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yenonnoff · 9 months ago

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TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! 21. cat chase

note: continuation will be on chapter 22 (word count: 3.9k)

“are you sure about this?”

the train station had been completely silent. there wasn’t a single soul in sight until two figures stepped into the deserted space.

“do you honestly expect me to spend the next three hours by myself completely bored out of my mind? not happening.”

the sound of shoes against concrete came to a stop and you shifted to face atsumu. “what about the rumor?” atsumu’s shoulders tensed, his expression unreadable. you let another silent minute pass before turning away. “nevermind.” even now, he still didn’t want to tell you about emma.

the two of you continued towards the platform, halting a couple feet away from the yellow line. there really was no one around, it was just you and atsumu. but what did you expect when you were heading to a small town three hours away from tokyo? it was the morning of a weekday, too.

you didn’t notice atsumu inching closer; you didn’t notice the way his gaze was glued to you.

he faked a cough. “i forgot to tell you earlier, but you look nice today.”

you’ve been around him for so long that you’re not shocked by the randomness of the compliment. was it even a compliment? for all you know, it could be a distasteful lie or an attempt to bait you into doing something absurd. he has a knack for dragging people into his antics unfortunately.

“thank you,” you responded, catching the satisfaction in his eyes. he must’ve been waiting for you to return the compliment because he placed an eager hand on his hip, a smirk adorning his features. “what are you doing?”

“waiting for my highly anticipated compliment.”

“so the great actor atsumu miya needs validation too, huh?”

he smiled, “all i heard was ‘great actor.’”

you looked him up and down. he went casual as always but it was frustrating to see how much it suited him. a basic white tee hung loose against his chest and he carried a small backpack. his signature denim cap was nestled on top of his head, strands of blond poking out from the side. “you look…presentable.”

if you weren’t so occupied with his appearance, you would’ve caught the corner of his lip twitching, a faint blush dancing across his cheeks. your gaze was ticklish against his skin.

ducking his head, atsumu rubbed the back of his neck. he was covering a laugh, muttering under his breath, “‘presentable’?”

the train allowed him a couple minutes to recover before gliding up to the station. you saw atsumu tilting his head towards the opening entrance. “you first,” was all he said.

“if you’re letting me go first, that means i’m taking the window seat.”

atsumu winked, “that was the plan.”

“how amicable,” you mused, grinning. for a moment, you had thought he was the type to fight with you over the treasured spot. good thing he wasn’t, it made the trip much more enjoyable for you.

stepping into the train, you immediately looked for your seats. you paused at a row, preparing to scooch inside when atsumu’s palm landed on your elbow. he gently redirected you farther down the aisle, saying something along the lines of, “people don’t usually use that word to describe me.” it was either that or a comment on how silly you were for mistaking your seats. you weren’t sure which one it was. he was making you feel ticklish.

afterwards, you wasted no time getting into your seat by the large window. atsumu slipped into the seat to your right, hanging his backpack on the seat in front of him. he stretched while the announcement declared the destination and safety policies. when the train began to pick up speed, atsumu leaned backwards with a lazy expression. “looks like you’re stuck with me for three hours.”

you repositioned in your seat until you were comfortable. you replied, “then let’s make sure to get along during that time.”

he inclined his head towards you, a mischievous smile dancing on his features. “obviously. but how will i know you won’t take incriminating pictures of me while i sleep?”

“please,” you scoffed. “like i would want pictures of you to fill my camera roll.”

“people kill to take my pictures!”

you felt yourself loosen up. this interaction—chit-chatting about irrelevant things—made you think of your friends. you were reminded of the comforting feeling you felt when you were with them at the cafe. the endless stream of inane conversations, their faces full of sweet mirth. you found it ridiculous how much things have changed. you would’ve never imagined the day when you’d be able to talk so casually with atsumu miya. you had hated him only a couple weeks ago.

“thank you, atsumu, for agreeing to come.” it might’ve came out of nowhere, but you meant it. you don’t remember how long you contemplated your choices last night; you only remember wanting to take him to your hometown. it was the most grueling decision ever: a three hour trip to your favorite place on earth or heading somewhere closer and more practical.

but you were on a mission. the latter option wouldn’t have held a candle to where atsumu had brought you. it was hard to beat a hidden gem, aka a rundown record store (that magically has every album in the world) right next to a beautiful beach.

you just know he’ll be amazed when he sees the place that raised you. it was a small town but notable for being bathed in tranquility. everywhere you look there'll be luscious greenery. random flowering hedges decorated the neighborhood, painting the area in vibrant shades. in the spring there would be colorful peonies; in the fall hydrangeas would take over. if you visited during sakura season, you could go sightseeing. if you were lucky enough, the residents would host a (typically unplanned) local festival for the children to enjoy.

it’s been a while since you last visited. this would be the perfect opportunity for the both of you—the only problem was getting atsumu to agree.

you fidgeted. “i know it’s far away but it’s worth it, i promise.”

atsumu shot you a confused look. “if i didn’t want to come, i would’ve told you last night, silly.” a typical atsumu answer. you should’ve known better than to worry, it was just who he was. atsumu doesn’t do things half-heartedly. if he decides to do something, it’s because he wants to. and he’ll see his decision through to the end.

“good,” you exhaled. “i even messaged you late at night to improve my chances.” he quirked a brow and you explained, “people are more easily persuaded during nighttime.” the truth burned your cheeks. it was even more embarrassing since he was sitting only a couple inches away from you.

atsumu blinked until the realization dawned on him. “when they’re tired, am i right?” he added with a laugh. “you’re scary.”

“that’s a good thing,” you sighed with relief. “if it’s coming from you, it’s a compliment.”

“whatever you say,” he cooed and rested his head against his seat.

for a moment, you don’t say anything. you were no stranger to atsumu and his confusing actions, but recently it’s become intensified. you noticed it during the first day of filming: his gazes were longer and more purposeful, even his way of talking was strange. whether it was to you or about you, there was always a soothing, melodic ring to his voice.

you hadn’t noticed it until jolie pointed it out. actually, it seemed the entire cast of that summer knew except you. jolie, sugawara, and akane exploded when they realized. semi was just there, too busy going through the script to care or engage.

the three would nudge one another with cheeky smiles, and at a certain point, you were sure they were sending secret messages through their indiscernible gazes. their behaviors didn’t bother you though. you didn’t even stop to ponder what caused the change in your co-star. you were just happy they were having fun.

atsumu rested his chin between his index finger and thumb. he said, “i’ll keep your scary technique in mind. maybe i’ll use it on ‘samu.” when silence took over, leaving nothing but the roaring of train tracks, he went on to explain, “‘samu’s my twin brother.”

your eyes widened drastically. this was your first time hearing about this. even if you remember atsumu vaguely from your volleyball manager days, his teammates were blurry faces in your memory. was “‘samu” on the same team as him? now you were curious.

“is he staying in tokyo?”

“yeah, he lives there with his onigiri restaurant by the studio.”

your hands clapped together in excitement. “that’s amazing! i should stop by sometimes. my friends are big foodies.”

“you’re giving me that look,” he grimaced. “now i have to give you the location.”

“you really are amicable,” you smiled. he groaned briefly, saying, “don’t tease.”

“do you get along well with him?”

atsumu’s grumbling was replaced with a noise of amusement. “not at all. we’re not cut from the same fabric or anything like that.”

“cloth,” you corrected.

“same thing! he gets on my nerves.”

you had a feeling he was lying and you wondered how close they actually were; after all, how nice is it that your twin brother’s restaurant is near your studio?

“that’s nice, i don’t have any siblings to fight with,” you daydreamed.

“i assure you, having one isn’t fun.”

“must be hard being identical twins. what’s he like?”

atsumu huffed with tight arms crossed over his chest. “average. the only thing saving him is that he has my face.”

“don’t be rude. he has an onigiri restaurant.”

atsumu took off his denim cap to ruffle his hair. he mumbled, “why are you so interested in him anyway?”

“i’m just curious,” you laughed. this was really getting to him. “i am an only child after all.”

the two of you didn’t continue the conversation after that. atsumu’s head was turned away from you, potentially lost in the music blaring from his earbuds. you opted to look at the passing landscape instead. small grassy hills zoomed by and sometimes you even saw nearby towns in the distance.

you busied yourself with that until you couldn’t anymore. the silence was excruciating. you would fall asleep if only your adenosine receptors were working. it’s only been an hour into the ride and you were bored out of your mind.

truth be told, there was a thought that’s been bothering you ever since the first day of filming. if you were going to say something to quell your discomfort, it might as well be this.

“atsumu, i have a question.” he turned in an instant, plucking out his earbuds to hear you properly. “the staff members—do you get along with them?”

his questioning gaze pierced through you until he dipped his head in contemplation. “i don’t go out of my way to talk to them unless i have to if that’s what you’re asking. why? are you not getting along with them?”

you shook your head. “actually, it’s the other way around. they were… saying stuff about you, atsumu.”

honestly, you hadn’t meant to be there. you were only passing by when you overheard a group of people talking rather loudly. you were already walking away until you heard what the topic of the conversation was about.

it started with simple gossip. some talked about how it’s been over a year since atsumu last worked on a project; others mentioned his past relationship with his ex. then it suddenly became disturbing to listen to them. left and right you heard people asperse your co-star for his overbearing attitude.

cocky, pretentious, surly—you could go on forever. standing there, a part of you agreed with them. atsumu miya was an incredibly irascible and blunt person; he was wickedly cruel, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be berated so casually by those who worked with him. it was one thing to have opinions, but another to be unprofessional about it.

he’s cocky, yes, but that wasn’t all there was to him. how could they sum him up in just one word? it was ridiculous to you.

“and?” atsumu said in a low voice. “screw them, let them say what they want to say.”

“you’re not bothered? the staffs—”

his eyes were narrowed now, and he leaned in to say, “i couldn’t care less about what they say about me. you should know that it’s different in this industry, y/n. people only believe what they want to believe; they only listen to what they want to hear.”

your lips thinned in frustration. you were completely speechless. atsumu tilted away from you slowly, dragging a tensed hand across his face. you barely caught his next words: “but that doesn’t mean i want you to hear them.”

your brows knitted together. “what do you mean?”

“you know exactly what i mean.”

“no, i don’t,” you pressed, leaning slightly over the armrest that separated the two of you.

you watched as he opened his backpack, pulling out a gray jacket. “i’m tired, y/n. wake me up when we get there.” when you opened your mouth to complain, he threw the jacket towards you.

“sleep.” he pointed to the jacket on your lap with a scowl. “use that if you get cold. night.”

you watched as he turned in his seat, getting situated to fall asleep. you stared at him in disbelief, there was no way you were going to sleep now.

“what happened to you?” atsumu chuckled from behind. you ignored him, stepping off the train and onto the ground. you didn’t get a wink of sleep on the ride, and it was equally frustrating how your co-star could tell.

you started walking to the right while eyeing the time on your phone. atsumu caught up quickly, his long strides irking you. “so, where are we heading first?”

you closed your phone and peered up at him. “should we go eat?”

“sure. you’re in charge today after all.”

“then i’ll lead us there. i’ll pay for the meal too.”

his hand shot up instantly. “i’m paying. don’t fight it, y/n, i insist.”

“then you’re paying for the snacks too,” you grinned.

“so this was your plan the whole time…” he said. what could you say? you were an opportunist.

as the two of you continued on, you were flooded with nostalgic memories. your hometown was surrounded by earthy hills and fields of grass that stretched for miles on end. you’d spent most of your childish summers running through those green fields. sometimes you’d get scolded by nearby farmers for your recklessness, then get invited to their wooden engawa where they spoiled you with fresh cut up fruit. (it was a small price to pay.)

speaking of farmers, you waved to a group of them in the fields. they all looked up from their sun hats and said in excitement, “if it isn’t our little y/n!”

atsumu inclined his head to catch your flustered expression, a smile tugging at his lips.

“they all knew me when i was little,” you explained. “they helped watch me when my parents were busy.”

he hummed. “this place is pretty small. i’m not surprised they’re all familiar with one another.”

a soft chuckle. “you’re right about that. you could say the whole town was there to witness my first everything.”

you don’t notice his gaze softening. “you grew up well, y/n.”

when the two of you headed farther into town, you stopped by a local restaurant. everyone greeted you with warm smiles, chanting, “welcome back,” or “it’s y/n!” in excitement. even the owner stepped out to give you a big hug. (poor atsumu felt left out.)

once you actually got to sit down and look at the menu, you realized you never asked for atsumu’s preferences. you just hoped he wasn’t too picky. despite the numerous times you’ve come with your friends, you still take forever to decide on your meal. it seems you’re not alone in this: atsumu shares the same level of indecisiveness as you.

after eating, atsumu paid and you reluctantly left the restaurant. you strolled down the neighborhood with him by your side, passing small family-owned businesses that lined both sides of the streets. growing up in a small town meant that distinguishing between houses and shops was hard. families tended to use the first floor of their home as stores due to convenience. you knew because your family ran a convenience store below your second floor.

when you pointed this out to atsumu, he bursted out laughing. “you really did grow up well. you were living the life that every child wanted, you know that?”

you shrugged. “sure my parents let me eat whatever i wanted from the store, but they took that privilege away after seeing me experiment with the food.” growing up this way was probably the trigger for your fondness towards food.

