, Mal."

"'Sus, ikaw pa. And it's just a symbolic ceremony!" he encouraged, as if he didn't have any underlying intentions. "I doubt the bouquet will go to you anyway."

Sheesh, what a big fat liar you are, tikbalang prince.

You expressed your dissatisfaction with the situation, "Bwiset, fine. I'll just... dodge it. Or evade it. God, I swear..." You calmed down, confident. "I'm not going to worry. I've never caught the bouquet at my own friends' weddings anyway."

When you were at the dance floor, Maliksi snickered, seeing the bride—his cousin—wink at him. After all, he had thoroughly bribed her earlier.

《《《

"It's about time you settled down with someone, Mal," the bride commented while he slipped her the newest Hermés designer bag filled with a bunch of jewelry (plus some bills) two hours ago, right before the reception began and while you were in the restroom freshening up. "Hehehe, this is why you're my favorite cousin."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Of course. I'll make sure she participates. I'll also try to throw it in her direction."

"Good. Thanks."

"You better invite me to your beach wedding. I can tell how much you love her."

"Not a problem. I'll even make you a sponsor."

The bride stared at her bouquet, already practicing how she was going to throw it, "Tito's going to thank me so much for ensuring that he's going to get grandkids soon, hihi."

》》》

Back to the present, on the other end of the room, Maliksi saw a familiar duo give him a sign that they were ready. Bingo. Time to execute the most important part of his plan.

《《《

"I don't care how you do it," he told the two wind elementals after he bribed the bride. "I've already instructed the bride on what she should do, pero siguraduhin niyo lang talagang lumipad sa kanya ang bouquet."

"Mmhmm," Amie flipped her hair, a hand on her cocked hip. "And what do we get in return, oh great Señorito Armanaz?"

"Sagot ko bar-hopping niyo for one month."

The two girls pretended to think about it, making Maliksi roll his eyes. He had to pull out the big guns, huh?

"Fine. Magbibigay ako ng cash deposit plus pwede niyong gamitin ang black card ko for a one-week shopping spree in Ortigas." There. Bullseye. That's what they liked.

"Deal!" they exclaimed excitedly.

Hannah let a cool gust of wind enter one of the nearby windows, testing out how they're going to do this. "Ano pa bang pinaplano mo for Y/N mamaya?"

Maliksi hummed, "Basta."

》》》

You tried your best to hide within the densest part of the group of women. The bride seemed to have her eyes on you, weirdly enough, and she looked almost feral wanting to throw her flowers into someone's face.

That someone being you. Most likely.

"Target locked on," you saw her mouth move. She positioned herself like she was about to throw a football at someone (ahem, you). Holy shit, was she talking to you? Miss ma'am, it was a bouquet toss not a bouquet throw. The bride seemed to notice this, and once more regained her elegant composure.

"3, 2, 1," the host counted down. "Go!"

Surprisingly, the bouquet flew very high into the air (it was a wonder it didn't get tangled in the ceiling decor), but quite a distance away from you. You grinned, knowing it was too far to even touch you. Squeezing through the crowd of women eagerly awaiting the bouquet, you went to return to your assigned table.

Ah, what a wonderful evening.

Sike!

Something painfully landed right into your face, leaves and flowers getting into your hair and mouth.

... Wait, leaves and flowers?

Before you could comprehend it, the bouquet dropped right into your arms. What kind of ungodly, inhuman force allowed this to even happen?

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have our lucky girl for the night!" Everyone clapped, with some—those guests you knew—even cheering your name unbelievably loud. The host approached you, a glint in his eye which you couldn't understand. "Miss Y/N, kindly sit here while we await the lucky guy who catches the garter from the groom."

What just happened?

"All single gentlemen, please proceed to the dance floor. Remember, the man who gets the garter gets to slip it onto the lucky lady's leg later!"

Oh, God. You pinched the bridge of your nose. What you'd give to be back at home or to be in that resort in Batangas you'd planned on going to for a solo vacation.

"To make this even more exciting," the host stated, handing you a black blindfold. "Our lucky lady has to keep her eyes closed until her lucky man for the night captures the bride's garter! When the music plays, only then can she uncover her eyes."

See? Humiliating, just as you expected. Still, you wrapped the blindfold around your head (albeit hesitantly). You attempted to guess who it might be, thinking of all the tikbalang friends Maliksi had introduced to you back then whenever he invited you to his clan reunions.

"Groom, are you ready?" the host asked, microphone loud and clear.

"Ready na ready!"

"Single gentlemen, are you ready?!"

"Ready na ready! Awoo, awoo!" they loudly chorused, exactly mimicking Spartans about to engage in battle. You sweatdropped in the seat you were in. This was actually kind of scary. Maybe you felt a bit objectified.

"3, 2, 1, go!"

There was a brief moment of silence, which made you concerned. Ba't ang tahimik? Then, everyone erupted into roars and bravoes much louder than when you caught the bouquet—perhaps even louder by tenfold. What the heck was happening?!

The music played. Very raunchy, spicy, babymaking music. You expected it to be the typical Careless Whisper by George Michael or Pony by Ginuwine (corny songs which you could probably laugh at, at least), but no. Nuh-uh, this was probably worse. The DJ must be pretty young, the song of their choosing being a slowed, bass-boosted, sexier remix of Earned It by the Weeknd.

Ano 'to, bold? Fifty Shades of Grey? The hell was this?

Alright. This was embarrassing. Thank the heavens there were no children at this party. From the music alone and its implications, this was strictly for adults.

You removed your blindfold (that was okay now, right?) as the guests whistled playfully. You peeked one eye open reluctantly, then inwardly groaned. Oh, no. You should've expected it to be him of all people from how loud the reactions were. And all those yells from the crowd were from his family.

Son of a—

"Well, this has proven to be a very interesting arrangement!" the host proclaimed. "Our lucky man for tonight is none other than our great clan leader's heir, Maliksi Armanaz! Congratulations, sir! You get to slip the lacey little garter on Miss Y/N!"

The said very smug tikbalang stood a few feet away from the chair you were sitting on, smirking at you. His hair was no longer in that mesmerizing ponytail—instead, he'd tied it into a more sinfully attractive man-bun, loose strands framing his face and accentuating that sharp, angled jaw of his (say yes and thank you to Manny Jacinto's jawline, besties).

"Let's cheer him on in his new mission, everybody!" the host pushed. Was this that glint in his eye earlier? And was that a one thousand peso bill sticking out of his pocket?

The groomsmen, Mal's cousins and uncles whom you've met before, hollered words of encouragement to the tall man (who was, oddly enough, not one bit fazed). In fact, Maliksi seemed like he was famished as he stared you down.

You swallowed, feeling like you were going to get eaten (heh, say that again). Maliksi had shrugged off his dark suit blazer to the beat of the song (holy fuck, he also unclasped the suspenders attached to his pants right before your eyes—asdfghjkl). Were you prepared for this? No. Will you ever be prepared? No!

"Mr. Armanaz, before you begin," the host interrupted. "We have an additional challenge for you in this mission. Kaya mo ba? It was a request of the newlywed couple."

"What is it?"

"Use your teeth!" the bride and the groom cheerfully shouted, clapping with the other guests. Whatdidtheysaaaaay???

The cocky bastard didn't even hesitate, his smirk at you growing wider; those pearly whites of his on full display. Was it just you or were his canines a little sharper than usual?

"Anything for the newlyweds. Challenge accepted," he dashingly replied, winking at you. You sputtered indignantly. Pisteng yawa. Putangina. Putek. Pakshet. You swore you thought of every swear word in the book at that moment. What did that YouTube parody song about Filipino mythological creatures say again? About the tikbalang? Ah, yes. Half-macho dancer and half-stallion. Maybe the joke was true, especially when you saw what Maliksi did next.

He bit the shred of lace, loosening his necktie (bestie, you good there?), unbuttoning some top buttons, and rolling up the sleeves of his collared white undershirt up to his elbows (consequently showing off his toned, veiny forearms—those lucky bridesmaids behind him nearly fainted). Honestly, you felt like you were about to lose your mind from embarrassment. With how tantalizing your guy best friend was being? Let our response be: San Pedro, kunin mo na ako. Was he doing all this to tease you? To rile you up?

Because damn it all, it was working. In your ten years of knowing Maliksi Armanaz, withstanding all his daily dirty jokes and flirtatious attempts, never had you seen him like this. So... wolfish. Ravenous. Like he was a man that hadn't been fed in years.

He stalked closer towards you, falling to his knees in front of your legs. Your gown had a long slit that extended up to an inch or two below where your left leg began—your best friend was eyeing his target already, knowing where to place the garter. Normally, you would never even wear something as revealing as this gown. It just wasn't your type, but Maliksi was the one who bought this for you for this specific occasion, so you had no choice. It was this or your pantulog he stole you in just hours ago. At first, you were confident in the gown. Now? You felt too... naked.

Somehow, in the heat of it all, you'd muted out the noise of the venue. Maliksi teasingly lifted your foot up, fingertips slyly grazing the thin shoe straps around your left foot—his calculated touch leaving fire in its trail. Once the garter had been successfuly inserted past your high-heeled stilettos, the man kneeling in front of you kept his hands to himself. Despite the fact that now there was absolutely zero skin-to-skin contact between you and this man, your body felt hotter than it ever was before as he expertly slid the lacy bit of cloth up your ankle at an agonizingly slow pace.

Maliksi's warm eyes had turned dark, his pupils blown, a tinge of red in them—of his true beast—while he maintained striking eye contact with you, pulling the garter up your calf with his teeth. Smoothly tugging... tugging... tugging. Tangina, it was like he was undressing you with his eyes alone; like he was telepathically telling you to keep your eyes open.

To keep your eyes on him, where he was knelt inbetween your legs, his hands intentionally locked on his back. Did you ever imagine this? Him between your legs? Maybe. Once or twice. But you never thought about it seriously; Maliksi dated girls left and right in the past.