“like what?” he asked. you counted on your fingers, “vanilla ice cream in ramen, chips dipped in chocolate—make sure it’s sea salt! then—“

“okay, okay. i get the point.” his face twisted in disgust. “are we gonna visit your parents’ shop then?”

your smile froze and you lowered your gaze to the ground, “my parents aren’t—”

suddenly you heard an abrupt shout. the two of you turned around frantically in the direction of the voice. you watched as two kittens skidded by, they ran through the alley in lightning quick steps and you stared with your mouth hung open. atsumu tapped on your shoulder to redirect your attention: a middle-aged woman was running out from a nearby store with a distraught expression.

she ran until she came to a stop right in front of you. resting her hands on her knees, she gasped exhaustedly for air. you and atsumu glanced at one another. when the woman looked up, familiarity struck you.

“aunt april!” your hand came to cover your mouth. it’s been over a year since you last came to visit, and you blamed it on your hectic schedule. filming your last project, vengeance, had turned you into a workaholic zombie.

however, the woman in front of you hasn’t changed one bit. curly gray hair still sat neatly on top of her head—styled just the way you remembered—and she was still wearing the dainty earrings you gifted her years ago.

the store she came running out from was her store.

you saw her eyes widened, excitement and relief swirling in them. “y/n! you’re back, how long has it been?” she glanced to your left, a grin overtaking her features. “let me guess, this is… that kuroo guy, isn’t it? it’s hard to see with his cap in the way,” she mumbled.

you and atsumu shared another glance. april went on, leaning from side to side to capture all his angles. “can’t be the orange haired guy—this one’s too tall. can’t be kenma either, he’s always slouching.”

you moved slowly to place yourself in between her and atsumu; if you didn’t stop her, she would’ve gone on forever. you laughed nervously, “no, auntie, none of my friends are with me today.”

you saw her face tip in disappointment. it was an annual routine for you and the group: visiting your hometown every fall to watch the hydrangeas bloom and have picnics in the fields. everytime you came, they did well to familiarize themselves with all the residents. now they have a hopelessly loving connection to your hometown, and the residents look forward to seeing them visit again every year.

“then…” april sidestepped you to scrutinize atsumu again. you saw him straighten his back, his signature charming smile present. “is he your boyfriend?”

you didn’t get a chance to speak. “you never told me you had one! well you haven’t been in a relationship since sato. did i tell you he came to visit last spring? poor guy was hoping he’d see you again.”

“auntie, wait!” the woman turned at your sudden hastiness. “the kittens—you were chasing them, right?”

“the kittens!” horror washed over her face and she staggered backwards. atsumu reached out to place a steady hand on her shoulder. “they sprinted away when i wasn’t looking. those rascals…”

atsumu tilted his head towards you, whispering, “we wasted a lot of time already, they might not be around anymore.”

you stared at april anxiously, weighing your options. you didn’t know what was going on, but you were confident the kittens were important to her. plus, you haven’t seen her in a year, how could you turn a blind eye to the woman that basically raised you? plus… the kittens could get extremely hurt!

“i’ll help find them,” you said. atsumu’s stare burned through you and you sent him an apologetic glance. april tried to shut you down, forcing a smile on her wrinkly complexion. you reassured her, “please, i want to help.”

“you can’t! you’re on a trip.” insistent hands were placed on both sides of her hips and she furrowed her gray eyebrows. you knew this stance: she wasn't going to be easily convinced.

“auntie, you have a store to manage. you shouldn’t be running in the heat,” you said.

“your uncle is covering for me,” she huffed. you reached out to place both hands on her shoulders, ushering her back to the store. you said hastily, “uncle! that’s right! you have to tell uncle that i’m here—he’ll be so excited to see me again. you know how he gets when he thinks he’s being left out.”

her brows pinched together. “you have a point… alright then, but don’t overdo it, alright?”

you nodded quickly, watching as she headed back inside. though she didn’t leave completely, not until she was able to give you a plastic bag filled with cat treats.

when you were finally alone with atsumu, you stood there with guilt swallowing you. “i’m sorry, atsumu, you don’t have to help. you should wait inside the store, or if that’s too uncomfortable, there’s a bench at the fro—“

his heavy sigh cut you off. “you are so rash, you know that? i said you were in charge today, so if you want to go find some kittens, then obviously i’ll help too. it’ll be quicker with two people anyway.”

“wow,” you clasped your hands together in awe. “you really are amicable.”

“stop saying that,” he groaned. “just go look for the kittens, and listen to your aunt. don’t overdo things.” you were about to complain when he reached for the treats inside the bag. then he pointed down the street and rushed off.

this wasn’t how you thought the trip would go, but desperate times called for desperate measures. you just hoped atsumu wouldn’t get hopelessly lost.

you spent the first fifteen minutes running around, checking behind flower pots and cardboard boxes. you searched through alleyways and even asked nearby residents if they saw two kittens—one orange, one white—dashing around. it wasn’t until later that you saw white fur sticking out from behind a bush.

“there you are.”

it took some coaxing to leer it out but you could tell it was just frightened. you cradled the kitten in your arms. “you look just like snowball,” you smiled. “now then… where could atsumu be…?”

masterlist ⌒☆ previous ⌒☆ next

fun facts:

atsumu took pictures of the restaurant menu and sent it to osamu to annoy him.

y/n's hometown is actually the worst for those who have allergies (so sorry).

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! ｡ｏ♡ an atsumu miya smau

synopsis: when y/n l/n, a rising actress, decides to star in a romance film that could make or break her career, she’s unable to showcase her skills, revealing her inexperience within the romance department instead. worst of all, atsumu miya, her co-star and the main lead’s love interest, seems to hate her guts! with absolutely, unbearably zero chemistry between the two, an idea was proposed: spend time with one another in the upcoming weeks. will y/n be able to ignore her professionalism and listen to her heart? and will she, a clueless romantic, be able to pick up on the signs her co-star is sending her?

a/n: shoutout to may bc she kept up with my writer's block and made sure i wrote everyday...

taglist is open! dm or ask to be a part of it! (those bolded were unable to be tagged)

⌒☆ @kqbukimono @empathum @clyver @chosoluv @oceansfloor @sunarots @marga-j @rukia-uchiha-98 @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @rintarousgirl @ast4rg1rl @seiamor @saiewithakatana @usermins @literally-a-ferret @terrarain @iuspired @haruskatana @wolffmaiden @ris-krispie @vellichxrr6782 @animenaces-world @reignsaway @emii4evr @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @yuminako @tojirin @v3nusplanetofluv @vyvixen @secondary-character-25 @tenjikusstuff4 @444choso @mylahrins @deimmortales99 @hisfuture @staywhelmed8801 @dl-yum @nessaasstuff @milesmoralesluvs @101tsumu @ryeyeyer

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powpowpunchout · 2 years ago

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Shut Up.

Sandman sat inside his car.

His small, cramped, gray car that he’s had since his early 20’s.

His grip on the black steering wheel was tight, to the point he was afraid he was going to break it, and his back ached against the old, worn down seat.

He looked out his dusty, scratched up windshield, eyes never tearing away from the streetlight ahead. It felt like its red glow was getting brighter with each passing second.

He drummed his fingers against the wheel.

Was the light broken?

He’s been sitting here for what felt like hours–granted, it’s probably only been five minutes, but that’s still too long for a streetlight.

He took a deep breath and flickered his eyes over to the rearview mirror.

There were only a few cars behind him–at least, it looked like it. It was hard to tell. Despite the lampposts surrounding the roads, and despite every car around him having their headlights on, they didn’t help him. If anything, all the lights did was stress him out even more. There were too many of them, their colors all meshed together, and it was dang near impossible to glance around the road without getting blinded.

Sandman hated driving.

He hated driving even more at night.

This city was already filled with horrible drivers, but having to share a road with them while it’s dark? He would’ve been better off walking to the stadium.

Sandman looked back to the light. If he had walked, he wouldn’t be stuck waiting here. He’d probably already be at the stadium’s meeting room by now chatting with the higher ups.

Sandman took another deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves.

When Sandman had finally answered that text from one of the higher ups a couple days back, they asked if he’d be able to meet with them in person to talk about that other stadium’s champion.

Sandman suggested they just tell him what’s going on over the phone, but the higher up told him they: ‘Preferred to speak of such matters in person.’ Which did nothing to ease Sandman’s worries. Then they asked him what day he would like to talk, and that’s when Sandman made the stupidest decision ever and told them he could talk to them during the weekend.

How Sandman wished he had just picked a closer day. How he wished he could’ve just ripped the bandaid off and have that stupid talk on a weekday, but no. He didn’t do that. Instead, he told them he was ‘busy training’, and ‘wouldn’t have much time till the weekend’, and then he ended up stressing about the meeting for the rest of the week.

A part of him had hoped that if he had the meeting later, he’d have time to prepare himself for whatever questions the higher ups would ask, but that’s not what happened. Of course that’s not what happened. Anytime he tried to think about the potential questions, his mind started to go down a worried spiral.

Were they gonna compare his record to the other champion’s? Was his record better than his? Were they gonna mention his strength? How brutal he was? Or were they going to tell Sandman that he should ‘bite back more’ and publicly insult the other champion in front of hundreds of interviewers?

Sandman pressed his lips together. He didn’t wanna do that last part.

He really didn’t.

He didn’t want to give a bunch of crazy fans and journalists more fuel. He did not want to be bothered all because people wanted to hear more about how he felt towards some guy he didn’t know.

The only good thing to come from this stupidly long, stressful wait was the fact that Sandman had finally started to train again, but only because he wanted to avoid thinking about the meeting. He spent most of the days in his basement working out, only stopping for a quick meal, a shower, maybe to call a friend if he was lucky, and to sleep. Sandman couldn’t even recall if he had stepped outside at all those past few days.

His body despised him for the lack of breaks. His arms were heavy, his legs burned, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like garbage.

Sandman’s eyes traveled down to his hands, which had been sharply outlined by the red light. They looked awful.

The skin around his fingers were raw, torn, and had scraped up skin hanging around them. If he stared at the injuries for too long, he’d be reminded of raw meat.

He shuddered.

He’s surprised none of those little injuries have bled yet.

His knuckles looked awful as well.

At one point during his training, he forgot to wrap bandages around them, and practiced his hits against one of his punching bags. He didn’t realize his knuckles started to split open until he noticed blood splatters on his bag.

He didn’t bother bandaging them again. The most he did was wash them off, slather moisturizer on them, and went back to training. Now he’s stuck with with these ugly, cracked knuckles–

A loud car horn made him jump.

He stepped on the gas before he even had the chance to look at the street light again.

He just sped ahead, praying the light was green, and praying that the meeting with the higher ups would go by fast.

~ ~ ~ ~

Octave sat at the back seat of a taxi, head resting against the window as he was driven through the city.

There was never anything fun about riding a taxi. From the ridiculous prices, to the uncomfortable, stiff, seats that were a nasty shade of brown to the crumbs of food littered around, it was disgusting–and the smell? The stench of body odor from the hundreds of people that sat in this taxi before him? The way it tarnished the inside of the car? It made Octave sick.

He wasn’t fond of the drivers either.

There were far too many times where drivers would yell at him over directions because they hadn’t listened to him the first time, or drivers who just loved to whistle and tap their fingers along their steering wheels while bobbing their head to whatever trashy music they were blaring–and the music they played–oh, the music they played… It was never good. Yet the drivers seemed insistent on turning their radio all the way up to share their terrible taste with the rest of the world.

Tonight, though, Octave couldn’t complain.

Whatever music was on the radio tonight was quiet, and the few sounds he could hear didn’t bother him all that much; a steady stream of guitar strums and the delicate tapping of drums. The driver was pretty quiet as well, he hasn’t said a word since Octave gave him directions. Why couldn’t all drivers be like him?

The taxi drove over a pothole, making the car bounce and making Octave bump his head against the window. He cussed quietly and rubbed the sore spot before he readjusted his position. He leaned close to the window again, propped an elbow up on the ledge, and rested his head against it.

The lit up windows of the buildings they passed by were nothing but orange and yellow streaks that disrupted the deep blue color of the city, and if there were any people still out and about, it was impossible to tell, as nearly everything was a darkened silhouette.

Octave took a deep breath.

This car reeked of cigarettes.

Octave’s eyes flickered over to the divider between his seat and the driver’s. He tried to look through its window and get a look at the driver, but with how dark it was, and with how many smudged handprints there were on the glass, it was hard to make out any details. The driver was balding–probably had as much hair as Don–along with a real dark 5 o'clock shadow, and he looked like the type to smoke indoors. Though, again, he’s been quiet, so Octave kept those thoughts to himself.

Octave slipped his hand into the pocket of his thin, black blazer and felt the cash he had brought along. He should have enough for a cheap can of beer and a ride back home.