His lips... his lips were so close... so close to your leg that you could feel the heat of his breath along with the lace. Were you about to die? Perhaps you already did. Maybe you were in heaven. Up... up... up... snap!

Suddenly, he stopped, grinning up at you mischievously and letting the elastic bounce back to the skin of your left knee.

"I'm not going any further, don't worry, babe," he whispered, noting that your eyes had become misty and glazed over. Internally, he grew worried. "That's enough." Did he think it was from discomfort? From you being uncomfortable? Bitch, no. It was the exact opposite. You had never been this turned on in your entire life.

You felt like your soul had left your body at that moment. Did you just have a heart attack? Was your blood pressure okay? Before you or Maliksi could stand, however, someone bellowed from the wedding sponsor tables.

"Higher! That's an order!"

Fucking hell, it was Maliksi's father who shouted. He wasn't in the huge tikbalang form you'd normally meet him in, but he was still very intimidating in his humanoid form, commanding attention and subservience wherever he went. You could tell where Maliksi got it from.

Instantly, the other guests—already half-drunk and wanting the spirit of partying to continue on—joined in.

"Higher! Higher!"

The host cheered, "You heard Señor Armanaz! Higher!"

Maliksi gave you a questioning look. Even if it was his father who spoke up, he still wouldn't do anything you didn't want. Well, you two made it this far; there was no point in getting embarrassed now. You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding. You probably couldn't erase the redness on your skin with how much you'd blushed from this night. It was as if the heat was tattooed onto your skin.

"Go on, Mal," you whispered to him, bending your torso down closer to his face, eyes half-lidded from want. "Finish what you started, babe."

With those sultry bedroom eyes he'd never once seen you show him before—plus you turning the tables with that familiar term of endearment, how could he refuse? Like a switch had been flipped inside him, he immediately complied, taking the frilly scrap of stretchy lace between his teeth once more, moving it further up to your thighs until where your high slit ended—centimeters below the warming juncture between your legs.

Your legs felt wobbly... boneless, as you stood up from the chair, the fabric of your gown cascading over where the lace sat securely on your upper left thigh. The party was still going strong even after you two finished the garter wearing tradition.

"'Atta boy! That's my son!" Señor Armanaz blazoned, standing up and raising his glass for a toast. "Cheers to the newlywed couple! May they last forever!"

You guys weren't the newlyweds, but it did sure feel like it. If the clan leader was hyped up, everyone was hyped up. Heck, the groom and the bride didn't mind one bit what had just transpired on their dance floor. In all the chaos, Maliksi took you out of the reception area and somewhere quieter. More private.

You would need to have a serious, urgent talk with your boy best friend.

》》》

You two silently sat on a stone bench in a gazebo somewhere in the reserved venue for the wedding, trying to cool down and get yourselves back together (at this point, you needed ice from that steamy, half-scandalous event you just went through). Here, there was no one else except for the chirping of crickets, the lush trees surrounding the area, and the golden fairy lights strewn all over the roof. Awkwardness was something you'd expected after what just happened, but somehow, you still felt comfort in this man's presence. For the past thirty minutes, both of you just stayed still, lost in your thoughts and reflecting.

"Mal?" you finally spoke up.

"... Hmm?"

"Ano tayo?"

"Whatever you want us to be."

Your fingers instinctively reached out for his, just like they always did when you were anxious. Sensing this, he grasped your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Soothingly. He massaged the skin of your fingers, distracting you from your nervousness. It seemed like both nothing and everything changed between both of you. The gesture was the same, but so different at the same time.

"Mahal mo ako." It was not a question. It was a statement. A truth—one that you'd been too blind to see before. One that you only discovered while you stared into each other's eyes in that party not as best friends. You realized with a jolt in your heart what he really felt for you, and now, what you really felt for him. In those thirty minutes of silence, you knew. You just knew.

"Yes. I do."

"... Just as a best friend?" you probed.

"..."

Finally, you gazed into his eyes, previously so dark and full of hunger. Now? Just reluctant. Vulnerable. Open. Unsure of what to do next.

Seems like you had to be the one to take initiative tonight. Taking out your phone, you opened your music app and pressed play on a certain song. Ikaw at Ako by Johnoy Danao. You removed your heels (which were starting to blister your ankles and toes), then pulled him up to stand.

"Dance with me," you murmured, grabbing his arms to wrap them around your waist. He was stiff. Tense. What was he to do when the woman he's been pining after for so long let him hold her? All his gallantry and ability to romance disappeared out the window the moment you let him touch you so intimately.

You two weren't even waltzing. Just swaying. Slowly, you leaned your head on his broad chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"... I love you," Maliksi admitted in the middle of it all, feeling like he was dreaming. Your head on his chest kept him grounded to reality, however. "More than anything in the universe. I fell for you ever since you patched me up when you were nineteen and I was a reckless drag racer who didn't have a purpose in life. 'Nung dinala mo ako pabalik sa Armanaz Tower on the verge of death. Simula noon, ikaw lang."

"I realized that," you smiled, reminiscing the old memory. You were just a broke college student that time, coming back to your dorm from making your group thesis at a classmate's house. Imagine your panic when you found a half-man, half-horse bleeding out by some bushes on the way home at night. Despite your fear and your little money (only enough to feed you for the week), you went out of your way to buy a first-aid kit at the nearest 7/11. It was scary, but you managed to mend the creature's wounds by the side of the road. When he was finally able to speak, turning fully human (which you admit, freaked you out initially), you arduously carried him back to his address—to his father and his clan, even if you had classes the very next morning. Because of your heroic deed of saving their precious heir, the tikbalang clan had become indebted to you: a teenage girl on the verge of a mental academic breakdown, just making her way through the cruel adult world. How old of a memory that was, you thought, yet you still recalled it in perfect detail. "Just a while ago."

"Ah." He swayed you gently.

"Lahat ng ito, plano mo?"

"... Yes," Maliksi fessed up. "Except for this part where we're here dancing in this belvedere. Wala sa plano ko. Gusto ko sanang magconfess doon sa may fountain para sweet, pero..."

You lifted your head off his chest, smiling at him with one brow raised, "You know, between both of us, you're supposed to be the spontaneous one. Planning isn't usually your thing."

"I know. It's a failure, huh?" Maliksi sighed.

"Nah." You shook your head, then suddenly locked lips with him. It was so fast and surprising he didn't even get the chance to return your first kiss. For once, you caught him off guard. You pecked him on the lips again. "It's not a failure."

"Wha—"

"I'm sorry for making you wait, Maliksi. Ten years. We're twenty-nine now, and only tonight do I realize how blind I've been. We've been going around in circles, wasting so much time. Ayoko nang mag-aksaya ng oras," you whispered guiltily against his lips. How could you have been so blind? Andaming nasayang na taon. Making up your mind, you told him, "Yes. Sige, I accept. I'll be your plus one."

The tikbalang was flustered and baffled from the kiss, as well as your revelation, "... But, you already are?"

"No, silly. I meant that I'll be your plus one for life. For as long as you'll have me," you laughed, now processing that you were currently dancing barefoot with your boy best friend and had just kissed him in a wedding you didn't even plan on going to. The universe had a mysterious way of doing things. "Guess I'm the spontaneous one now, huh?"

Maliksi was tongue-tied. "Seryoso ka ba? Is... Is this a marriage proposal?"

"Whatever you want it to be," you echoed his words back to him. "Best friend, plus one, girlfriend, wife—mmpf!"

He kissed you so hard your lips bruised. After an impromptu makeout session which was definitely more in character for Maliksi, you both pulled away, panting heavily in search for air, still desperate for passion. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a sweet, featherlight Eskimo kiss.

"You're missing one more title."

"Hm? What do you mean, Mal?"

"Love of my life." He kissed you again, this time lifting you off your feet and spinning you around (his sneaky right hand was resting on your bum, too, giving it a tight squeeze). You know in the Princess Diaries where the main character's foot just... pops whenever the prince charming kissed her? Yeah, that happened to you on that humid summer night. This was right. You two were meant to be together. Everything was falling into place.

The bungalow you reserved for your Batangas vacation leave ended up being the site of your very eventful honeymoon with the Prince of the Tikbalang (with his libido, it wasn't that difficult to continue where you'd left off in the garter toss; that scrap of lace came off your leg the same way it went on). Actually, nauna pa ang honeymoon sa actual wedding (it was definitely spontaneous). Right after your confession in that alcove, you two went to Maliksi's father to ask for his blessing (which he gladly gave, cackling and saying that it took you long enough) before you guys went driving off to Batangas that night. You and Mal indeed had lots and lots of fun in that resort (I'll let you imagine the rest). More beautiful memories were made from that point on—this time, not just as best friends.

All that and your small, intimate wedding occurred in early April. Just when you thought that it'd be impossible to fulfill Maliksi's life goal of having a baby within the year (nine months of pregnancy meant that the earliest you'd give birth would be January next year), the impossible happened.

Exactly thirty-two weeks later, on New Year's Eve, the Armanaz herd welcomed one prince and two new princesses into the world. Triplets who were instantly adored by everyone in the clan.

Señor Armanaz had never been happier, and so were you and your husband. Your best friend. The love of your life. Your forever plus one.

Maybe being spontaneous wasn't so bad after all.

Taglist: @belladaises @binibiningbabaylan @4kodzuk3n @sparklingmallow @severuslovebot @holyshxtangel @marinac15 @space-flamingo @pippethealien @kashasenpai @disappointmentpastry @hornehlittleweeblet2 @seijohoe @monimiin @ibelievein2dmensupremacy @tinybonksharkcop @methehipster @banisuoh @genshin-idiot @lemonnie-kimmie

[lightsovermonaco]

Till Death Do Us Part: Chapter 12

Masterlist

This story would not be possible without @limp-wrist-max who inspired me to write this in the first place and @acollectionofficsandshit who helped me come up with the storyline and is the best beta a girl could ask for, thanks you two!

Word Count: 9.0k

"Learn how to drive, will you fuckface?"

"Tell that to yourself- ah! See, even that Williams is faster than you. Pick it up!"

Your laugh comes from between Pierre's spread knees. Out of the corner of his eye he sees you beam up at him, the book open on your lap momentarily forgotten. 

"You hush," Pierre says, focused on the split screen. You settle in with your back against the couch, feet tucked under you and your shoulder pressed to Pierre's knee. 

"Yes!" Charles jumps up, holding his controller triumphantly over his head. "P2 in a Ferrari. Beat that!"

"I hate this game," Pierre grumbles, crossing the like sixth in his AlphaTauri. He'd wanted the Mercedes, but you had laid eyes on the navy and white livery and fallen in love with it and as always, Pierre was unable to deny himself the chance to see you smile.

"Aw baby," you croon, reaching to pat his thigh, "you did just fine. Play again, it's fun to watch."

"Is it?" Pierre perks up, leaning over your shoulder to meet your eyes. You laugh, probably at the fact that he's currently upside down and looks like a fool, but whatever. "I'll buy you a sim setup if you wanna try it yourself. With a real wheel and pedals and stuff."

You shrug, "sure. I'll give it a try."

Pierre kisses your forehead and Charles mimics a gag. "Aren't you two the cutest couple on the face of the planet. Disgusting."

"So sorry that our happiness irks you so." Pierre grins up at his friend, who rolls his eyes that sparkle with flecks of gold. 

"Isn't it the winner that's supposed to get a kiss anyway?" Charles whines.

"I don't recall P2 being a win in the record books," you quip, attention rapt on your book. "Come talk to me when you're on the top step."

"That's enough of that." Pierre scowls at Charles, the gesture lacking the heat that floods through his chest.

"Oh stop it." You lean your head back, landing on the cushions so you can smile up at him. "You know I wouldn't."

Triumph comes in the form of Charles' cry of surprise when Pierre shoves him hard enough to throw him off balance. "Fuck you."

"Not after what happened last time," Charles points out, settling in to go another round on the playstation.

"Hey," you tug on his pant leg and Pierre's somber mood instantly dissolves. You crook a finger at him. "C'mere."

He leans down, face inches from yours. He studies the individual freckles and lines of your face, snagging on the slightly reddened lower lip tugged between your teeth. "Yeah?"

"If you win," you whisper, hand wandering over his inner thigh, "I'll give you a reward that's way better than a kiss."

"Can I get that in writing?" You grin and nod. "Text it to me so I have the evidence."

"Yes, baby. I will. Now pick the good car, not the pretty one."

"I call the Mercedes," Pierre promptly declares, ignoring Charles' squeaked protest and planting a kiss to your lips.

"You can pick the track, crybaby."

The weight of Charles' assessing stare is heavy on Pierre's neck. He ignores it, places the emotional price tag attached to such a gesture inside a chest and shoves it deep inside himself.

"Monza. Good luck, the Merc has shit downforce there."

Pierre enjoys the lazy shapes you draw on his calf while Charles goes through and adjusts the specific game settings. It strikes him then, how light he feels. Nothing dragging him down. Free as a bird, with you cuddled up at his feet and Charles playing a game. It almost feels… normal. Dangerously so.

The moment the virtual track appears on screen, Pierre forgets to be concerned about his happiness. He's focused entirely on the buttons beneath his thumbs, the five lights splashed across the top of the screen.

Pierre gets the jump off the line, like usual, and Charles swears under his breath. Pierre hangs on to the lead for a few laps, getting lost in the long straights and the tight chicanes thoroughly enough that your light poke to his leg startles him.

In the blink of an eye, Pierre goes from comfortably leading the race to staring at a crumpled red and white tire barrier. Charles laughs, passing the wreck in a blur of scarlet.

"I'm sorry," you say, "but your phone is going off. I don't know who it is, otherwise I'd answer it."

Pierre snatches the phone from you and immediately soothes the concern creasing your brow with a thumb.

"What do you want?" Pierre snaps, pissed that he'll have to hear about this from Charles forever.

"Oh I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Pierre's blood goes cold. He hits a button on the remote, the tv screen going black.

"What the fuck-"

Pierre holds a finger to his lips and puts the phone on speaker before setting it on the coffee table.

"Long time no talk," Pierre purrs, slipping into the familiar embrace of his darkness. "What can I do for you, Ramos? Finally come to your senses and decided to fuck off to Peru?"

"Absolutely not, dear friend. In fact, this is something of a courtesy call. I know how fond you are of the people you employ. How you tend to think of them as family, for some unfathomable reason." 

You look frantically between Pierre and Charles. Fear, unchecked and raw, turns your eyes to pools of molten liquid, their usual starscape of beauty reduced to ashen spheres of panic. Pierre stuffs down the instinct to lock all the doors, draw iron curtains over the windows, and tuck you close to his chest.

"Oi, out with it," Charles spits, "cut the shit. What did you do?" Pierre's gratuitous look is answered with a curt nod. Pierre's mind is buzzing a mile a minute. Having Charles there to take the lead, however briefly, gives him time to process.

"Hello there, little traitor. I suppose I should've known you weren't who you said you were, what with the shit intel you fed me for months, despite being a self proclaimed expert."

Pierre interrupts, "If this is just a social call-"

"I forget how impatient you can be, Gasly. Fine. I'll forgo the pomp and circumstance. My condolences about your mechanic. Joe, I think his name was?"

Ice coats Pierre's tongue.

"Shame," Ramos continues, false pity dripping from his lie-stained lips. "Terrible to see him wind up like everyone else you've admired."

"You fucker-" you snatch the phone, hold it close to your teary face. "You fucker! If you hurt him, I'll- I'll-"

Pierre gently pries the droning phone from your hand and snaps it shut. "Charles, call Soren. Go with him to check up on Joe. See if this carries any weight."

"You're just gonna sit here?" You ask, rounding on Pierre. "He was my friend. Your employee. He had a family somewhere, people who cared about him! And you wanna check and see how bad it is before you do anything?"

"Yes," Pierre says softly, evenly. "Because I don't know if this is a trap. Until someone I trust confirms that something is wrong, I'll treat what Ramos said as a lie."

"He could be dying-"

"Which is why Charles is taking the Lamborghini, so he can get there as fast as possible."

Your lip trembles and a tear spills down your cheek. Pierre is numb to the pain of losing family. He's lost enough over the years that all Ramos' words do is stir a vengeful fire inside him. You haven't lost someone, not like this. 

He remembers what it feels like, how hard it hits, like a truck traveling at highway speed. It knocks your legs out from under you, turns your brain to jello, and fills you with an indescribable hurt, almost as if your nerves can't discern the difference between physical danger and emotional agony.

Pierre looks at Charles, silently commands him to go. Then slides to the floor, murmuring assurances as he wraps your trembling frame in his arms and forces you to lean on him. With a gentle hand Pierre coaxes your head onto his shoulder, letting you cry.

"He- he d-didn't do anything," you get out eventually. "Joe never hurt anyone. He was innocent."

Pierre bites his tongue. Joe's name is inked in the Blood Daggers ledger. Technically, he's anything but innocent. Guilty by association. Your point is valid, though. By no means does Joe deserve to suffer such a fate as to die young, with a family states away counting on the salary he sent home each month.

"We don't know anything has actually happened. This could just be a ploy to catch me off guard."

An olive branch of false hope. Pierre knows, as sure as he was about Anthoine and Jules, that Joe was dead. It was probably messy, drawn out and designed to be a scene so horrific it would imprint itself in his memory and haunt him forever.

"I hope so," you whisper, clinging tight to Pierre. "Joe's… Joe is good. Always so happy and kind and he's so thoughtful."

"Why don't you tell me some of the things he taught you?"

You drag your sleeve across your nose. "What?"

Pierre tucks a stray bit of hair behind your ear. Your red-rimmed eyes are a direct stab to his heart. "Tell me what he taught you. I know you used to spend a lot of Sundays out in the garage. So what did he teach you?"

"Um," you sniff, eyebrows drawing together as you fight to dredge up memories. Pierre's tactic works; your crying has staved off as gears spin in your head. Pierre lets you think, your thick wool sweater aggravating the soft skin of his inner wrist as he rubs your back.

"He taught me how turbos work." You sigh, letting your head rest on Pierre's shoulder. He draws a blanket over you and you continue, "and a supercharger. Those aren't as fun though."

"I don't have any supercharged cars," Pierre points out.

"Mick does. He's got a Mazda with a Hellcat engine in it." You grimace. "I dunno why you'd rip out the classic rotary and replace it with an American V8, but whatever I guess."

"You and your rotaries," Pierre murmurs. "You like those unreliable things, don't you?"

*********

"Well yeah. They sound good."

Pierre tended to avoid funerals. The pollen from various flowers made his throat itch and his eyes water. People tended to mistake that for crying and offer their condolences and in some cases attempt to hug him. Despising pity and a desire to avoid physical contact with strangers generally resulted in Pierre skipping funerals, no matter how much he cared for the person.

When you asked him to come to Joe's, though, he had to. So he dug out the black button down and black silk tie with the embroidered floral print and put it on. 

He buttons the cuffs at his wrists before thinking better of it and rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. Joe liked tattoos, though he had none himself. He sat down with Pierre after each new one the latter received and wanted to know the nitty gritty details about the design. Half the time Pierre hadn't had an answer to give beyond "I liked it at the time," but that was always enough for the older man.

Pierre sighs. Grief is a finicky thing. Where once he felt nothing, suddenly he feels a wash of hurt, like a bullet ripped through his chest. He'd never hear Joe's bellowing laugh or be able to seek out his comforting advice about trivial matters. Pierre was one step closer to being alone.