Maybe he won’t even get a beer.

Maybe he’ll just get water instead, unless Aran plans buying him a couple of drinks.

Octave’s mouth curled to a small frown.

He wasn’t looking forward to hearing whatever Aran wanted to complain about tonight, but he needed an excuse to get out of the house more. Maybe Aran won’t be such a sourpuss. Maybe they’ll enjoy their time together.

Octave rested his other hand atop the seat next to him–but recoiled when he felt something wet on the cushion.

He frantically wiped his hand against his dark gray pants. He has no idea what could’ve left that wet stain, but he was probably better off not knowing.

Octave looked at his sleek, black shoes to make sure he wasn’t stepping on anything too nasty–but it was impossible to tell with how dark it was.

He fixed the collar of his white dress shirt before he brought his attention back to the window.

As he watched the city go by, the buildings getting smaller and more worn down with each block they passed, Octave found his mind wandering back to his night with Tiger.

After they had finished eating and were waiting for the check, Tiger wanted to have another go at making an origami rat.

Octave ran him through the directions again and again, watching as Tiger slowly got more familiar with each crease and fold, until he was eventually keeping up with Octave’s pace with a smile on his face.

They ended up making several paper rats and had used up most of the newspaper. That cost them an extra dollar, but neither of them cared.

“I think I might save one as a souvenir.” Tiger had hummed while he used his magic to bring one of the rats to his face.

“Same here.” Octave nodded as he looked at the rest.

“We certainly made a lot of these vermin, though. Should we throw the crooked ones away?”

“Nah,” Octave shook his head as he carefully placed the rest of the origami rats into his pockets, “I’ll take care of ‘em.”

Octave ended up bringing the paper rats back home and placed them on a small, dark brown, wooden bookshelf in his room. The same place where he kept all of his origami at.

It was kind of ridiculous to say, but Octave could never bring himself to throw out any origami he made, no matter how jank or lopsided it was. It didn’t matter if there was a rip, a tear, or if there was a big, ugly crease on it, he just couldn’t. He’d rather put them into one of the little baskets that sat on his shelves than to throw it out and replace it with a ‘better-looking’ origami.

Octave didn’t know why he couldn’t just get rid of them. Even as a kid, he struggled with throwing his little crafts away. A part of him always felt guilty even at the mere thought of it.

Wasn’t that just stupid?

What was there to even be guilty of? They’re just paper.

Octave rubbed his eyes, feeling dumber by the moment.

“You wanted me to take a left after that post-office, right?” The deep, gruff voice of the driver asked.

Octave looked straight ahead, just barely making out the worn down sign of the post office.

He nodded, “Yeah.”

The driver grunted in response and kept driving.

More and more of the block was starting to become familiar.

It’s been ages since he’s last been to the bar at this part of the city–actually, Octave wasn’t even sure if he’d consider this a part of the city anymore.

It was more like a rundown town that just barely touched the border of where the city ended. A lot of the houses here were probably a cough away from collapsing, whatever trash cans there were were completely overflown, the cracked and slanted sidewalk was covered in crude graffiti, and broken-down cars were parked along the curb, making the road a hassle for the taxi to drive through.

It was an ugly neighborhood.

Luckily, most of this neighborhood’s ugliness had been hidden by the night, as the lampposts here were too dull to illuminate anything.

The only memorable parts of this neighborhood that were worth looking at were the post office, a tiny coffee place, a smoke shop, and–of course–the bar.

The bar was especially popular, well, as popular as a bar in some ramshackle town could get.

The last time Octave had been there, he heard plenty of people talk highly of the bar’s owner and the food. Octave thought the food was okay at best.

The corner of Octave’s mouth twitched as he recalled more of the bar. He remembered it being pretty crowded, he remembered people smoking indoors, and he remembered music blaring from all the bar’s speakers, and the only reason he tolerated any of that crap was because of the bar’s retractable window.

The retractable window was the bar’s only window, but it took up nearly the entire front of the building and opened up similarly to a garage door. It was enough to air out the stench of smoke and booze, and made the inside feel a little less humid.

“Dang, must be some bar.” He heard the driver mumble.

Octave tilted his head closer to the window.

The bar was still kinda far, but they were already approaching the long, winding line of cars parked along the block. People were stepping out of their vehicles and chatting with friends as they walked along the sidewalk.

“Ya could say that.” Octave said, though he’s pretty sure the driver didn’t hear him. His eyes stayed on the bar. That tiny, crummy, shack of a bar.

Most of its exterior was made out of some sort of warm, beige cement that almost looked glossy with all the orange and yellow car lights shining on it. The walls also had some pretty ugly cracks and holes throughout them, exposing the brick foundation underneath. A brick foundation that was probably older than him.

The walls were pretty barren as well, the only interesting one being on the left side, where the bar’s name had been painted on. Octave couldn’t read it though, most of it had been washed away after years worth of rain.

The bar’s roof wasn’t anything too interesting either. A flat, black top. There wasn’t even an overhang to the dang place, so if you happened to be sitting at one of the hundreds of cheap, plastic chairs by one of stupid, crummy folding tables that the owners had set outside, and it started to rain? Good luck getting any cover. Your only options from there would be to get drenched and catch a cold, or get packed inside like a bunch of sardines.

Octave heard the driver cuss to himself as he tried to navigate through all the cars coming and going from the bar. Octave could also hear the loud music blasting from the place, along with the occasional, ear grating laughter from some drunken sap.

The taxi started to slow.

“This is the closest I can get.” The driver said.

Octave looked through the windshield and saw a couple of cars ahead of them. Their driving was sloppy, their turns were too sudden, it was obvious they were intoxicated.

“S’fine.” Octave mumbled. The car stopped. He heard the locks click and opened the door.

The driver watched him from the corner of his eye, “Be careful out there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Octave waved him off and shut the door. He slipped past some parked cars and stepped onto the sidewalk, listening to the taxi drive off.

The bar was still a bit away, but he didn’t care.

As he started to walk, squeezing past groups of people, the sound of the bar’s obnoxious rock music filled his ears.

He narrowed his eyes at the crowd in front of the bar.

He knew these people weren’t here for any decent quality drinks. He knew first-hand how bad the drinks here were. They were rather overpriced garbage, or cheap trash.

The only reason this bar got any sort of traction was because of their desserts. Funnel cakes, apple fritters, thick slices of cakes, apparently they were good enough to be featured in a newspaper article Octave read months ago, but even then, he wasn’t sure if they were that good. They certainly couldn’t have been worth this crowd.

Plus, it was the weekend. All bars suddenly got ‘popular�� during the weekend. It didn’t change the fact that at the end of the day, this was just another cruddy, rank bar.

If it were up to Octave, he would’ve chosen a place that didn’t look like it was a second away from crumbling, or at the very least, a place that got a visit from a health inspector at least once a year.

But Aran? Aran didn’t care about quality.

Especially not a bar’s.

When Octave had asked him a while back why he always chose some of the worst bars in the city, Aran just smirked.

“Good arguments, good fights, ‘n good women.” He told him as he lifted a finger with each thing he listed off, “And some booze t’top it all off? Makes th’whole t’ing grand.”

As Octave grew closer to the building, he scowled.

“Great.” He muttered, “Just great.”

That big, stupid window wasn’t open tonight, and of course, the bar was packed inside.

He felt his feet step off the pavement and onto a dry, dirt path. He grumbled as he kicked aside whatever beer cans were in his way while bright, yellow street lights shone down on him.

Of course that stupid window was closed tonight.

Why wouldn’t it be?

Octave glared at the overcrowded tables outside. People were screaming over each other, hollering, some egging their friends to take another shot, he wasn’t even inside yet and he was already annoyed.

When Octave got to the bar’s dark brown, rusted door, he grabbed the metal knob and sharply inhaled.

He swung it open.

The first thing to hit his face was the noise.

The obnoxious music.

The drunken laughter.

The clatter of glass.

And the humidity? It was horrendous.

The heat of a thousand bodies mixed with the smell of their breaths and sweat made him sick.

He scanned the inside, trying to find Aran, but it was near impossible with the way everybody was squeezed together, constantly moving, and rubbing their skins together. There wasn’t a single inch of the wooden-plank floor visible.

Octave tried to see if Aran was at any of the small, dark brown, wooden tables scattered around, but they were surrounded by too many people–

Octave squinted.

In the far back, left side of the bar, at one of round, green-cushioned booths that was pressed against the worn down brick wall, was Aran.

How did he get a good seat like that? And by the looks of it, he managed to keep it all to himself.

A group of people got in Octave’s way, blocking Aran from his sight.

He took a deep breath, taking in a lungful of the nauseating, greasy stench of the food, and shoved past them. .

He didn’t bother saying any ‘Excuse me’s, or ‘Sorry’s, no one would hear him, and no one would care.

He tried to push through whatever gaps he could see, always managing to get a whiff of a woman’s cheap perfume, or a man’s overpowering cologne.

He cringed whenever he felt someone lean their body against his, or when someone’s hand grabbed onto him because they mistook him for someone else. Every single time he got touched, the desire to shred that sticky sensation off his skin grew.

That vile, sticky sensation.

That was the perfect word to describe this place: Sticky.

The people were sticky, the tabletops were sticky, the floors were sticky, the food was sticky, heck, he’d even say the dang air was sticky.

He remembered the ventilation in here was bad, but he didn’t remember it being this bad.

And the lights that hung from the beaten up, flat, black ceiling above? They somehow made the place even uglier.

They were a hue of green that Octave couldn't describe with any other word besides ‘Gross’, and they made the entire bar look like it had been filled with some sort of toxic gas.

A scowl spread across Octave’s face.

A room full of toxic gas would’ve been better than this.

As he kept trudging on, he overheard conversations from the booths he passed.

Conversations about awful dating lives, awful jobs, and awful families, all mixed in with bitter laughs.

Octave looked straight ahead and tilted his head, trying to peer past the crowd to get a better look at Aran.

For a brief second, he swore he saw Aran’s lips move, followed by a chuckle. What got him in such a good mood? Who was he talking to? There was no way he got some stranger to talk to him willingly.

Octave pushed aside a couple of people, and when they gave him dirty looks, he made sure to shoot one back.

When he finally reached Aran’s seat, he rested his head atop the booth. He gritted his teeth when he felt the sticky fabric cling onto his palm.

He looked down at Aran, who looked back up at him with a smirk.

Octave opened his mouth–

“Octave?” He heard another voice say.

Octave whipped his head down and stopped.

Sitting in the center of the booth with a bright purple flip phone in his hand was Disco Kid.

Octave stared at Disco.

And Disco stared at Octave.

“C’mon, O’erload.” Aran said as he motioned towards the empty spot right across from him, “Git comfortable.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Sandman stood inside an elevator, staring at his fuzzy reflection in metal doors while low creaks and hums filled his ears.

He picked at his thumbs.

The longer he looked at his reflection, the more he wished he had worn something better.

Sure, he was going to a ‘casual’ meeting, but it was still a meeting. He could’ve thrown on some dress pants at the very least, even if he hated how uncomfortable they were.

Here he was though, wearing nothing but a gray t-shirt and a pair of black shorts with thick, white lines on both sides.

At least his shoes were kinda new. Despite their color being a washed-out shade of blue, he got them not even a month ago. It’s much better than the other pairs he had at home, which were barely hanging onto their threads.

Sandman took a deep breath, taking in a lungful of the strong, artificial smell of mint that came from whatever cleaners the custodians used.

He hoped tonight’s meeting was going to be fast.

He just wanted to get it done and over with.

Then he can go to bed and forget it ever happened.

A small ding snapped Sandman out of his thoughts.

The doors slowly opened, their creaks pierced his ears. He quickly stepped out and entered the stadium’s third floor.

He walked through the pristine, brightly-lit hall and glazed his eyes over it.

Nothing but locked office doors on the left side, and large windows looking out to the city on his right.

He wasn’t used to seeing the offices with their lights off. Usually when he passed through here, he’d be able to peek through their thin windows and see the different rooms, or catch a glance at whatever the employees were doing, but tonight they were lifeless.

There wasn’t even a custodian wandering around, or someone in a fancy suit rushing about trying to finish whatever work they had left.

He entered the main room of the third floor.

There wasn’t anything interesting here, just a place where all the third floor’s hallways met. It was also the place where the WVBA hosted holiday events, or small birthday parties for certain higher ups.

It was the perfect size for it too. It was real large–probably the same size as the Minor Circuit’s ring–making it the best place to set up tables full of food and party favors. The ceiling was a large, white dome with windows all around, and people usually hung streamers and lights from up there… And sometimes a piñata if the higher ups felt crazy enough. It was something that Sandman helped with from time to time.

He never hung anything actually, mostly just held onto people’s ladders and promised to catch them if they fell.

Tonight though, it was barren.

Just four, white, plain walls, each with a set of grayish-blue, double doors at their center that had been propped open. Above them were metal plaques with room numbers written on them, but Sandman didn’t need to read them. He already knew where to go.