Pierre blocks out the sickly sweet smell of roses as he re-emerges into the sea of people dressed in black. The only splashes of color come from Joe's wife and daughter, dressed in bright floral prints. Pierre can barely bring himself to murmur his condolences to them. Their red rimmed eyes and hollow smiles serve as reminders that their loss is borne upon his shoulders, a burden he will never be free of.

"Anything you need, just ask," Pierre tells his widow, squeezing her hand. "There's a Swiss account in your name that should be more than enough to set the two of you up somewhere far away from here. Soren said he gave you all the details. If there's anything you two need to be comfortable, anything at all, I want you to let me know, alright?"

The woman nods, lower lip trembling. "He thought of you as a son," she says quietly, accent thick and distorting the words. "He spoke very highly of you. Thank you for that."

Pierre nods, throat closing up. He turns to you, silently asking you to take him elsewhere. You're hurting worse than he is but you manage to find a semi secluded corner from which the two of you can observe as Joe's family read stories and offer prayers over his closed casket. Closed, because Ramos hadn't been kind to the man in his final moments. 

The aftermath of the service is no better. The car ride home is silent, you staring out the window while Pierre takes the curves slow.

Your morose mood drags him down with it. He ushers you upstairs to your shared room, dropping a kiss to your head before promising to come back in a couple hours. You simply nod and crawl under the covers, tv tuned to some mindless show that you don't have to dedicate any brainpower to.

Pierre's cadre waits for him in the larger of his offices. This one is intended to be the pharaoh's false tomb, its purpose to throw off any would-be adversaries into thinking they've uncovered his precious treasures.

Lavishly decorated in jewel tones of ruby and gold, the office is ten times as extravagant as the one hidden behind the freezer. It radiates wealth, from the expensive liquors held in crystal decanters lining a mirrored wall to the scent of Italian leather that permeates the air. His feet sink an inch into the Persian carpet, large enough to protect the original wood floor from the weight of the clawfoot oak table that serves as a conference center.

Nix and Soren, both dressed in sharp black suits, quietly debate the most effective way to pinpoint the location of Ramos' estate. Charles observes from his spot along the wall, brooding over the proceedings. So really, a regular day aside from the cloud that hangs over everyone's heads.

Pierre pulls up a chair, spins it around and sits on it backwards. "Fill me in."

Nix slides the blunt side of a knife over the pad of her thumb, repeats the plan they've come up with in the last half hour.

"There's at least three safe houses that we know of where he stores his product. Now, my thoughts are that we accidentally drop a cigarette in a puddle of gasoline that's accidentally been leaking on the sidewalk from the bike that's accidentally parked illegally. I've got a guy that swears up and down he can get it done with no ties to us. He doesn't even need to see a face, just wants the money. I can get him cash so there's absolutely no trail."

Pierre surveys the map of his city. Truth be told, he was ready to be done. Three counts of arson might be a bit extreme, but when dealing with a lunatic...

"You're positive this guy can be trusted?"

"Absolutely. I wouldn't suggest it otherwise."

Pierre chews on his thumbnail. He thrusts the three people in this room with his life. Their judgements are as good as fundamental truths. Jules had always led with his heart, not with his head- which turned out to be his fatal flaw. Balancing the inputs from both was the key; by now, Pierre had perfected it.

"Minimize casualties. But get it done." 

Nix's ponytail swings as she looks at each of them in turn. "So we all agree, then? We take him out at the knees, cripple his distribution, and then cut off the head."

Soren nods solemnly. "It's too merciful if you ask me, but yeah."

Charles holds up two fingers, "question. Is this supposed to be our retaliation for Ramos killing, effectively, a member of your family? Because I think it'll just piss him off more. I don't see how this is more than a papercut to him."

"It's the first step. We've got more planned, but we don't have time to enact it all at once. We still have threads to pull, people to interrogate." Soren shrugs, his folded arms accentuating his broad chest. "Scrambling his supply chain is the first of many dominos that must fall, little one."

Charles wisely keeps his damned mouth shut and doesn't rise to the taunt. Pierre gives him the space of a few heartbeats to assert any further qualms with their plan.

Pierre then turns to Nix, "You've gone awfully quiet. Regretting your suggestion already?"

Nix shakes herself like she's trying to rid herself of a bad dream. "Nothing more to add, boss. I can get out tonight and kick some rocks, stir up some dissent in the Wolf Suns so Ramos might think twice about us being the source. I've got an idea of where his sister might be, too."

"I want you following that lead," Pierre says, smoothing a wrinkle from his black tie. "And I want-"

All eyes lock on the store room door as it creaks open. You poke your head in, bleary eyed. Fresh tears stain your reddened cheeks.

Pierre's heart sinks to his feet. He's soft, so incredibly, vulnerably soft for you. He wants nothing more than to smash his fist into Ramos's face for making you hurt like this. But he can't, not when that damned man is slipperier than a fucking fish. 

"Hey," Pierre says quietly, cautiously, like speaking in a normal tone might spook you into turning tail. "C'mere."

Your bare feet move soundlessly as you shuffle into his waiting arms. His fingertips catch in the black lace of your dress as he rubs a soothing hand over your back.

"I miss him," you murmur, pulling away far enough to stare at the picture crumpled in your fist. One Pierre had actually managed to take last year of Joe laughing his ass off and you standing inside the vacant engine bay of the NSX. Wires and hoses hang loose about your legs, but your face made the whole scene that much better. You grip an imaginary wheel, face set in determination as you fly around a corner in your mind. Pierre had walked out at just the right time and known he had to capture the moment.

"It's been a long day."

Pierre glances up at Charles, surprised that the Monegasque spoke at all. Never one for comforting words, he preferred to stay silent when others were going through a crisis. Silent, or just fucking leave and abandon the other to their own devices.

Pierre fixes Charles with a threatening glare when he tries to approach, years worth of pent up emotion bubbling to the surface. You are Pierre's to protect and soothe, not Charles'. 

Charles purses his lips, stuffs his hands in his pockets and retreats to the opposite wall. Pierre tucks you a little closer. He expected push back, for Charles to insist. The old Charles would have. Backing down without a fight was unheard of when it came to Charles getting what he wanted.

Maybe he was finally learning when to let go. Maybe he had learned to prioritize, to pick his battles. Maybe having him around wouldn't be as much of a headache as Pierre expected it to be, if he was now falling into line.

"I'm gonna meet Mariah downtown," you mumble, breath warming Pierre's chest. "She's gonna show me this new lunch spot she found."

Alarms blare in his head, flashing red lights and all. Letting you out of his sight is the opposite of what he wants right now. His flank is exposed, his core team hunkered down at the estate, with little to no field support in the city should something go wrong.

Pierre knows that he can't say no, either. Not when you're already so drained. And Mariah is a smart girl; the likelihood of her dragging you into a dangerous situation is slim to none. 

Pierre waves a hand at Nix who immediately resumes the previous conversation, occupying the two others in the room and granting you some semblance of privacy. Against his better judgement, he forces his lips to move, "You want me to come with you?"

You shake your head. "I probably won't get out of the car anyway. It's just something to get me out of the house."

Pierre drops a kiss to the top of your head, glad for that slight reassurance. "Alright. Take the Type R so I can have some peace of mind at least."

"Okay." You move like a ghost, slipping out of Pierre's embrace and padding silently out the door. You're a shadow of yourself. Pierre would do anything to make it right, up to and including letting you go off on your own for a few hours. If you needed space, he'd give it.

He doesn't realize the quiet that settles over the room until Nix breaches it. "You want me to go after her, right?"

Pierre shakes his head. "Honestly Nix, I'd rather have you on surveillance. I don't expect her to be gone long. Most likely she'll cancel on her friend and go for a drive through the twisties." It's what he would do. A long, hard drive sounds appealing after the week he's had. That, followed by a few shots of whiskey when he returned home before falling into a sleep so deep and lengthy it might be mistaken for a coma.

"I can at least tail her on my way to the club," says Nix, crossing her arms. "She shouldn't be completely alone."

Nix's insistence is the straw that breaks the camel's back. All the stress comes to a head and the bubble bursts without warning, flooding Pierre with an unrelenting wave of frustration.

Pierre throws up his hands. "Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want. I'm just the boss, right? My orders should always be taken with a grain of salt."

Her blue eyes harden to chips of ice. "That's not at all what I meant."

"Fuck off, Nix. Do what you want but don't come back empty handed."

The knife in Nix's hand suddenly finds itself buried in the wall not an inch from Pierre's head. No one dares breathe. Pierre doesn't look up from the papers splayed across the table.

"I didn't realize my second had the temper of a child." A drop of scarlet blood splashes to the page, leaking from the shell of his ear.

"We're all hurt, Pierre," Nix starts, something akin to hatred in her voice. "That doesn't give you the right to be an ass." Her raven curls bob in the edge of his vision. The door slams hard enough to rattle the glasses behind the bar.

Soren sucks in a breath. "I'll take that as my cue to get the fuck out. I'll fill the rest of the club in on what's happened and make sure they're keeping an eye out."

Pierre dismisses his third with a grunt and a flick of his hand. He blinks away his blurring vision in favor of pouring himself a tall glass of whatever alcohol the closest bottle contains. He downs the contents in one swallow and slams the glass to the bartop.

Charles' hand rests between Pierre's shoulder blades. Throat burning, Pierre meets Charles' gaze in the mirror. He hates this part. He'll say that Pierre's being fucking stupid. Pierre will defend himself, probably piss Charles off in the process. No one will go to sleep happy.

Charles' thumb traces a path along his spine, simultaneously hot and cold. "You might’ve been a little harsh, calamar. I get that you can't be soft around them, but you can let them see that you're human."

Human is not how Pierre chooses to describe himself. He had extricated his basest human elements years ago with surgical precision, leaving behind only what was absolutely necessary to survive. Things like compassion and vulnerability served no purpose to him when he was building an empire. 

It's taken a concentrated effort on his end to relearn those things for your sake. When it came to business though, he still operated the same. Switched off that part of his brain that he might, on a good day, describe as something humanlike and become someone entirely different.

"If you let people in, let me in, I might be able to help."

"No." Pierre shrugs off Charles' touch and rounds on him. "Because if I do, who fucking knows what they might try to take from me? I trust them, I let them in my home, give them the means to live a lavish life- and in the end it always comes back to bite me in the ass."

"How exactly does that relate to anything I said?"

"I don't know, okay? I just- I can't-" Pierre's frustration personifies itself as a disgruntled, strangled sound, followed closely by the glass in his hand being hurtled at the opposite wall. The crystal shatters, the thick base leaving a hefty dent in the drywall. Shards litter the ground like some sort of fucked up reflection of the chandelier hanging above. 

Charles wraps an arm around Pierre's waist. With the weight of the day bearing down on him, forcing him face first into the dirt, the fight is sapped out of him. Pierre leans into it, letting Charles engulf him in a hug. The other man leeches the overbearing warmth from Pierre's bones, calming his boiling blood.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend nothing changed. He can skip over the years of pain and longing and cement himself firmly in the present. Charles' lips graze his neck and Pierre sighs heavy through his nose.

"At least your shitty blond dye job isn't for nothing," Charles mumbles. "Those people that you consider assets? Pretty sure they're not going anywhere. And I don't think any of them would ever dream of betraying you."

Pierre fingers the coarse strands of his hair. He'd dyed it a month or so ago, just some off the shelf kit from the corner store, because you'd wanted to see what it would look like. He thought it tolerable, but you downright loved it. You couldn't keep your hands off him the first couple of days, and each time he put the slightest effort into styling it even weeks later, you'd drag him off to a dark corner the first chance you got.

Once this color grew out, he'd get it professionally lightened just to see the surprise on your face when you saw.

After one last wistful moment, Pierre peels off Charles' arms. "You said as much once." Pierre stoops down to carefully collect the shattered glass. "And then you did. Betray me."

Charles sets a trash can at Pierre's side. "Yeah, I did. And I've spent the past month groveling at your feet to make up for it."

Pierre dumps the shards in the can and wipes a bead of blood on his pants. "Fine, you win." His knees pop as he stands like an arthritic old man. "Call them both and tell them to get their asses back here so we can figure out what angle to cripple Ramos from."

Charles' grin splits his face. He reaches up to ruffle Pierre's hair, "that's the spirit. A little carnage never hurt anyone."

**********

Sometimes caller ID is unnecessary. Like now, when Pierre's phone rings and three of the four people alive that he cares for stand in a half circle around him. He answers automatically, because there's only one possibility as to who is on the other end.

"How was your afternoon with Mariah?"

"I'm being followed."

Pierre goes rigid. A single glance about the space has him categorizing the usefulness of all potential weapons, ranking their effectiveness in a fight should he have to grab and go. The handgun hidden in the false bottom top right cabinet drawer is the most obvious choice. 

He shoves the phone between his shoulder and ear. "Where are you." the words ring flat, all eyes on him as he shoves the pistol in the small of his back. "Where, baby? Talk to me."

"Um, somewhere in the east part of the city? I might be lost."

His head is spinning. He can't think, can't come up with a single coherent thought outside of 'find her. Bring her home. Cut down anyone who gets in my way.' His temper reaches its flashpoint, burning so hot that merely acknowledging the white-blue flame singes the hair on his arms.

Now, Pierre mouths to Soren, signaling with a twirl of his wrist for him to gear up. Charles silently follows Soren, grabbing whatever weapons he can find.

"I'll take the bike," Charles murmurs, barely loud enough for Pierre to catch.

"That's fine." The words are spoken to you, but intended for Charles too.  In truth, Charles might have said ‘I’ve grown cat ears and a hot pink tail’ and Pierre wouldn’t have known the difference. "Tell me what you see."

"I see, uh... the bridge? I think- only part of it though.” The rumble of your exhaust is audible through the phone. Pierre counts the gear shifts, trying to determine your speed. "I'm in the city but I got turned around, I was trying to get to the Paragon but I fucked up."

Pierre's worst fear is unfolding. He forces himself into a false calm, disguises the fear as a target to be annihilated. If he lets one bit of concern paint his words, one hint of unease coat his tongue, you'd latch on to it and lose it. His one and only goal is to bring you home safe and in one piece.

Covering the phone, Pierre tells Nix, "I want their heads on fucking platters. Bring the Widower."

Nix licks her lips, pushes up her sleeves. She throws her shoulder against a hidden panel in the wall, a rack of glossy, long-barreled rifles rolling on silent casters. She selects the longest of the bunch, her favorite- the one she had multiples of hidden in attics and beneath floorboards in every hideout in the city.

"Pierre?"

"Amour, what street? Give me a street. Help me find you."

Your adrenaline manifests in the form of word vomit, "I went in a circle like you taught me, four right turns, and they're still there. I’m trying not to act suspicious but I don’t know if it’s working. I was on my way home and I noticed them-"

"Okay baby. That was really smart but don't do it again or they'll know you're onto them and it could go bad fast." Pierre picks his suit coat off the coat rack, double checking that it’s the one with the sewn in kevlar. It wouldn’t stop a rifle round, but it’s intended to be a last line of defense.

And for what he has planned, the havoc he intends to wreak on that godforsaken stretch of faded highway, he'd take what he could get.

Soren tails Pierre to the garage, his shoulder length hair tied back so as to not get in his way. "Open the console in the middle, my love. Smack it hard with your palm and the bottom should pop out."

Regardless of where you are, if Pierre pushes the limit he can reach you in under an hour. If you continue to move towards him, that further reduces the time.

Pierre points Soren and Nix to the matte gray Lamborghini collecting dust at the far end of the garage. The overhead door behind it is wide open. A midnight black motorcycle idles outside, its rider clad in a dark jacket and a helmet with a tinted visor.

A humble army of three formed at Pierre’s behest. The two men and one woman under his command ready and willing to give their lives for you, to sacrifice themselves to ensure you make it home.

Your muttered curse brings him back to himself. "I've got it. It's heavier than I'm used to but I can use it if I have to."

"Keep driving, okay? Don't stop. It's heavier because it's fully loaded, not half like I usually have you use at the range. We're coming, baby. Can you make it back to the bridge?"

Maybe it's the fact that you know Pierre is on his way, or maybe your initial shock has worn off, but there's an edge to your reply, "yeah. I'm about to cross it. Should I just keep heading home?"

Pierre starts the blood red NSX and tosses his phone to the passenger seat once the Bluetooth connects. "I’m coming. Keep heading home."

Home, towards Pierre, closer to where he can protect you, further from the man who seeks to ensnare you. Fire burns his lungs, exhaling steam and smoke with each breath. 

"Don't stop for any lights or take any turns off the main highway. Try to stay close to other cars if you can. I don’t think they’ll try anything with witnesses but you use that gun if you need to, understand?" Two sets of headlights shine in his mirrors, one bobbing and weaving down the drive while the other remains stoically straight. 

The unmistakable sound of a slide being racked on the other end of the line grants him the slightest reprieve. "I understand. I'm assuming there's more clips?"

"Two mounted under your seat, just in case." Pierre hadn't told you. He pulled an all nighter when you brought the Type R home, outfitting it with a hidden arsenal should you ever find yourself in a situation such as this. Call it paranoia, but he was glad he opted to be safe rather than sorry.

"You thought of everything, didn't you?"

Pierre rows through the gears, each shift mechanically smooth. Yes, he had thought of everything. He refused to let you succumb to the same curse as everything else he loved.

His heart urges him faster. Encourages him to hang the back end of the car out an inch further around the bends. Calculates how to shave off tenths of a second and close the gap between its soul mate in as little time as possible. 

"So, what? Ten minutes until we meet in the middle?"

A flame twin to his own licks along your voice, each word a red hot nail driven into Ramos' casket. Now that you know you're not alone, you're capable of tearing down a legion. This is why he loves you- your heart is fit for a giant but you don't let anything scare you. 

"Something like that. Stay on the phone. Tell me what the car looks like." You're the only thing keeping him on the ground. If you stop talking, his vision will go black and he'll lose himself in it.

"There might be two. Now that there's less traffic I've noticed two. One is a black Mercedes, I think? Based on the headlights, yeah, Mercedes. And the other is too far back for me to tell but it's blue. Like a dark blue, close to the sapphire you bought me on our anniversary."

A distinct pair then, one that he didn't have to worry about mistaking for regular traffic. You as good as paint a target on their backs with that description, simple as it is. "How fast are you going?"

"Just a couple over the speed limit."

Pierre does the mental math. His nostrils flare and he tightens his grip on the wheel. You’re farther than he’d expected, travelling slower than anticipated. But fine, it'll work. "You know that little overlook I took you to a while ago to watch the sunrise?"

"Of course. You fucked up dinner the night before and that was your apology for the burnt steaks." 

He hums in agreement. Pierre's heart seems dead set on fighting its way out of his ribcage. "That's where I'll meet you. You should reach it in fifteen or so minutes. How far behind you are they?"

"Mmm," you start, calculating the distance. "Fifteen or so car lengths."

"Good. Once you see me, you do not stop. You keep moving. I'll take care of them."

"Yeah, I can do that." 

The very idea of someone having the balls to follow you, probably with the intent of hurting you, pushes his head under a raging red sea. Now that it's unfolding before his eyes, he's drowning in it. Vision tinted a watery crimson by more than just the taillights of each car he passes, inching the pedal to the floor. Engine screaming like it knows a single second could be the difference between life and death, between relief and fatal error.

Pierre nearly misses the turn out. Slamming on his brakes at the last second, he leads his ramshackle army onto his chosen battleground.

"Sweetheart," Pierre starts, finger hovering over the engine off button, "I've gotta go now. Are you okay? How far are you?"

"A couple minutes. Be careful, baby. Come home to me in one piece."