Ae made his way towards the doors on the far right with a plaque that read: ‘Hallway C45-C66’, his eyes bounced around whatever plain, boring furniture was placed in here.

Just a couple of teal chairs that were pushed against the left and right walls, their cushions probably as comfortable as the ground. Next to the chairs were short, dark brown tables that had neat stacks of magazines atop of them that were probably as old as Macho Man.

Sandman picked up the pace and entered the double doors. The sound of his steps echoed through the corridor.

All of the office lights were off here as well.

This should be the right hallway. He thinks so, anyway.

The text he got said to meet here, didn’t it?

He went to grab his phone from his pocket, but stopped when he realized he had left it in the car.

Why didn’t he take his phone with him? Was he stupid?

Was the meeting even tonight?

What if he had already missed it?

What if it had been postponed?

What if–

A door behind him clicked open.

“Mr.Sandman?” A deep, smooth voice called out.

Sandman whipped his head around and saw the stadium’s matchmaker poke his head out past the door. There was a smile on his face while his thin, black dreads dangled from the side.

A wave of relief washed over Sandman, “Evenin’, Mr. Grisli.”

“You walked right past us!” Mr. Grisli said as he stepped out of the room, “What? Did you just not want to see us tonight?” He extended a hand out.

Sandman gave it a shake, “No sir. Sorry, I got the room numbers mixed up–”

“Awh, I’m just giving you a hard time, son.” Mr. Grisli swatted at the air before he fixed the loose ponytail his dreads were in before he stroked his fuzzy, black, stubble beard. He also had a stubble mustache, but it was kinda hard to notice with the way it blended in with his tuscan brown skin, “How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain.” Sandman said as he watched Mr. Grisli wrap his hands around the black suspenders that were hidden underneath his unbuttoned, navy blue suit. The man was a few good inches shorter than Sandman, and he had a plump, plush stomach that was comfortably hugged by his tan dress shirt. “How bout you, sir?”

“Oh, just fine.” Mr. Grisli hummed as he tilted his head, resting it against his thick, amber brown, wool scarf that had been tucked neatly inside the suit, “I appreciate you coming over at such a late hour. I know you’re a busy man, so we won’t be keeping you too long.”

“Appreciate it, sir.” Sandman mumbled. Mr. Grisli motioned Sandman to follow him into the meeting room.

Sandman kept talking, “I do gotta–I gotta rush home ‘n make some calls after this. Gotta check up on some people and all that.” He felt a prick of guilt after that lie left his lips.

“Hey now, I understand. You got folks waiting for you.” Mr. Grisli said, his voice mixed with the taps of his black dress shoes as the ends of his black pants swayed, “I got to go straight home after this as well. My daughter’s school is hosting a little art show tomorrow, and I don’t want to miss it. This’ll be her first one!” He smiled warmly, “But yes, we’ll do our best to make it quick.”

“Thanks, sir.”

Mr. Grisli pushed up his small, round-framed glasses, “Awh, come on, son. You don’t need to call me ‘sir’ or anything fancy like that. This is supposed to be a casual meeting.”

Sandman grinned, “You got it, Teddy.”

“It’s Theodore.” Another voice said the moment Sandman stepped past the door. It was cold, monotone, and Sandman had a feeling he already knew who it belonged to.

He peeked past Teddy and looked at the long, oval, maple wood table.

Sitting on one of the black office chairs at the very front-left of the was Edmond Mono. One of WVBA’s managers.

He sat tall in his chair, his oxford blue suit looked rather tight on him. The singular, black button looked like it was about to rip through the fabric, the creases of his sleeves dug into his arms, and the collar’s edges seemed so sharp it looked like they were digging into his neck.

Sandman pressed his lips together, trying his best to hide the fact he just… Didn’t want to be around Edmond.

He didn’t… Hate him, but it was pretty obvious that Edmond didn’t like him, and it was all because Sandman called him ‘Eddy’ a few years back.

Out of all the reasons to hold a grudge against someone, being called a nickname had to be the worst one. How was Sandman supposed to know Edmond hated nicknames?

‘For future reference, Mr. Sandman…’ He remembered Edmond muttering to him on that dreadful day, ‘I have a name tag for a reason. If you refuse to address me by my last name, I won’t respond. Do I make myself clear?’

The corners of Sandman’s mouth curled down at the recollection.

“Hey, c’mon, it’s just a nickname.” Teddy told Edmond. Edmond’s long, thin nose crinkled in response.

“This is a meeting, not a get-together. I will treat it as such.” Edmond said.

“Well, I’m glad you’re taking this seriously,” Teddy put his hands on his hips, “but it’s my name we’re talking about, and I’m perfectly fine with being called Teddy.” He went to the very end of the table where a couple papers and a light blue mug were. He sat down–the chair squeaked–and he took a drink of… Whatever was in that mug. Probably coffee.

Sandman glanced over to Edmond.

Edmond didn’t bother to look at him. He just kept his head down, filling in paperwork, leaving Sandman with the view of his short, combed back, dusty, light brown hair that had several gray streaks in it, and had enough gel in it to make it look plastic. His skin was also a light shade of brown–not the same shade as his hair, though. It was much lighter. It kind of reminded Sandman of tea mixed with milk

Sandman then watched as Edmond took a calculator out of his pocket–

Sandman tried so hard not to roll his eyes. Of course Edmond was the type to carry a calculator everywhere.

Sandman pushed that thought out of his head and tried to make small talk.

“How you doin’, Mr. Mono?”

Edmond kept his eyes on his paper, “Fine.”

He didn’t say another word. Sandman pressed his lips together. A one word response was better than no response, he guesses.

“Why don’t you take a seat and get comfortable?” Teddy piped up, “We’re still waiting on one more, but I don’t mind starting a bit early so you can get home on time.”

Sandman nodded.

Teddy’s voice was the only comforting thing in this meeting room. Honestly, Sandman wished they had met in Teddy’s office instead, or heck, he’s sure Edmond’s office would’ve been better than this place.

There was nothing to this room.

No posters, no books, no trophy plaques, just a long table, some chairs, and a clock that was above a whiteboard at the very end of the room, all boxed in by boring, beige walls and a dark gray carpet. There weren’t even windows.

The smell here reminded Sandman of a doctor’s office. A fittingly boring smell for a boring room.

Sandman sat on the seat to the right of Teddy. The seat let out a loud creak as he scooted closer to the table.

“So now,” Teddy started, “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty about that other champion, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. Been on th’papers a bunch. What bout him?” Sandman leaned back, trying to get comfortable, “He still talkin’ bad bout me or something?”

Teddy chuckled, “You know it. The big guy got really riled up after you called him a ‘Nobody’.”

Sandman tried so hard not to wince at the reminder.

“Not his fault his feelings got hurt all because you said the truth, though.” Teddy laughed. That only made Sandman feel worse. Teddy pushed up his glasses and continued, “Anyways, after your little interview, we got a phone call from that champion’s stadium a few days ago. The uh–the–” He started snapping his fingers.

“The Malachite Cybernetic Boxing Arena.” Edmond said.

“Right!” Teddy lit up, “The MCBA, we’ve seen a couple of pictures of the place, it looks pretty snazzy. They got this whole crystal-theme thing going on.”

“Did they get their feelin’s hurt too or something?” Sandman half joked.

Teddy chuckled again, “Oh, they were fuming. But no, no, after that interview, they got even more interested in seeing the two of you fight.”

Sandman pressed his lips together.

He knew this was going to happen eventually. He knew it since the day that horrible interview happened, but surely there wasn’t going to be a fight this soon.

“Yeah? Well–Is he really–” Sandman fumbled with his words, “Is he any good? You know, like–a good fighter? Decent record?” His hands started to get sweaty.

Teddy thought to himself for a moment, and the longer Sandman went without an answer, the faster his heart raced.

Edmond spoke up instead, “We’re planning to have another discussion with the stadium’s representative in the near future. We need to figure out how we’ll deal with the advertisements, who’ll be handling most of the finances, and of course, if their champion is even a good match for you. As for the champion’s record–”

The door slammed open. Startle flashed across Edmond’s face before he scowled and faced the door.

A tall, lanky woman with pinkish-pale skin and a crooked, baby-blue suit came hurrying in. She wore black, oval-framed glasses, and her dark brown hair was in a loose, messy bun that looked moments away from coming undone. She also had a lot of loose strands in her face.

She used one hand to close the door behind her while the other carried a thick, black journal with post-it notes, letters, and thin folders shoved between the pages.

“Hi, hello, hi! Hope I’m not too late!” The woman said, her voice wavering, as was the grin on her round face, “I was finishing up some poster designs in my office and I–well! I lost track of time!”

As the woman made her way over to Teddy, Edmond muttered to himself.

“...No better than Terry…”

“I lost track of time working on posters for Bull’s interview that you wanted me to finish before the end of the weekend, Eddy.” The woman shot back with a frown, “If you’d like them to be finished faster, you can always lend a hand.”

Edmond shut his mouth.

As she quickly shuffled over to the seat on the left of Teddy, Sandman caught a glimpse of her lower half.

Worn down, dark blue jeans with bits of paint splatters on them, untied, dark gray tennis shoes that looked like they were about to fall apart, and Sandman swore her socks were different colors. Despite how sloppy her attire was, she had still managed to throw on a suit, which was a lot more than he could say.

Sandman’s seen her throughout the stadium before. He knew she was a part of the WVBA’s creative team, but he couldn’t remember the name of her role.

Graphic designer?

Promoter?

Either way, the few times he’s interacted with her, it’s always been pleasant.

“Glad you could make it, Lizzy.” Teddy grinned as Lizzy plopped into her seat.

“Glad to be here!” Lizzy said, she then looked at Sandman, “And glad to see you as well! How’ve you been!” She eagerly scooted closer to the table.

Sandman nodded, “Doin’ alright, you?”

“Good, good.” She dropped her journal on top of the table and flipped it open to a page covered in messy handwriting and doodles, “So, what have you all been talking about so far? Champion stuff, right? Or are we past that?”

As she rambled, Sandman noticed that she had another set of glasses hooked onto the collar of the white t-shirt underneath her suit. Maybe they were reading glasses?

“We’re still at the champion stuff.” Teddy said.

“Oh, that’s great!” Lizzy’s smile got brighter, “I’ve been hearing so much about him ever since Jade had that phone call with–”

Teddy raised a finger. Lizzy stopped.

Teddy then looked to Edmond, “Care to join us, Mr. Mono?”

All eyes were on Edmond now.

Edmond, who was sitting at the very front of the table. Alone.

He narrowed his eyes before he stood up, grabbed his papers, and walked to the back of the table.

He stopped when he was just a chair away from Lizzy and sat back down. He went back to working on whatever was on those papers.

Teddy mouthed a little ‘Thank you’. Lizzy went back to talking.

“Right, so after that phone call with those representatives, Jade told us all about that champion!” She skimmed the contents of her journal, “Like–did you hear how he plowed his way through his stadium’s circuits in less than a month?”

Sandman and Teddy’s eyes widened.

“Shut the front door!” Teddy exclaimed, he sounded much more excited over this than Sandman was, “All I’ve heard was how he’s sent five opponents flying out of the ring because of how hard his punches were.”

Sandman’s stomach started to feel like it was getting crushed.

“Oh, there is so much more to him. You should’ve been in the breakroom the other day.” Lizzy propped her head up with her hands, “Just about everybody was crammed inside of there so they could hear what Jade had to say. Did you know during one of his matches, an opponent punched him in the face–only for their hand to break?! Could you imagine having a jaw that strong?”

Sandman felt his hands get sweatier.

“That is crazy.” Teddy turned to Sandman, “Are you hearing all of this?”

Sandman forced himself to nod.

His jaw was clenched.

Teddy and Lizzy kept talking.

“Apparently–one time–he punched a guy so hard, he ended up forgetting his entire life!” Lizzy let out an ecstatic laugh.

Sandman started to pick at his fingers under the table.

What was there to laugh about?

What was funny about this?

Was he supposed to be excited as well?

Did they forget that he’s the guy this freak’s after?

Did they think he’d like to go flying out of the ring? Or forget a good chunk of his life? He has some memories he’d like to keep.

Sandman kept staring at the two higher ups as they kept talking.

Has he looked away from them even once?

Has he even blinked?

He probably looked insane right now.

He hoped none of them noticed–

His eyes flickered to Edmond.

They locked eyes for just a second before Edmond went back to his work.

Great.

He noticed.

He’ll probably tell Teddy and Lizzy about this the second Sandman leaves.

“Hey, so–” Sandman cut in, “We just here to talk bout this guy? Or is he like, comin’ over here or something.”

That sounded way ruder than he wanted it to.

Edmond raised his head, “Yes, why don’t we focus on what this discussion is supposed to be about?”

Sandman noticed the hint of disappointment in both Lizzy and Teddy’s faces.

He scratched the back of his neck, “I mean, I don’t mind–”

“We have more important matters to focus on than these exaggerated claims.” Edmond said.

“They aren’t just claims!” Lizzy shot back, “This is important information about the champion! Wouldn't you want to know what your opponent is like before he–”

“I’d like to leave this place before 11, Elizabeth.” Edmond glared at her.