Pierre smiles to himself. "Have I ever not?"

"No. Don't change that now. I'll see you at home."

He pours the last drops of his soul into his next words, "Je t'aime."

The phone call ends when he cuts the engine. A heavy thunk on his roof seconds later nearly makes him jump.

A small, brown palm smacks the tinted glass beside his head. "I'm set."

Pierre climbs out but doesn't shut the door. Considering that its lead lined, it'll offer more protection than the lining of his suit coat. Pierre lays a hand on Nix's shoulder, careful not to disturb her as she adjusts the dials on the scope of her rifle.

Soren parked the Lamborghini at an angle, providing a further barrier between the NSX and the threat quickly barreling towards them. The visor on Charles' helmet is flipped up and he's trading tactics with Soren, the details of which Pierre can't hear over the buzzing in his ears.

Headlights dip over the horizon and Pierre goes rigid. His knee hits the dirt, pistol drawn, finger hovering over the trigger… just for a mini van to pass.

Pierre swears. Combined with the humidity, the hand he drags through his hair leaves the blond strands sticking up in all directions. Heart racing, he begins to pace. Dust coats the hem of his black pants, sneaks into the crevices of his Italian leather shoes.

More headlights crest over the watery dark and Pierre pauses. Three sets, one a fair distance ahead of the others.

"How many you want left standing, boss?" Nix asks, concentration split between tracking her quarry in her scope and heeding upcoming his order.

Pierre’s skin is drawn tight over his bones. His finger hovers over the trigger of the pistol tapping his thigh. He tastes metal on his tongue, becomes aware of the lightning in his veins. 

He welcomes the familiar beast stirring within him. It scents the adrenaline, recognizes the markings of the impending battle and the bodies it promises to produce. It greedily inhales the scraps of fear Pierre feeds it, lifts it's spotted maw and roars.

It demands blood. Pierre intends to feed it until it's drunk on it.

"I only need one."

"Oh, let the fun begin." The smile is evident in Nix's voice. Charles has ripped off his helmet and joined Pierre behind the shield of the NSX's door, gun drawn.

"Take them."

A baby blue blob rounds the corner. One, two, downshifts and the exhaust of your Type R sings, your driving kicking into overdrive once you spot your family camped out. The last bit of adrenaline in his blood demands repentance as two cars, one navy and one night black, round the curve seconds later.

**********

Dirty work is usually best left to his lackeys. Personal matters though, Pierre deals with himself. Which is how he finds himself sweating in a six foot hole in the middle of an orange desert beneath a half full moon.

When faced with death, most men beg for a few extra seconds. They barter with whatever measly earthly possessions they have, some going as far as offering their families in exchange for a chance to escape. 

"Mate."

Pierre frowns up at Soren. He crouches at the edge of the grave, the moonlight at his back making it impossible to discern his expression. "What?"

"Go home. She's called me asking where you are, since you didn't have the smarts to charge your phone."

"Did she sound worried?"

"She'll be fine, mate. You aren't gonna leave before the job's done, are you?" Charles jumps down to join Pierre, hopping when he lands and crashing into Pierre's sweat-stained back. "I'll help you dig."

Pierre is far too tired to follow through on the urge to punch Charles. He glances between his friend and his third, waiting for an answer. Soren shifts on his feet to say, "I think you should go home. Don't kill me for saying that."

"Finish what you've started." Charles' murmur sounds half like a warning. Like if Pierre doesn't stay, doesn't see this bit through, it'll change… something.

"No. I should've gone home right away." Pierre hands his shovel to Charles, who's face sours.

"Run home to mommy." Pierre grips Soren's hand and hauls himself up. "You're just giving Ramos the satisfaction of knowing that he's rattled you. He's smarter than you think, he'll know you went home to her as soon as you got the chance!"

Pierre whirls on Charles. The man scowls right back at him, the challenge clear in his green eyes. Cruel as it is to string Charles along, to not sit down with him and stomp out his hope that Pierre might still harbor romantic thoughts for him, Pierre needs this anger. He needs Charles to stay fiery. More than once his uncorked anger coupled with his ability to charm the pants off a nun has gotten them out of sticky situations.

But fuck if Pierre isn't inclined to jump back in that grave and throttle Charles until his mouth is incapable of fouling your name any further.

"You've got issues man." Pierre is immensely grateful for Soren at that moment, because his comment saves him from doing just that. "Go home," Soren says. "I'll keep an eye on dipshit."

Charles spits at his feet. "Fuck you, Soren."

"If his attitude doesn't improve, leave his ass here. He can walk home, through miles of empty desert." Pierre scowls at Charles, who returns the look with equal animosity. Their battle is silent, one of wills instead of blades.

In the end, Pierre wins. Charles looks away first. 

Pierre keeps the radio off on his drive home. Charles flip flopping between supporting his decisions about the club and bashing his choices about you was beginning to wear him thin. He was damn near ready to give in to Charles, to let him take over his life, if only for five minutes of peace.

Why hadn't Pierre run to you the second it was clear Nix and Soren had the situation under control? Because Charles had insisted he stay. 

Pierre parks out front in his usual spot. He slips his ring back on his pinky finger. Movement on the porch catches his eye. Instinct has him reaching for a gun before he realizes it's you.

Keeping his movements slow, he crouches in front of you. Your head rests in one palm, your phone clutched in the other. 

Pierre's fingertips alight under your jaw, exerting slight pressure until you tip your head up. "Ma cherie." The endearment stirs nothing in you. Your eyes are semi vacant, like your consciousness is far removed from your body. His thumb brushes along your cheek, running through the scenarios of how this might go.

The best conclusion seems to be to simply coax you to your feet. "Are you hurt?" He asks softly, holding you at arms length to examine you for any sort of physical distress. The dress you're wearing isn't one he recognizes, but that's neither here nor there. First and foremost he needs to know if you're harmed because if you are… "hell breaking loose" wouldn't begin to cover it.

You shake your head. "'M okay."

Pierre wraps you in a gentle hug and presses his lips to your temple. His heart's rapid rhythm begins to calm. His eyes slide shut and he breathes you in, granting himself a minute to remember how to speak.

The first words he's capable of muttering are an apology. You don't say anything, just stand there clutching his shirt, your hot cheek pressed to his chest. Pierre holds you like you're made of glass, like if he puts too much pressure on one area you'll crack.

"I don't know how they found me so quickly." Your chin digs into his sternum when you look up at him. "They were on me the second I was in the city. Like they knew I'd be there."

Coincidences don't exist in the world of organized crime. Pierre accepted that fact a few months into his rise.

"Where did you get that dress." The question comes out flatter than he intended. 

"You left it for me. It was in a box on our bed when I went upstairs-"

"Baby, I didn't buy that."

"Yes you did." 

Pierre shakes his head.

"Then…" Your brows come together for a split second before realization washes over you. "Oh, fuck."

"Off. Right now." Pierre nearly rips the buttons from his shirt in his rush to get it off. He tosses it around your shoulders and covers your front while you shimmy out of the dress. You hand it to him and he immediately turns it inside out.

"Fucking hell," he breathes, wiggling a small metal device from in-between the folds of the tag. He holds it up to the light, mouth going dry.

Ramos had upped his game. Who knew what this little device had picked up on. He had to assume it had a microphone, probably not a camera though- he damn near crushes the thing at the thought.

Pierre needed to start thinking like the enemy. It was time for him to abandon the rulebook and start playing dirty. Nothing was off limits. Nothing too sacred. Pierre would rip Ramos down to his foundations and wipe out anything that remained.

Pierre crumples the fabric into a wrinkled ball. "I'm fucking burning this."

"I'll light the fucking match." 

Pierre's eyes soften when he notices the hard set of your shoulders. He grabs your wrist and tugs you to his chest. The cool desert night has you shaking like a leaf, dressed as you are now in nothing but his shirt.

"Come inside with me," he says quietly, taking your hand. Clutching your borrowed shirt at your throat you let him lead you inside. "Have you seen Mick?"

"Oh, that blond kid?" You jerk your chin towards the dining room, where a few guys sit and hash out some sort of game plan. Based on the presence of Sebastian, Pierre's head of security now that Soren had officially been promoted to third, he guessed he was giving them all a well deserved verbal lashing. 

Too much shit continued to slip through the cracks for it to go unpunished.

Pierre calls for the young German boy and his head snaps up. Sebastian dismisses him with a waved hand and launches right back into his speech. Mick, eager as ever, jogs over and dutifully ignores your half-dressed frame. 

"What can I do for you sir?"

"Take this to Soren at the Paragon." Pierre drops the bug in the boy's outstretched palm. "I want to know who made it."

Mick tucks the device in the interior pocket of his suit coat. "Yes sir, I will-"

"Where were you this afternoon, Mick?" Your voice rings through the entry, clinical and cold. Pierre purses his lips but doesn't say anything. 

Mick keeps his chin held high and looks you in the eye as he speaks, "Off duty, ma'am."

"Right. But where were you?"

"Playing cards with some friends at the Paragon. Esteban should be able to confirm that for you. He just about cleaned out my pockets by the time I had to leave. I only got here an hour ago, found everything in chaos."

A relieved smile tugs at your lips. "Thank you, Mick." You pat his cheek and Pierre swears a hint of pink rises on the boy's cheeks. "I like you. I'm glad you've been untouched by all this mess so far. Keep it that way, please."

"Yes ma'am." Mick nods to Pierre and heads for the garage.

Pierre glances sideways at you. The pace you set up the stairs is unhurried, like you could care less that Ramos' dogs nipped at your feet mere hours ago.

"Do I need to be worried about how well you're taking all this?"

Inside the sanctity of your shared room, you shed Pierre's shirt and leave it in a puddle by the door. "No. I'm fine."

"Are you?" Pierre comes up behind you. He sweeps your hair up, exposing your shoulder so he can drop kisses to your skin. He can't stand to not be touching you for more than a few seconds, lest this reality prove to be false. He's still on edge, gut roiling at how close he was to something disastrous happening. 