Lizzy folded her arms and slouched.

“We… Did get a bit sidetracked.” Teddy fixed his posture. He gave a passing glance to Edmond before he continued, “To answer your question though, Sandman, the guy’s record is pretty good. I can’t remember the exact numbers, but I’d say it’s on par with yours.”

“Right.” Despite finally getting an answer, that only made Sandman feel worse, “And he’s comin’ here?”

“In due time.” Edmond said, “The MCBA is already interested in sending their champion to our stadium, there’s been plenty of press about the two of you, your fans seem quite eager about the idea, and frankly, our stadium needs another big match. Especially after how Bald Bull’s turned out.”

“Oh, please. People loved his fight!” Lizzy exclaimed.

Edmond scoffed, “So? He didn’t win, and his fans lost interest.”

“A tiny bit of them! A smidge.”

“A small decrease in interest is still a decrease, Elizabeth.”

Lizzy opened her mouth–but Teddy spoke up.

“It’s also been a while since you’ve had a big fight, right?” He asked Sandman.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” Sandman shrugged.

Teddy nodded, “Right! So we were thinking–wouldn’t it be exciting to go against another champion? Not just for you, but for our audience as well! They love your fights, they love you.”

Honestly, Sandman didn’t mind the lack of big, flashy fights, those were more of Macho Man’s thing. If anything, he kinda couldn’t stand them.

He hated how crazy fans could get, he hated how invasive interviewers would act, and he hated how stressful the build up to the fight was.

But just by glancing at the higher ups’ faces, it was pretty clear that wasn’t the sort of answer they wanted.

“So when’s the guy gonna arrive?” Sandman asked, “Gonna take a while, isn’t it? He’s gonna have to fly over here, go through all the other circuits–”

“He isn’t going to go through the circuits. When he arrives, he’ll be coming straight to you.” ” Edmond stated.

Sandman stopped.

What?

No, no, that can’t be right.

Edmon glanced up at Sandman, waiting for a response, but when he got none, he kept talking, “There’s high demand to see you fight that champion. The sooner we schedule your match, the sooner we get the fundings we need to push out advertisements–”

“And the sooner my team and I can start working on your posters!” Lizzy chimed in.

“And hey, all that demand aside, it’ll be fun.” Teddy smiled, “What do you say, son?”

‘No.’

That was the first word that came into Sandman’s mind.

No.

No way.

He did not care how great that champion was, he couldn’t be that good to skip over everyone.

The higher ups stared at Sandman, waiting for an answer.

Sandman’s throat tightened.

‘You can’t disappoint them.’

It wouldn’t be fair to the hundreds of contenders that had to fight their way to the top before him.

‘They’re counting on you.’

Why should he be the exception?

‘What would your fans think?’

It’s not fair.

‘What would your friends think?’

It’s not fair to the other boxers.

‘If you turn this down, you could ruin everything.’

It’s not fair to him.

Sandman took a deep breath, “Sure.”

As soon as that word left his mouth, the disgustingly thick slurry of regret rose in his throat.

He covered his mouth and took a deep breath. It was too late to take it back now.

The meeting was going to be over soon.

~ ~ ~ ~

Octave sat at the end of the beaten-up booth.

It was stained, scratched up, and reeked of sweat.

He kept his arms folded, nails digging further into his skin with each miserable second that passed.

His posture was stiff and uncomfortable, and he was nearly an inch away from falling off the booth’s edge, but he didn’t care. As long as he was far from Disco, that’s all that mattered.

He narrowed his eyes at Aran, watching in annoyance as he kept whipping his head around to look at whatever woman passed him. The way his greasy ponytail kept moving made Octave want to grab it and rip it off of him.

And speaking of annoying, how did Disco and Aran both manage to dress in ways that drove Octave up the wall?

Disco wore a varsity jacket that was an annoyingly bright shade of blue, with puffy white sleeves that the bar’s light bounced off of. The purple t-shirt he wore underneath was so saturated it could probably melt Octave’s eyes if he stared at it for too long. The only tolerable thing he was wearing was a pair of dark blue shorts that were hidden under the table.

Maybe if Disco shoved the rest of himself under the table, Octave would be able to tolerate him more.

And Aran.

Aran and his stupid, beer-stained, murky green shirt. Aran and his stupid, dark green shorts that probably had even more stains on them. Aran and his stupid, skin-curling clothes that he probably hadn’t washed in weeks.

Aran suddenly shot up from his seat and hollered at a waiter.

“Over ‘ere ye ninny! I’ve been waitin’ here for hours!”

The waiter, who was dressed in nothing more but a white shirt, a pair of jeans, and a black apron, made their way over with a plastic tray full of drinks.

Aran took one of the pints and started downing it with loud, disgusting gulps.

“Bout time.” He said as he wiped off the white foam around his lip, “Get me another, hah?”

The waiter nodded as they handed over a bright red soda can to Disco. Disco cracked it open. Octave cringed at the sound.

The waiter walked away.

Aran went back to eyeing the crowd.

Octave’s nose scrunched.

“Say Aran,” He finally said, “mind tellin’ me what this schmuck’s doin here?” He pointed to Disco.

Disco lowered his brows but didn’t take his eyes off the phone.

Aran turned around, “What? Thought ye’d like th’extra bit’o company.”

“With Disco?” Octave asked.

“Yeah, what’s wrong wit’ him?” Aran shrugged.

Octave glared at him.

Aran threw his hands up, “I needed a ride here, izzat so wrong? Ye expect me t’walk over 20 miles jus’ t’get to some beer?”

“I ain’t, but did he really have to be here? He couldn’t have just dropped ya off or somethin’? He hadda walk ya over–what, were ya too scared to go alone?” Octave asked.

“I wanted t’buy him a drink after drivin’ me! Didn’t know it was a crime t’do somethin’ nice for yer friend.” Aran snapped.

“Ya can spoil th’guy for all I care, but ya told me this was our night, that it was just gonna be th’two of us hangin’ around–”

“Oh, so suddenly I can’t have another friend around?!” Aran asked.

“Ya can! I just don’t wanna–”

“Right, sorry, forgot how sensitive ye git wit’ t’is sorta crap.” Aran rolled his eyes, “How come when ye hang round Tiger, it’s all fine ‘n dandy, but when I hang round somebody else–”

“He thought you were gonna ditch him again.” Disco spoke up, grabbing both of the men’s attention.

“What?” Octave mumbled, the clammer of the bar drowning out his voice.

Disco nodded, “Yeah, when we were drivin’ here, he told me you probably weren’t gonna make it, so like, he wanted…” His words trailed off when he saw the glare Aran was giving him. He quickly took a sip of his soda and went back to texting.

Octave stared at him.

He then looked back at Aran, “Ya think I’d ditch ya?”

Aran scowled and muttered something under his breath..

“Why th’heck would ya think that?”

“I’unno, Einstein, certainly don’t have anyt’ing to do wit’ what happened last time.” He sneered. He grabbed his pint and took another swig.

“Last time?” Octave muttered.

Through the ruckus of the bar–through its blaring music and drunken cackles–he thought to himself.

The last time…

That was at the diner, wasn’t it?

Unless Aran was counting the time they went to the stadium and put traps in Bear’s–

Octave shook his head. No, that couldn’t be it, right?

The only other thing they’ve done together was talk on the phone–Octave stopped.

“Ya–are ya talkin’ bout earlier this week? What, when I couldn’t meet with ya at th’bar?” Octave finally asked. He looked back to Aran, whose frown grew.

“Are ya seriously still upset over that?! I told ya I was runnin’ errands. I couldn’t have met ya at th’bar even if I wanted to!” Octave raised his voice.

“No, ye told me ye just hadda do th’stupid laundry.” Aran hissed, “T’at sorta stuff don’t take all day.”

“Well guess what? It was a lotta laundry, ‘n I had to deal Macho Man–”

Aran pushed himself up and leaned closer to Octave, “Oh, boo, yer dad ran into ye, poor t’ing. Did he hold y’captive or somet’ing?”

Octave heard Disco snort. He gave him a nasty look, which made Disco bury his face deeper into his phone.

Octave tried to keep talking, “I got home late ‘n didn’t feel like–”

“Didn’t feel like what? Bein’ round yer friend?” Aran asked.

Aran lingered in front of Octave’s face, waiting for an answer.

Octave stared at him, nails digging deeper into his arms.

He finally forced an answer out of his mouth.

“No, that ain’t it.”

“Why didn’t y’call me then? Was I not worth th’time for t’at either?” Aran’s tone got more cynical.

“No, I got–I was gonna call ya after I was finished talkin’ with Tiger–”

“I didn’t ask about Tiger.” Aran’s face was barely an inch away from Octave’s.

Disco’s eyes kept darting to Aran then back to Overload.

“I gave ya a voicemail. Didn’t ya see that?” Octave said.

“Was that th’bloody t’ing ye sent me in th’middle o’the evenin’?!” Aran asked. For once in his life, Octave wished the bar’s music was louder, “I was already at th’bar when ye sent that crap, ‘n I couldn’t even hear it wit’ how cruddy th’quality was. Does yer phone even have a proper mic?!”

Disco’s hand suddenly came between them. He placed it on Aran’s chest and pushed him back into his seat. “How about some personal space?”

Once Aran was seated, Disco mumbled something to him.

Octave watched the two men talk before he slowly brought his head down, staring at the wooden table that had been ruined with crude, scratched-in words and drawings.

He could feel Aran’s eyes on him.

“Yer lucky Disco was there for me t’at night, d’ye know t’at?” Aran asked him. Octave’s mouth curled down.

“I was sittin’ round t’at bar like some idiot for nearly half ‘n hour waitin’ for ye.” Each word that left his lips was colder than the last, “Disco over ‘ere actually came when I called ‘em. Imagine that, aye? Maybe you could learn a t’ing from him.”

“Knock it off, Aran.” Disco said, getting back into his spot, “If I had to hang round you all the time, I’d probably need a break too.”

Aran didn’t say anything.

The deafening conversations of the bar filled the air between them.

The waiter from before came over. They slipped a menu with a dirtied plastic cover in front of Octave. They then grabbed the extra pint of beer–when suddenly Aran stood up.

“I don’t want t’at crap anymore. I’m gettin’ my own drink.” He pushed the waiter out of the way and stormed to the other side of the bar.

Octave and Disco watched him disappear into the crowd before they looked back at the waiter.

“I can take it.” Disco said, gesturing for the waiter to hand the drink over.

They did so. Disco grabbed it and nodded to the waiter. The waiter walked off.

Octave picked at the uneven edges of the menu, glazing over the small list of food they had to offer before flipping it over.

There was nothing but drinks on the other side.

Octave flipped back over to the food and looked over his options again. His stomach felt like it had been tied into a knot.

Nothing looked appetizing.

The bar felt like it was getting hotter.

The fabric of his suit and pants clung onto his skin.

He could feel beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead.

It didn’t help that there were hundreds of people here rubbing against each other, or the fact the kitchen door was left wide open, letting the heat of the ovens and grills pour out.

Everything was starting to grate on his nerves more and more.

From the constant tapping, to the snapping of fingers, to the horrible sound of people scraping their utensils against their plates, all wrapped together with Aran’s words ringing in his head, it made him want to claw his skin off.

He felt his heart race and took deep, heavy breaths in an attempt to block out even a fraction of the noise.

Tonight wasn’t a good night to drink.

Especially not with Disco here.

He’ll just get some water, chat with Aran, then leave–

Quick taps started to fill his ears.

Octave’s eyes shot over to Disco, who was tapping with one hand to the music while texting with the other.

Octave gripped onto the menu tighter.

He kept watching.

He thought about grabbing that extra pint and smashing it against Disco’s hand.

He thought about driving the shards into his skin and dragging it across–

Disco looked at Octave. They locked eyes before Disco looked at his hand.

He then shoved it into his jacket’s pocket.

His expression was sour, but whatever, at least he was quiet.

Octave shifted around, trying to get comfortable as all of the bar’s terrible sensations wrapped their arms around him and dug their fingers into his body.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted to be in bed.

He wanted to be on the phone with Tiger.

Disco rested an arm on the table and inched a bit closer to Octave.

“Say, you uh–ya wanna drink that?” He asked, pointing to the pint of beer, “I’m not real big on alcohol and stuff, plus my parents’ll kill me if they find out I’ve been drinkin’. You a fan of beer?” He tilted his head.

Octave tossed the menu down and kept staring at the empty spot in front of him, “None of ya business.”

Disco’s mouth hung open, “Wh–?” He gestured about for a second, “None of my–!? I’m right here! I’m right here, at th’same booth as you, not even five feet away! I’m literally a part of your business right now!”

“So?” Octave muttered.

“So we could, ya know, talk? We got nothin’ better to do, my food ain’t comin’ for another who knows when, and I can’t leave till Aran wants to go home–whaddaya want me to do!?” He tossed his arms up, “Just spend th’next hour ignorin’ you and bein’ on my phone?”

“Yeah.”

Disco’s brows dropped.

He glared at Octave before he shoved his phone in his face again.

“Tryna be nice, ya know.” Disco muttered, sinking further into the booth’s cushions.

Octave just sneered, “Why?”

Disco looked at him like he was crazy, “Cause I don’t wanna spend th’whole night being petty to some guy I see every other day? Cause Aran was kinda bein’ a jerk to ya? Cause I wanted a conversation? Cause it’s–it’s nice? C’mon man, that shouldn’t even need an explanation.”

Octave nodded, “Right, sweet ‘n all, but I still hate ya.”

“Yeah, like I haven’t caught onto that.” Disco folded his arms.

Octave tried to look anywhere else but at Disco. He scanned the crowd for a waiter, but all of them were busy. There weren’t any signs of Aran either.

“You know, most people don’t even bother tryna talk to th’guy who nearly broke their boombox,” Disco grumbled as he kept texting, “or throws their stuff round like it’s nothin’, or–ya know–treat them like dirt everytime they see ‘em.”

Octave tore his head away from the crowd, “Ya want a medal or somethin’?”

Disco grip on his phone tightened, “I want you to actually say somethin’ to me that isn’t an insult.”

Octave scowled, “And I want you to stop bein’ so annoyin’.”

“And I want you to quit being such a jerk.” Disco said.

“And I want you to quit bein’ so thin skinned.”

“And I want you to go back to th’way you were when you first came to this stadium!” Disco exclaimed before he turned away from Octave and brought his knees to his chest, “Ya weren’t the happiest guy, but you were a heck of a lot nicer than you are now.” He muttered to himself, but Octave could hear him perfectly.

Octave’s face burned. His throat tightened.

The nerve of that chump.

Freak barely even knows him. What gave him the right to spew that sorta crap?

“I thought maybe we’d be a li’l more chill since we’re outta the ring cause–I dunno. I just did.” Disco said.

Octave grit his teeth.

“Wanna call me stupid for that too?” Disco asked, peering over at Octave.

If Disco hated how he treated him so much, why doesn’t he just shut up more often?

Why doesn’t he just turn off his devices?

Why does he even care about those stupid devices? They’re replaceable.

Maybe if he was quiet more often, Octave would tolerate him more.

Maybe if stopped tapping and dancing around for more than ten seconds, Octave could work up the energy to be ‘nicer’ to him.

Maybe if Disco was half as decent as Tiger, he’d get a shred of respect from him.

Octave narrowed his eyes. His mind wandered back to Tiger.

How he wished Tiger was here right now. How he wished he had one person in this stupid bar that wasn’t fed up with him.

If Tiger were here, he’d probably teleport Octave out of this joint, or maybe he’d laugh at every line Octave’s thrown at Disco tonight.

‘Or maybe not.’

He lowered his brows.

‘C’mon, ya saw how mad he got at Don ‘n Pisty after th’way they treated ya durin’ dinner. What makes ya think he’d put up ya stupid act?’

Octave grumbled to himself. So what if he’s being harsh?

‘Did ya forget th’time ya talked bad bout Bull? Did ya forget how fed up Tiger got with ya?’ The voice in the back of his head asked, ‘Do ya want Disco to run his mouth bout whatcha said ‘n end up with another friend mad at’cha, ya dolt?’

Octave covered his face with his hand and let out a heavy sigh.

He then stared at Disco through the cracks of fingers.

“I ain’t a fan.” Octave finally said.

Disco turned around, “What?”

“Of beer. I don’t like it.”

Disco didn’t say anything.

Octave’s chest grew tighter.

His eyes flickered over, and when he saw Disco staring at him, mouth hanging open, he looked away again.

“Really?” Disco said, his tone uncertain, “Always–always thought you’d be the type to like that sorta stuff.” Disco said.

“Yeah, well, I ain’t.” Octave said, “Ain’t a fan of gettin’ drunk either, or th’hangovers.”

“Right.” Disco nodded, “Same here. I, uh–Don’t really get th’excitement for that sorta stuff. Not sure how Popinski can handle bein’ like that all the time.” He chuckled, though it sounded forced, “What bout wine?”

“Bad. None of ‘em ever taste good.” Octave raised his head, “I know Joe has bout a glass of that stuff daily.”

Disco chuckled again, a bit more genuine this time, “Yeah, he’s always talked bout wantin’ to have a wine cellar. He got me a fancy bottle of wine once for my birthday, gave it to my parents instead.” He shrugged. “You can’t say anythin’ bad bout wine near him, though.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“He’ll get wine-y.” Disco flashed a big, goofy smile and laughed at his own joke. Octave got a laugh as well.

That was a bad joke.

He can’t believe he got a laugh from Disco’s stupid, bad joke.

He’s never gonna let himself live this down.

Disco started talking again, but Octave couldn’t make out a single word he was saying. His voice just dissolved with the hundreds of others in the bar.

The heat was starting to get to him again.

Where was Aran?

Octave tried to search through the crowd, but he couldn’t even find the tip of Aran’s hair.

The voice in the back of his head spoke up again, ‘Go outside.’

Octave gripped onto the table’s edge. Should he? Aran would probably get ticked off if he left him again.

But the constant clamor, the blaring music–if Octave stayed here a second longer he’d probably break something–someone–

He shook his head and punched the table, making Disco jump.

Octave got out of his seat and took a step towards the crowd.

“Hey ya–you good?” Disco asked.

Octave only glanced at him before he muttered, “I need some fresh air.”

He pushed his way through the crowd and made his way to the door, leaving Disco all alone.

~ ~ ~ ~

Sandman sat in his car at the parking lot behind the stadium.

He stared at his flip phone, its blue light burning into his eyes as a pit formed in his stomach.

‘Why did you agree to that?’ He asked himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. What was he supposed to do?

Say no to the higher ups’ faces? After they’ve put all their time and consideration into this upcoming match?

Tell them he’ll ‘Think about it’ and put up with their constant calls, emails, and letters asking if he’s finally made a decision?

He’s beaten plenty of guys before, he’s sure this won’t be any different.

Besides, it’s not like he could run back inside and tell Teddy he changed his mind.

Teddy probably already contacted the other stadium by now.

Sandman slowly exhaled and rested his head against the steering wheel.

The sound of his car’s engines filled his ears as the AC gently blew in his face.

He hated this.

He hated himself.

He should’ve said no.

Sandman’s thumb hovered over his phone’s keypad. He pressed a few buttons and went to his contact list.

He scrolled through it, eyes glazing over most of the names as he thought about who he should talk to.

He hesitated when he saw Bald Bull’s. He still hasn’t responded to Sandman’s text from several days ago.

Sandman scrolled past him.

No way was he going to bother Bull with his stupid match. Poor guy was already going through enough.

Sandman scrolled past Macho Man’s number. He scoffed.

Yeah, as if he’d talk to Macho about this. All he’d get as a response is nothing but Macho bragging about how tough he is, and how Sandman just needed to ‘man up’.

Sandman scrolled past Bear Hugger’s number–he forgot he had his number.

The last time they texted each other was…

Sandman glanced at the date.

Months ago.

What sort of jerk would reach out to someone again just to complain about their problems?

What sort of jerk goes months without talking to someone who works at the same building with them?

Then Sandman scrolled to Joe’s number.

He stopped.

His thumb bent down ever so slightly, hovering over the ‘Call’ button, before he raised it back up.

What would he even say to Joe?

‘Hey, remember that champion guy we talked bout? Th’one on the paper? Yeah, I have to fight him.’

‘So?’ Joe would probably say, ‘He’s threatened to fight you at least twenty times by now. You’re not surprised, are you?’

‘Guess I just… Didn’t expect it to happen so soon, ya know?’

He could hear Joe’s scoff echo in his head, ‘Please. You’ll be fine. You’re a boxer–you’re the champion! What’s there for you to be scared of? Losing?’

Sandman lowered his brows, ‘I guess.’

‘Right, because you’ve lost so many times before.’ Joe would reply with a roll of his eyes, ‘It’s not like everyone below you has ever lost before. It’s not like they’ve ever gotten knocked down and had to push themselves back up. Why, it’s unheard of.”

‘I’m just worried.’ Sandman thought.

‘You’re being dramatic. You’ll be fine.’

Sandman stared at his phone for a moment longer.

‘You’ll be fine.’

Sandman closed his phone, shoved it into his glove compartment, and drove away.

~ ~ ~ ~

Octave sat at a curb and watched as cars slowly maneuvered their way through the sloppily made parking lot. Their yellow lights occasionally doused him, and he’d sometimes get a lungful of smoke with every other car that passed.

The bar was a good several feet away, and even then, he could still hear its blaring music and the obnoxious conversations, along with the stench of cigarettes and cheap booze.

Being outside sucked, but it was a million times better than being inside.

At least he wasn’t sweating up a storm anymore, and at least he could get a good look at the stars.

Octave stared at the sky.

He hoped he could still get a taxi at this hour. He might have to walk a couple blocks to find one, or–worse case–spend a couple quarters at a phone booth and call one over.

He patted his pocket. He should have enough for a call and a ride home.

As Octave looked at the sky, his face started to scrunch.

He’s been out here for at least half an hour. The only reason he’s bothering to wait around is to say goodbye to Aran so the schmuck doesn’t think he ditched him again.

Octave sneered. As if Aran deserved a goodbye after the way he’s acted tonight.

Did he seriously get so worked up over Octave not making it to one stinking bar that Aran just had to replace him with Disco? Disco?

He’s met up with him hundreds of times before, but the one time he couldn’t make it, Aran throws a fit?

Whatever.

Hopefully Aran will get over it by next week.

Octave heard footsteps coming from behind.

He groaned.

“Hey.” He heard Disco say, “Think you can get a cab for Aran?”

“What? Why?” Octave whipped his head around, about to ask why Disco couldn’t drive him, but he stopped when he saw how upset Disco seemed.

“I ain’t gonna drive him back.” Disco said, “I was–till he went and started threatenin’ me. I don’t care if he’s drunk or whatever, I’m not–” Disco kicked at the sidewalk, “I just don’t wanna be around him anymore. I’ve had enough ‘Aran’ for tonight.”

Octave forced out a chuckle, “Right.” He stood up and brushed his pants off, “Yeah, I’ll get ‘em a cab.”

“Thanks.” Disco nodded. He put his hands in his pockets and lingered for a moment, “Sorry, I like–probably ruined your night, didn’t I?” He put on a tired grin, “Look, I really didn’t know you were gonna show up. I just thought I was his backup plan again.”

Octave pressed his lips together and nodded, “It’s whatever. I don’t care.”

“Alright.” Disco sighed. He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he said, “Ya have a good night.” And walked away.

“Mhm.” Was all Octave responded with as he watched Disco disappear into the parking lot. He stayed put for a moment while a strange, burning sensation filled his throat.

He swallowed and turned around.

Aran was standing in the middle of the bar’s doorway arguing with… Someone. They were tall–probably as tall as Macho Man–and had a big, broad build. They were wearing all black, but it couldn’t have been a security guard. No way this run down, shack of a bar could afford a security guard. Either way, he looked mad at Aran.

Octave fixed the collar of his shirt and walked over, weaving through the crowded tables and trying not to breathe in too much smoke as he approached his friend.

“I don’t care…You won’t…Staff like that…!” Octave heard bits and pieces of whatever the big guy was saying.

“Not my fault…How bout they…Jobs for once?!” Aran shouted back.

“You threatened…She couldn’t…” The man went off, but the neighboring conversations were drowning him out.

“Ye can tell t’at lass to go shove it then!” Aran snapped.

Octave grabbed Aran by the shoulder.

Aran spun around, about ready to throw a punch–but he lowered his fist when he saw it was Octave.

“I’ll deal with ‘em.” Octave said, giving Aran a pat, and getting a cold look from the man. “C’mon.”

He started to drag Aran away, but before they got too far, he faced the man again.

“Ya wouldn’t happen to have a phone we could borrow–”

“Get. Lost.” The man growled, his voice was deep and cold, and he looked like he was about to tear their heads off.

“Right. Gotcha.” Octave went back to pulling Aran away, “Been a real pleasure drinkin’ here.”

Aran’s head darted from the big man to Octave, “Aye, Ov’rload, there’s two o’us–”

“Didn’t know ya could count that high.”

Aran gave him a slap to the back of his head, “Can it.” He hissed, “We could take him though. Knock him down. Dolt won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Maybe another time.” Octave muttered as they went through the parking lot. They avoided passing cars until they eventually got off the dirt path and onto a sidewalk.

Octave couldn’t recall if there were any phone booths nearby or not. Hopefully there was. He really didn’t want to spend the rest of the night walking around this terrible place.

As the two got further and further from the bar, and closer to the rundown houses and stores of the town, Octave finally let go of Aran and wiped his hand off his pants.

Neither of them said a word.

Octave could hear Aran grumbling to himself, kicking at rocks as he cussed and complained about the chef, the poor workers, and the fine beer he supposedly didn’t get. Octave ignored him.