You, on the other hand, seem practically unaffected. Like tonight's events were just another average night in the Gasly household, funeral, attempted kidnapping and all.

"Yes, I am. I'm used to it by now."

"Used to what?" You step out of Pierre's reach and Pierre follows you dutifully to the bathroom, where you draw a bath.

"All of this." You flourish a hand to encompass the room, like that explains it. When Pierre quirks a brow, you sigh, "the threats, Pierre. The constant looking over my shoulder to check for a tail. Talking in hushed tones, questioning people I'm supposed to be able to trust blindly. It's all become commonplace for me in the past few months."

Pierre wishes he could read your mind. He'd give anything for a glimpse in your head right now, to witness first hand what you're feeling, so that he can be utterly sure that you're truly as nonplussed by almost being kidnapped as you outwardly seem to be. Because what sane person lets themselves become accustomed to that? He was, sure, but no one on this planet would classify him as mentally stable.

Pierre shakes his head and states the only logical conclusion, "You're in shock."

"I'm not," you snap, rounding on him. "I'm fucking used to it, Pierre. I am. You try to protect me from it but do you really think I don't know? This is my house, my castle, as much as it is yours and I know everything that goes on under this roof. I know how many of Ramos' dealers you've caught and killed and how little it affected him. I know Niall's been sitting over in Belfast waiting on payment for his last shipment for a month and a half, because you've been chasing Ramos' breadcrumb trail.

"But what I don't understand," you continue, wagging a finger in his face as angry tears glass your eyes, "is why you won't just give that bastard what he wants. We're stuck in this loop because you killed his fucking kingpin or whatever- what could he want? Money? Drugs? Territory? Why can't you just give it to him?"

Pierre did know what Ramos wanted. He'd laid it out in plain terms. It wasn't a price he had been willing to pay then, and it sure as fuck isn't a price he's willing to pay now.

"I can't give him what he wants," Pierre says, borderline pleading with you.

"I'm sick of it. I don't want to live like this, Pierre. I'm fine with the way it was before, when you were the king and you were untouchable. The Daggers were on top of the food chain, eating other clubs for a midmorning snack. But now? Never knowing if today's the last time I'll see you? I fucking hate it."

A single tear slips down your cheek at the same time the bath overfills. Water spills over the tiles. Pierre lets it flow, reaching for you. You fight him, pummeling his chest with well-placed blows but he takes it, folds you to him until your hands fall to your sides and you let out a sob.

He stands long enough that water soaks his shoes and wicks up his socks but he doesn't dare let go.

"I'm so sick of crying." You paw at your eyes, smudging the artfully applied mascara.

That's all it takes for Pierre's resolve to crumble to dust. You're the one thing he's sworn his life to protect. He'd give up everything to keep you safe, sheltered, and happy.

"I'll end it. I'll give him what he wants."

You reach behind you to shut the tap. "How long until it's over?"

"As long as it takes me to get everything in order."

"Give me a timeline."

"A month then. It'll be over in a month." 

You nod against his chest. "I wanna move up our wedding to then. It'll give us something good to start a new chapter with, once all this shit is behind us."

He'd fucked himself there. But there's no way he can spin it to buy himself more time with you so he agrees.

“One month and I’ll say ‘I do.’”

God help him if he went back on his word.

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[bakugohoex]

Porco Requests? I've got plenty. This man is running through my mind 24/7 now. What about Porco with a super shy s/o? This man would treat his S/o right. Uncomfortable? Just tell me why. Too nervous? I'll tell everyone to shut up and listen to you. UGH I LOVE THIS MAN.

“i’ll make them listen, don’t worry baby”

pairing: porco galliard x gender neutral reader

cw: modern au, langage, fluff

word count: 1300+

a/n: brooo porco is so baby i love him so much, i’m a simp 

summary: in which you the shy reader are in a relationship with porco

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THIS MAN WOULD BE THE SWEETEST BOYFRIEND EVER.

He’d definitely be the one who came up to you asking for your number, you’d probably be walking outside of uni or something and he saw you and he needed your number.

Asks for it with the worst pick up line ever, something along the lines of I seem to have forgotten my phone number, can I have yours? You were an entire mess refusing to meet his eye and even forgetting that numbers have 9 digits and not 8.

You don’t even give him your name; you just say your number and leave in a hurry. 

His bad pick-up line clearly did wonders to you. 

He’d definitely text you straight after with his name and start asking questions, can’t lie he’d carry the conversation until you became comfortable with him.

He would definitely ask you to dinner or the movies on the weekend, you aired him for 20 minutes in shock. 

No words, he’d see the three dots in the bubble multiple times and then it’d disappear.

Half an hour later, a simple yes comes through. You’d never told him how you texted and called all your friends for advice on the mysterious man. 

You make your friends follow you both on your date, they actually take notes on how he opens the restaurant door for you, pulls the chair out, pays for the meal, he's such a gentleman and he does the talking after he realises, you’re shy around him.

He would walk you home, you’d both do that thing where your hands keep brushing against each other before he finally just grabs your fingers.

You’d give him a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night and this man would blush so hard. His ears would prick pink and a redness with speckle across his face. He hides it so quickly and before you can go inside, he’d ask for another date in the quietest voice possible. 

You accept, who fucking wouldn’t.

A couple months into your relationship, the facetimes and texts were equally split between you two. 

You’d scream down the phone to tell him about the new anime merch that had just arrived or complain about your day. You do not talk half an hour to send a message to him anymore.

Your friends think you two will marry, it’s certain, they have it all planned. 

Even with your shyness around new people you got along with his friends having met them a couple times. Pieck was always your favourite person to see at parties and gatherings but you were often talked over a lot when the louder confident ones at the parties spoke. 

Porco would notice this in an instant and always try and get your opinion out knowing that you liked the topic and had insight on it.

This man will literally tell everybody to shut the fuck up (politely to not make you embarrassed), just so they can hear you speak.

He also does it just to listen to you ramble on about your favourite topics.

*heart eyes*.

Or if someone makes you uncomfortable by getting too close or trying to get with you, this man will be at your side, lacing his fingers with yours and taking you to people you’re more comfortable with.

All in all this man is a simp and would bring but the best in you. 

“Y/n, Porco, you guys finally made it.” Pieck laughed a drink in her hand as she slouched against the sofa, the sound of music blaring and lights flashing sent you to grab onto your boyfriend's arm. 

He could already sense your unease at your surroundings, your grip tightening as his arm wrapped around you. “I’ll stay by your side the entire night.” 

You smile nodding at the boy, his blonde hair pulled back as usual, he gave a soft smile back before kissing your forehead. You had expected a night filled with drinking and being around friends, but you seemed to have been taken by Bertholdt and Reiner with Porco following along to the living room. 

They sat down as you situated yourself next to Porco, his hand in your hair as you leant against his body, the conversation had been boring, talking about some game on the PS4 that you had heard Porco shouting at a couple weeks ago. 

“I won that match.” Porco took a swig of the drink, your own drink on the table as you stared at it bored out of your mind. 

Reiner raised an eyebrow leaning his arms around the sofa, “fuck that you know I won it all together, one-win doesn’t make you a winner.”

Porco scowled at the boy before the conversation turned to something you enjoyed a lot more, “this guy really said Ichigo would beat Naruto.” Your ears perked at the conversation; it was between people you hadn't met but Annie had noticed how your eyes widened knowing you’d have the best input. 

She smiled starting to converse with the boys, “what the fuck really?”

You had always loved Bleach and Naruto, your favourite being Bleach and having talked to death about it to Porco and now with Annie including you, you had started to break off from your shyness, “Y/n’s up to date on both manga’s actually.” Annie was often cold with people but you two had become friends with ease having the same interests and her coldness and your shyness became an unlikely duo. 

“Let me guess another Ichigo simp.” One of the guys said and you gave a wary look, Ichigo was hot. You knew that and you knew that being a girl involved in a manga that had been directed towards teen boys made you become quiet. “She probably read the manga for the guys.”

“Not really.” You muttered, “I read it because it was actually interesting especially when Ichigo fights Ulquiorra”.

Your entire statement had been ignored and Annie had tried to include you, but you continued to be dismissed as just another girl simping for the characters. Of course you were a simple but to exclude you too one category was disheartening. You moved closer to Porco, he had watched the scene, how you had been ignored and now with your head leaning against his chest once again. 

“I’ll make them listen, don’t worry baby.” His voice was a soft whisper, leaving a soft kiss against your forehead before starting to converse with the guys. “You guys are talking about who would win?”

“Yeah, some guy saw Ichigo and thought he’d win against Naruto.” Porco started nodding, acting like he knew who these characters were, of course he had some idea of who they were, but he hadn't watched either as he got bored of how long it was.

“Oh, my girlfriends read and watched both, she’s better suited to this.” He pointed to you as you smiled at him, he was never going to tell them to our right shut up as it’d be a dick move, but it allowed for you to talk.

You gave a soft smile before you joined the conversation properly, the guys seemed intrigued by your opinion. Explaining both sides and why other anime fans would believe it to occur, as you sat upright rambling and talking. Porco watched with an intense look, he didn't need to speak, just watch and admire. He knew how you’d talk and talk and talk about anything you were interested in, but he saw how even with your initial shyness and dismissiveness they listened. Adding their own input, his hand went to reach your fingers, you felt it lacing your fingers.

He could listen to you talk forever, listen to every single word you ever said. Because he loved you and in those moments. Just staring at your beauty, the way your fingers gripped his own, the soft necklace he had bought your across your neck. He knew you’d be the one he’d spend the rest of his life with.