Octave scanned whatever parts of the neighborhood weren’t hidden in the darkness. Most homes were the same thin, two story, rectangular brick buildings with battered doors, crooked railings, and boarded windows. People’s yards were rather dead, littered, or decorated with birdbaths, small statues, and fancy pots to overcompensate the fact that the front of their house looked like garbage.

Speaking of garbage, the streets were covered in it. Crushed cans by mailboxes, soggy cardboard left to rot on driveways, and crumbled newspapers tangled in the wires of utility poles.

Some houses had their lights on.

They were bright, yellow, and obnoxious, but they did a better job illuminating this awful street than those dang lamp posts, which only provided weak, sputtering white lights that attracted moths and mosquitos.

“Had a good time tonight?” Octave asked as he stared ahead.

“Pah.” Aran said, “Disco did nothin’ but be annoyin’. Only time I enjoyed m’self t’night was when I left t’at bloody booth.”

“Then why’d ya invite him?” Octave rolled his eyes. The smell of the booze Aran drank started to mix with the muddy smell of the neighborhood.

“Thought it’d be funny.” Aran joined Octave’s side, a sly smirk on his face, “And hey, he wasn’t th’only one to ruin m’night.”

Octave raised a brow, “What?”

Aran let out a whistle, making Octave cringe, “Don’t go actin’ like yer all innocent. Ye did nothin’ but mope round bout th’noise.” He wrapped an arm around Octave and pulled him close, “Didn’t even order anyt’ing. Th’food ain’t that bad, ye know.”

“Wasn’t hungry.” Octave said.

A couple cars passed them, their headlights stinging Octave’s eyes for a moment. He squeezed them shut and shook his head. When he opened them again, he could sort of see a couple taller buildings in the distance. There could be a phone booth there.

Octave’s eyes flickered over to Aran then back to the path, “Yeah, I had a cruddy night too.”

“Didn’t ask.” Aran said.

“I know.”

It was silent again.

The heat of Aran’s breath irritated Octave more and more, and the way Aran’s skin pressed against the back of his neck made him want to hurl.

“Disco was pretty annoyin’ though, not like that’s anythin’ new.” Octave added. That got a snort from Aran.

“Tell me bout it. Man jus’ has to open his mouth at th’worst times, don’t he?”

“I know, right? Guy can’t shut up if his life depended on it. Even when I was sittin’ there doin’ nothin’, he just hadda start yappin’.” Octave shoved his hands into his pockets, “It’s like he’ll die on th’spot if he goes a whole minute without talkin’.”

“Ye should’ve been there when he was drivin’ me to th’bar. Nothin’ but corny music ‘n constant blabber th’whole way through. I’ll give th’lad this though…” Aran said.

Octave tilted his head.

“Least he don’t leave a man hangin’ alone at th’bar.”

Octave rolled his eyes again.

“Ye couldn’t even be bothered to stay a whole hour wit’ us t’night.”

“It was gettin’ loud.” Octave grumbled.

“Awh, boo hoo.” Aran clicked his tongue, “That don’t change th’fact Disco managed t’stick round longer than ye.”

“Least Disco knows how to put on some clean clothes, huh, Aran?” Octave shot back.

Aran snickered, “Aye, but at least Disco don’t go throwin’ tantrums over everyt’ing. Could ye imagine bein’ like that?”

“I bet Disco doesn’t pick the nastiest bars in th’city either.”

“And I bet he don’t nearly cry over noise. Remember t’at?” Aran asked. Octave dug his nails into the fabric of his pants.

“Yeah? Hey, how many times has Disco gotten suspended again? I’m sure it ain’t in th’double digits like some other guys.” Octave could see Aran’s smile grow wider from the corner of his eyes.

“I bet Disco don’t know how to shorten his suspension down to one week like me!” He exclaimed proudly, “I’m sure he also don’t have nearly as many losses as a certain someone either.”

Octave felt Aran pull him closer, “I’m sure th’schmuck doesn’t shove mouse traps into people’s lockers too.”

“Awh, c’mon now.” Aran chuckled, “We both worked hard on t’at. Could’ve thrown ye under th’bus when them higher ups was talkin’ to me, but I didn’t. Know why?”

“Cause ya stupid?”

“Cause I’m a good person.” He squished Octave’s cheeks and shook his face, “Ye gotta take notes on t’at, got it?”

Octave yanked his arm off and forced a grin on his face, “Yeah, cause when I think of some goody-two-shoes, I think of th’guy who keeps shovin’ stuff into people’s lockers ‘n cheats all th’time.”

Aran flexed his arms, “Aye, it pays off. Still in th’World Circuit, ain’t I? ‘Sides, I’m doin’ loads better than th’guy screamin’ at every boxer over some foot tappin’ or whatev’r.”

“World Circuit chump with crazy fans ‘n two whole friends. Whadda winner.” Octave scoffed.

Aran let out another whistle, piercing Octave’s ears and making his face scrunch.

“Right, like yer one to talk. How’s yer li’l boyfriend doin’? Is he still callin’? Still takin’ ye on ‘em dates after t’at dinner?” Aran brought Octave close to him again, eagerly waiting for an answer.

“Yeah.” Octave clenched his fists, “We went to th’diner few nights back–”

Aran yanked him even closer, their faces now touching, “Really? Really? Wow, ain’t t’at grand? It’s good to know yer loyal to somebody. It ain’t with th’guy who’s been there for ye since th’start, but it’s better than nobody, ain’t it?” Aran didn’t give Octave the chance to respond as he kept talking, “And for what? T’get an extra date in? T’get a pat on th’back from some magician?”

Octave gave him a scowl.

“C’mon, don’t gimme t’at look.” Aran said, “I’m just jokin’. I’m givin’ ye a hard time. If ye wanna frolic off wit’ Tiger, be m’guest, but I’ll still be waitin’ round for ye because I know how t’be loyal.” He pointed to himself.

“Oh, congrats, ya such an angel.” Octave sneered, “Can’t win a dang fight without cheatin’, ‘n can’t go a night without drinkin’. Bet you’re a real role model for ya sister.”

When Octave glanced back at Aran, there was a twinge of surprise–a twinge of pride–that sparked inside of him when he noticed Aran’s smile had faltered.

Aran parted his lips.

They stayed open for a moment.

“What’re ye on bout?”

“C’mon, she’s your sister, Aran. Ya know what I’m talkin’ bout.” Octave said, the smugness of his tone matching what Aran had just seconds ago, “She has to have seen th’way you’ve thrown ya self at th’other boxers before. Did she see th’time ya tried to bite a guy’s nose off? Or th’time ya nearly strangled a guy with that stupid rope-glove thingy ya whipped up? Or do ya only show her those funny li’l snippets on the papers, like Macho Man gettin’ covered in ink?” He chuckled.

Aran kept staring at him, letting out a barely audible ‘What?’

“Whaddaya mean ‘what’?” Octave asked, “If I hadda brother that crazy, I’d lock myself in my room forever ‘n wait for th’day he drops dead. Ya act crazy in th’ring…”

Aran’s grip on Octave’s shoulder tightened.

“...Ya keep gettin’ suspended–ya know, it ain’t gonna be too long till th’higher ups have hadda enough and kick ya out for good, ‘n then you’ll end up on th’streets cause ya can’t be normal...” Excitement in Octave’s tone grew.

Aran’s hand curled into a tight fist.

“...And I bet th’poor thing smells nothin’ but booze all day. Say Aran, when’s th’last time ya haven’t had a drink? Ya can’t even stop when ya sister’s home with ya–for pete’s sake, th’second she’s in bed, ya just gotta down a can, don’t’cha?” Octave gave his friend a smirk, “She ain’t dumb. I bet she notices all those fancy cans ‘n glasses of beer ya shove into th’trash cans, or hides away when she knows you’ve been drinkin’. Heck, it wouldn’t surprise me if she goes to school smellin’ like beer either–”

Aran socked Octave in the face.

Octave stumbled back and held onto his nose.

“Th’heck was that for?!” Octave snapped, “Are ya really–”

Before Octave could finish that sentence, Aran threw another punch.

Then another.

And another.

Octave tried to step away, but when he saw Aran’s fist flying towards him again–he caught it.

He delivered a sharp blow to Aran’s gut. Aran grunted.

He then struck Aran in the face.

Spit flew from Aran’s mouth.

Aran threw his other fist at Octave–but Octave caught that as well.

Octave kept his grip on Aran’s fists, heart pounding as Aran towered over him and pushed him back further and further.

Aran suddenly threw his head back and bashed it against Octave’s.

A horrible wave of pain immediately rushed through him.

Octave clutched at his head before Aran ripped his arms away and socked him in the jaw.

The taste of blood started to trickle inside of Octave’s mouth.

Aran grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

He kept hitting Overload’s face.

Each punch was harder than the last.

Hot spit and hushed cusses rushed against Octave skin as Aran kept going.

Octave grit his teeth and threw his body against Aran’s.

Aran staggered back, and Octave revved his arm back and punched Aran in the gut again.

It was his turn to keep hitting.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t care where he was punching, he just wanted to make it hurt.

Aran’s body jerked back with each blow, and when Octave struck him in the face, a loud crack filled the air.

He went for another hit–

But Aran grabbed his arm and bit into it as hard as he could, making Octave scream out.

Octave tried to break free, but Aran kicked him in the stomach and shoved him to the ground.

Octave tried to push himself up, but Aran got on top of him.

He held Octave down by his throat and raised his fist into the air.

He struck him in the face.

Then again.

And again.

“Ye keep m’sister outta yer bloody mouth.” He muttered as he struck Octave again.

Octave tried to pry Aran’s hands off his throat.

“If ye even think bout utterin’ bout her again, I’ll kill ye.” He hit Octave again.

Octave gargled something. Salvia and blood dribbled out of his mouth.

He struck him again.

“After all I’ve done for ye–” Aran grabbed Octave’s head and banged it against the pavement, “After all I’ve done for ye!”

Octave let out a violent cough. Blood flew out and stained Aran’s hands.

Aran grabbed a fistfull of Octave’s hair and threw another punch, “What do you know about havin’ a good family!?”

He ignored Octave’s hands desperately clawing at his arms.

He ignored Octave’s body jerking around, trying to break free.

He just kept hitting him.

“What do ye even know bout people likin’ ye?” Aran said before he struck Octave, “I could’ve ignored ye like everyone else–”

“Aran–” Octave called out, but Aran hit him again. More blood started to run down his face.

“But I actually cared bout someone like ye!”

Aran hit him again.

“Aran–Aran stop.”

Aran raised his fist again.

Octave squeezed his eyes shut.

He waited.

But when nothing came, he cracked them open.

Aran loomed over him, eyes wide and wild, blood running down his hand as he stared at Overload.

His heavy breaths filled the cold night’s air.

Octave stared back up at him.

His breaths were shaky, he could feel warm blood stream from his nose. His entire face felt as if it had been lit on fire.

Aran muttered something to himself. He let go of Octave’s neck.

“Don’t ye ever talk bout m’sister again.” He hissed.

Aran raised his head, but before he stood up, he spat on Octave.

He finally pushed himself off of Octave, grinding the bottom of his shoe into his chest as he looked down at his bloodied work one last time, “Enjoy yer time wit’ Kitty while it lasts.”

He gave a final kick to Overload before he stormed off.

Octave clutched at his stomach with one hand and rolled himself over.

Blood ran down his chin. His body burned.

He pushed himself up and watched as Aran grew further and further away.

His breaths grew heavier, wilder, as Aran disappeared into the darkness.

Fine.

Who needs him?

#punch out #punch out!!#punch out wii #punch out oc #punch out aran ryan #punch out mr sandman #art #fic #ALL FINISHEDDD

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badgod01 · 3 months ago

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Birthday - Chapter 2

Despite Infected being a very easily-distractible individual, he continues doing that for a few days—thinking, racking his brain for any potential possibilities of topping Pest. He wants it to be special and exciting since, as far as he knows, Pest doesn't like bottoming. "It just doesn't look appealing" is something that Infected keeps going back on. It's interesting; Pest has pulled him and Poob apart countless times but doesn't think of any of that as appealing enough to be done to him. On one of his thinking days, he wanders to PartyNoob's apartment by himself when they get off of work to ask them something.

"Hey! I didn't expect you, so I'm still in my work uniform," Poob says, but any hint of embarrassment isn't there. "Nice to see you, Infected." They smile at him, ushering him inside wtih a wave of their hand. They're used to people popping in and hanging out, but usually not one of their boyfriends on a weekday.

As soon as Infected steps into the apartment, he realizes how anxious he actually is. It's kind of a weird question—a very weird question—that he doesn't really know how to go into it smoothly. So he doesn't. "Hey, so for Pest's birthhday I was thinking I'd top him—do you want to join and do you have any ideas of what he'd like?"

As soon as the words fell out of his mouth, Poob's eyes lit up. "Oh, do I!" They grab his hand and led him into their bedroom. They look underneath their bed and pull out a shoe box; upon opening it, Infected's eyes widen when he sees a box full of kinky shit, but that apparently isn't just it. "I've been thinking about this for a long time." Underneath the box was a leather-bound diary, and when Infected is handed the item, Poob grabs a fresh set of pajamas. "I'll shower, while you read that like a good boy." They give him a kiss on the cheek before heading into the bathroom.