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[animatedrapture]

RINTOBER: [ Achilles' Heel ]

word count: 2,222

suna rintarō x reader

tags: ambiguous end, implied major character death, angst, implied sexual intercourse, toxic relationship, detailed pain(?)

song: achilles come down - gang of youths

a/n: HALLOWEEN SPECIAL because... death...?

a HUGE thank you, once again, to my wonderful wife, love of my life, bby @toffees-main 🥺 for proofreading the final piece and preventing me from sounding like a dumbass like, twice. also, thank you to @newfriendjen and @kaitycole for beta-reading the initial draft!

"Rin, Rintarō, I love you!" You shouted from the bleachers; a proud smile decorating your features as you cheered for him right after he'd hit the ball to the other side of the net, securing EJP Raijin another point—so close to winning.

His gaze and yours were two opposites of a pole with a pull unparalleled—a pull science can only wish to decipher. He finds you as he rotates through the set up and there's a beam in his eyes, making him break out into a grin you just know he couldn't find it in himself to reserve for later.

That day, that match—Suna Rintarō was named the MVP of the game. He owed it all to you and the swell of his heart with each cheer he heard from you; your voice distinct as if it were the only one that mattered in that whole gymnasium. Perhaps, at least that time, you truly were all that mattered to him.

But not anymore.

The first—the first was the lack of replies, the dryer replies. I love you's met with Love you's and very little effort to hide the lack of sincerity beneath. It began through texts until it was the quick, snipped tone laced with the parsimonious manner he answered you. The act of it was much like an attempt to deprive you of water until you're but withering rose in his grasp that he would rather replace than try to plant again and save.

Just how long were you willing to go without the water you needed to stay alive?

"Rin, love, I'll prepare dinner for us tonight, come home early, okay? I'm cooking your favorite!"

"I'll try," was his reply as you watched each of his hasty movements through your shared bedroom.

"I prepared you a bento, too. It's on the kitchen counter," you continued as he attempted to ignore the way you looked at him similar to the way you look when you're lost and searching for something. He hums in response, and just as he was about to reach for the door, you call out to him, "Rin, where's my goodbye kiss?" in the usual tone you would pull back then when he would forget and pepper you with kisses in retaliation, offering an apology before heading out.

He looks back at you with exasperation, "I'm late, Y/N." He doesn't wait for you to answer before he has the door shut close.

That's how you know he also forgot the food you prepared on the kitchen counter.

Foolishly, the answer to the question was that you were willing to wait until your next life for his love to drown you into bliss again. It's that answer that's disrespectful to the mystery of reincarnation—but you're everything Suna Rintarō wanted you to be; that is, if it was a fool he wanted you to be, you would play the part better than any award winning actor to have ever lived could. Even if it was a miscreant he wanted you to be, some sort of heretic to the laws of the world and the conditions of love. You'd be everything he asked of you. After all, who were you if not his other half?

Who were you if not water to shape into whatever container he put you in, right?

The second—the second was the lies that slipped past such sinful crimson lips. Oh, by the heavens, as if the lack of fondness in the timbre of his voice as he spoke to you wasn't enough to put cracks to the cemented foundation of you and him. Cruel, it's so cruel—you wonder if you're lacking somewhere, have you changed? Are you no longer diamond in the sea of glitter—? Worth not of his time nor the beating of the caged heart you thought you've acquired?

Now when he speaks, even the very sound of his voice reverberates like a sharp spear piercing through your chest without mercy—as if you're Spartan in the Battle of Thermopylae. The lies that come along with them about how training ended late again, or that he's travelling for a match again—Huh? No, you don't have to come, Y/N. I need to focus.

Did he have to lie about who he's with, what he's been doing? It's laughable. As if you wouldn't kiss away the taste of anything that lingered in his lips, if it was blood, alcohol or the lips of another girl. Rintarō, did he not know you enough to know you would surrender to his will no matter what mud followed his footsteps?

Ah, but, what would admitting such things do to his pride? Maybe it's that—or maybe he liked the way the lies were like lemon and salt to a fresh wound. You think, you never thought you could be so masochistic.

Third—the third is the sharpness of his gaze. It's the same gaze, same pair of eyes you've loved for such a long time and you fail not to love to this very moment. You're softer than clouds but now most hollow in comparison to the unacquirable stars among the cosmos—you think they're there but they're just a burst of light, something that has probably died lightyears ago.

It's like chokehold, the fourth—the fourth is like chokehold and he, the assassin. Ruthless—he's ruthless when he looks at you as you're not more than a tedious chore to him and the ring on your finger held no promise of relentless love greater than what a deity could offer.

Foolish—you're foolish. Delusion is a coping mechanism to the ones whose realities have been robbed in front of them—delusion is what you're supposed to call it when you fill your head with all the excuses and all the things you tell yourself have to change. You used to be a masterpiece. A masterpiece to him; as though you're Holy Grail found in a gallery of things that could never begin to hope they would ever amount to you.

Delusion is ignoring the liquor in his lips, the intoxicating smell of his cologne mixed with alcohol and cigarette smoke. You're confused and your reality that seems to have been distorting more often than usual. You question the strings that premeditate fate when it's you feeling the drunkenness and hangover the next day when it should be Suna and the tabloids of "Suna Rintarō spotted in yet another bar." You wonder if each sunset and sunrise you watched with Suna was a mere fever dream when it's you who vomits on the toilet. You, who sobs on the bathroom floor.

"Sfumato," your friend tells you, "The gentle blurring of edges to make rendered objects appear as one with their environment." The edges blur when you call that delusion as love—you only have to wait long enough before both are truly one and the same. The pain disguised as martyr sacrifice to the greatest allegory of love to exist. This is what you're told. They say, "Y/N, you've confused love with delusion," and yet you don't listen.

You don't listen most of all when you're back underneath him but you feel like you're being bloodied all over, stained like wine to a white dress. Yet you allow yourself to indulge in the kisses he's abated you of, you revel in each time you ask him to tell you he loves you and he finally does as he luxuriates you of your desires and of your whines for love—nevermind that he was doing it for himself. After all, it is as the word suggests, a luxury.

Suna Rintarō had become a luxury you couldn't afford, therefore, he did not have any business of giving himself to you. Not unless he wanted to.

Is there such thing as a free reign over the heart of someone? Hand it over as they will but how long would they truly allow you to borrow it—? Borrow it because one never truly surrenders such a vital thing to human functioning. Yes, you are and you have been delusional to believe so.

"You own the entirety of my heart, Y/N," you're unsure whenever it echoes in your head. He brings you enough torture, why must your own brain create such clamor in your head. Was such pain necessary? Is pain to love much like Adam's rib to Eve?

"It's a promise ring, bunny," he said as he tucked your hair behind your ears—his gaze is intense, almost like you would disappear from his sight if he looked at anywhere or anything but you.

You stared at the ring that shone under the light of the restaurant, your vision blurring at the tears welling from your eyes and you try your best to choke in the sob that involuntarily escapes you.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you cryin' for?" He questioned with a chuckle, looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes while his thumbs reached out to wipe away each tear that betrayed you—falling down your cheeks as he cupped your face.

"I-it's nothing, I—I'm just happy, love," you answer him through your tears.

There's a smile playing across his lips, he tells you, "'m just making a promise that I'll marry you one day, bunny, is all."

You nodded eagerly with a wide smile even as the tears that left you continued to fall, "I'm making a promise to say yes, Rin. No matter what," you answered him through your sobs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Guess I should start practicing to get on one knee then, yeah?" He laughed as he pulled you closer, his arms around you, you giggled along with him—it felt like you were molded together to form one perfect piece, like the act of staying there for all of eternity, in each other's arms, would turn you into one. Entangled together in all the right ways—as if Rapture has befallen the Earth and that was your final state as did the universe.

The fifth—the fifth is the screaming, the fights. Who would have thought you would break like a mere twig stepped on in the darkest forest on this Earth? It was under his shoe did you break from; each word that left his mouth was scathing—they didn't feel like a stab or pins and needles to the human heart, they felt like burns of acid that slowly ate at your decaying soul, breaking heart, dwindling sanity.

"I don't get it, Rin! Why do you treat me like this?!" You screamed through your tears, your chest heaving as your lungs tried its best to support you, even when it's already been punctured by the shattered pieces of your heart that continued to beat in separate shards, digging further into your lungs, damaging your ribcage, piercing your throat.

"Please, God, just tell me what to do—Rintarō, tell me what I need to do to turn us back to the way we were, please," you begged, falling to your knees and you let the shattered items on the floor puncture your skin. You felt numb yet your whole body was buzzing. The pain from the pieces of glass from under you doesn't register in your brain because all you can feel is the pain that was spreading from your chest and out into your whole body.

Under his mercy had he turned you inside out and greedily taken every part of you—everything you surrendered on your own volition until you were nothing, not even a shell of yourself but more like a ghost floating through the air. It looked like a battlefield—and perhaps it was. Love was never something you come out alive from. Love was greedy, selfish, treacherous. Love is like an assailant you allowed to enter in the safety of your own home.

"Don't you get it? Y/N, I don't love you anymore!"

No. You think, no. No, it repeats in your head, over and over. Denial. You were in denial, at this conjecture, you were aware of even this.

"I stopped loving you long ago, Y/N. You were dumb enough to stay." Has he always been this truculent towards you? You wonder but you can't recall anything else but the echoing of his words. Words he used like a champion of the battlefield, liberating away the life of his enemies.

No. Don't say that. You don't mean it. No.

Suna thought you would be the arrow to his heel—the one to bring him to his knees in the most torturous of ways. In reality, maybe you were more his heel than the arrow. He was both Achilles and his actions, the arrow that brought him to his own demise.

Sixth—the sixth was sickening grief. You're so unfair. You're so selfish. How could you run away from him, only to scream his name and the tormenting shout of "I love you" that haunted him awake or in his slumber. How could you be so cruel? To let him fall to his knees in front you the way you made him to. Ruthless—you're so ruthless. The pain was the excruciating kind, crashing towards him like ocean waves bringing him farther from the shore and near to wherever you were now. How could you leave him like you did?

After all, what was he if there wasn't you?

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