Infected's face flushes up and he looks down at the book, but glances curiously at the box. He kind of wants to go through the box first, and nudges open the lid. Just at first glance, he sees a small pouch, anal beads, a gag, and bondage rope. It's also heavy but Infected doesn't want to rifle through all that and potentially break something. Maybe Poob will show him another time, but for now, Infected opens the book. It's an embarrassing thing to read; it's all the things they and Pest did together, with dates of when it happened, as well as their thoughts.

Pest LOVES fucking me in doggy style. I like the way he grabs onto my thighs and treats me like a toy. He's really SO hot. I want to do it more often. I love pushing his buttons and making him mad so he fucks me harder ♡

11/22

For my birthday, Pest gave me a fuck ton of eggs and I LOVE it. We fucked in missionary and he kept making me come over and over again until I only had dry orgasms. I struggled to push the eggs out, which was the best part tbh. That's also his favorite part, even if he wouldn't admit it. He LOVES watching me push out his eggs.

11/30

We've been mostly having vanilla sex (well vanilla to Pest's and my standards I guess) so we tried something a bit more special today. Sensory deprivation. He tied me up and blindfolded me and rubbed me all over, but not enough to even get me close to cumming. It made me feel crazy and he took a video of my dick throbbing so he could show me later, which was arguably the most embarrassing prt of it. He also used the ovipositor on me which was SO hot. I almost thought it was his dick until I felt the tips of his fingers on my ass.

He only let me cum when I began drooling all over the pillow and crying, so he stuck his dick in and filled me with his eggs. He took off the rope and stuff when I laid them, but I kinda wish at one point I'll get to do that with him. His only concern was that there was a possibility I'd get scared and freak out if I was blindfolded and tied up during egg laying, which is valid and honestly I probably would lol.

12/07

We tried prone bone, had to put his muscles to use, and it was amazing. No notes. I kinda wished there were no eggs involved in that one, but man I can't deny how hot it is to have them be dumped directly into me like that…

At the fifth page he read, he's starting to think that PartyNoob perhaps gave him the wrong item or maybe was mistaken. Even then, he couldn't stop reading. The thrill of being given permission to read something so private and so intense made him feel excited. Each time he raises his hand to turn the page, it gets heavier and more intense as he lingers onto every word written. He wonders distantly if it felt the same way when Poob wrote these pages, pants tight and face red.

As soon as he opens the next page, he finally sees it.

01/05

Talked with Pest about him potentially bottoming sometime… Seems he's kinda into it. He wasn't really helpful when talking about stuff he'd be into but he got all blushy, which is super cute. I had to REALLY press for details and by the time we were done I gave him a blowjob for a job well done. ♡

'Yeah, that sounds like him,' he thinks distantly. Infected continues reading.

I floated by some ideas with him and this is what he said:

-Tentative YES to bondage; seems kinda nervous about me doing "weird stuff" to him, whatever that means

Infected snorts. Of course Poob would ask that first.

-YES to anal

-YES to oviposition (me giving him eggs to lay instead). A really surprising one but I can't judge lol. He says it just feels biologically good to lay eggs which is REALLY hot…

'Holy fuck?' Infected's eye twitched.

-MAYBE to creampie. Doesn't like the idea of having to clean up, which is SO him that I can't be mad about it lol

-YES to facial/coming on any other part of the body. He says he doesn't want to get it in his hair because he thinks it's yucky? (not his wording)

Infected kinda wishes Pest did say it exactly like that. That would have been hilarious to imagine with his dark, accented voice.

-NO to facefucking, he's scared of biting my dick off (reasonable) with either his teeth OR his mandibles

-I asked him if he liked rough or soft sex + he didn't give me a straight-forward answer on that one. I'll have to ask again some other time. For what it's worth, he DOES like it whenever I do my mommy dommy stuff with him, even if he prefers to dom

Infected did see some mentions of that before in the journal. He's also seen it happen a few times when Poob takes control of the bedroom, and it's glorious to see how quiet and shifty Pest gets when they do. This is the moment when he realizes what the hell he's reading and how strange it is in hindsight. Infected certainly doesn't own his own journal like this… but maybe it'd be fun. It'd give him something to do when he's sitting in his apartment all day.

-YES to degradation (obviously)

-NO to slapping or harming him, but he does like biting and ******LIGHT****** spanking

Infected laughs at the emphasis and turns the page.

-MAYBE to threesomes. He (and I) don't wanna have sex with /just/ anybody. He has to be the right guy.

Anyway, I had to head to work after that, but I sent him a dick pic when I was on the elevator lol

Infected promptly closes the notebook and sighs. Seems like the end of that. After that honestly overwhelming read, he wants to take a cold shower. Speaking of, PartyNoob appears in the doorway wearing their pajamas, looking refreshed.

"Did that help at all?" they ask, sitting next to Infected.

"Uh, yeah! More than," Infected says. "I did have to look through some of the other stuff to find it though…"

"Oh, I know. I don't mind you reading that," Poob replie There isn't even a hint of shame to their response.s.

Infected doesn't know what else to say other than the less than eloquentt "Oh, okay," that leaves his mouth. He rubs his thighs together, shifting for even a bit of relief.

Poob places their hand directly on his bulge, making him moan and buck into their hand. When he looks at them, they're grinning. "Do you need help with that, baby?"

Infected lets out a pent-up sigh. "Please." It comes out whinier than it should.

PartyNoob gives him a gentle kiss, placing their hands on his thighs. They push themselves up onto Infected's lap, opening his fly and pushing his pants just down enough for his cock to spring out. His breath hitches when they wrap their hand around his dick, and he gasps when they spit on their hand and begin pumping it.

"What was your favorite part?" Poob prods.

"I liked reading about you fucking," Infected replies.

They laugh a bit. "You have to be more specific than that."

"I liked—" He swears under his breath, pushing his forehead against Poob's. "I liked reading about all the positions he fucked you in."

"Who fucked me?" They squeeze his dick gently, making Infected groan.

"Pest." Infected struggles to get his name out of his mouth. "I liked reading about Pest fucking you in all those positions." He grabs Poob by the wrist, stopping their movements right then and there. "I need to fuck you," he whispers, desperate.

Poob licked their lips. "Well, I can't let you fuck me because I just showered."

Infected sighs, nodding his head. Reasonable, but that doesn't mean he's not slightly upset about it. He loves fucking Poob, and Poob must know it, because they grin at him and give him a kiss on top of his head.

"I'll give you a blowjob, though. And I'll let you fuck my face if you wanna." Poob sticks out their tongue from the side of their mouth and taps their cheek with the tip of their finger, clearly teasing Infected.

"Fuck."

Poob laughs a bit. "I'll take that as a yes. Go sit in the middle of the bed, handsome. And take off your shoes."

Infected follows their orders obediently; he takes off his shoes and sets it beside the bed, before he scoots into the middle. He has half the mind to take off his jacket and put it aside as well. After that, PartyNoob crawls up to them, looking so pretty yet so seductive, with a small smile on their face.

They place their hands on Infected's knees, spreading them apart. "I love your dick. It's just the tastiest," they say softly, hands reaching for Infected's belt as he squirms at the words. "It's got a nice curve. It's thick yet not big enough to hurt or go too deep." Infected's belt falls to the floor and Poob carefully opens his fly and unbuttons his pants. "You might have the most perfect dick I know."

"Hah—" Poob hasn't even touched Infected yet, and he's throbbing in his pants just from the words. Poob's vulgar, but never spoke to him like this. Their worship is intense, and all he could do is bury his face in their collarbone, feeling spineless. Poob has a special ability to make him feel submissive, and they know the power they hold so carelessly over him. They're dangerous.

"I just really, really love your dick," they whisper, pushing down Infected's pants and underwear enough for his dick to pop out. That's when Poob pounces, pushing Infected onto his back and taking a mouthful of his dick instantly.

Infected's reaction was immediate, moaning and whining for them. His dick was so sensitive and their mouth was so hot that it was impossible to not react. His dick was coated in saliva from Poob's tongue when they pulled away, sighing happily and licking their lips as if it was just a sweet treat.

"I mean, look at this." They wrap their hand around Infected's shaft, delicate fingers pushing against a prominent vein on the underside of his cock. "You got hard reading my sex diary. You probably read dirty novels too, don't you? Or are you an eromanga guy?" They begin pumping their hand up and down his dick, making Infected writhe on the bed. "Answer my question, handsome."

"I—ungh," he whines out, making Poob giggle. Infected resists the overwhelming urge to hide his face in his hands, wanting to answer Poob just as directed, but their hand is so adept. "I'm not—it's just, ah, reading what you did with Pest…"

Poob squeezes his dick hard, making Infected let out a particularly needy whine and thrust his hips forward. "Good boy!" They grin and lick their lips before wrapping them around his dick yet again. They open their eyes just a smidge to look up at him, hollowing out their cheeks while they suck his dick. Infected reaches forward to grab Poob's hair and starts pulling their head down to meet his thrusts. Despite their eyes watering around the waterline, they don't seem bothered by it. They close their eyes and take it, breathing deeply through their nose.

"I'm gonna come," Infected says through gritted teeth. "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

At that moment, he unloads in Poob's mouth, letting out a loud moan. At that moment, every part of his body tenses up and time feels like it's stopped for him. When he's finally finished, he relaxes, letting go of Poob's hair and his legs hit the bed. It takes a moment for either of them to say anything to each other—Poob is busy swallowing his load, and Infected is busy gathering his breath. Both of their faces are red.

"I love you too," Poob says, "but I'm hard now too…" A hint of a whine comes from them as they sit up on their knees, a tent showing in their pajama bottoms.

Infected grins wickedly. "I'll let you fuck my face too."

Poob smiles back, crawling back onto Infected's lap. "If you can handle it, handsome." They unbutton the front of their pajamas, revealing nothing underneath, just their hard dick poking through the front.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"Just a little," Poob replies. They moved forward more until their thighs were on the opposite of Infected's face. "I had a feeling you wouldn't be able to control yourself."

"Well, when I read about a pretty boy and their hot boyfriend fucking, I can't really help it." Infected kisses the tip of Poob's dick, making them curse softly under their breath.

"Open, baby," Poob instructs.

Infected opens his mouth and Poob inserts their dick slowly into him, sighing as they do.

"Just stay still and be a good hole, mkay?" they ask with the sweet voice they always have.

Infected moans in response, closing his eyes. He tries to relax as Poob begins to slowly roll their hips back and forth. It's much more different than the other times they've had sex; it genuinely feels more like making love. At the same time, Infected squirms a little bit—he's being used. He likes pleasing his partners, he knows that much, and it feels the most obvious that he's aroused by this. It doesn't help that Poob lets out pretty moans—all of them is pretty—but these moans are soft yet punchy, almost sweet like the rest of them is.

"My good boy," Poob whispers softly, threading their fingers into his hair. They scratch his scalp gently as they slowly insert their dick in all the way into Infected's throat. They aren't the biggest, they're almost as big as Infected is, but his throat still spasms around the intrusion and his eyes shoot open. Poob pulls out, leaving Infected red in the face and coughing a bit. "You okay, handsome?"

Infected licks his lips. "Yeah," he assures them, though water is in his eyes. He still looks up at Poob with a determined look on his face. "I'll be fine."

"If you say so," Poob replies back. They put their thumb in Infected's mouth, prying it open yet again, before slowly inserting their dick in his mouth again. He hollows out his cheeks, just like how they would do it, and they begin to thrust their hips gently back and forth.

They go deeper this time. They shove their whole length into Infected's mouth, back and forth, but doesn't hold it long enough for him to choke. They keep it there just long enough for him to react, to hold onto their thighs, but not enough for his body to go full alert. He's kept on the delicious edge where he can't do anything at all but sit there and allow Poob to fuck his face. All the while, he's hooked on the noises that's in the room—gentle moans, soft praises to Infected's body, and the soft gagging noises he makes.

Infected lets out a whine when Poob takes their dick out, making them giggle softly and rub their dick across his lips.

"Can I come in your mouth, handsome?" Poob asks, hand wrapped around their shaft. "Look at how much I wanna come." Poob's eyes are starry and intense when he looks up at them, and Infected goes cross-eyed trying to look at their throbbing hard dick.

"In me," Infected replies meekly.

"Where can I come?" Poob's hand speeds up and they moan.

Infected's breathless. "In my mouth—come in my mouth," he begs. He lolls out his tongue over his bottom lip, opening his mouth.

Poob takes the initiative and inserts their dick into his mouth yet again, but this time they're fully using him. They wildly thrust their hips back and forth with zero rhythm, without consistent depth. Sometimes their dick is fully inside his mouth and other times their tip only grazes his tongue. It's a struggle, but it isn't as bad as it was before. Just breathe, he thinks to himself. He closes his eyes and pays attention to the noises; he can hear the exact moment Poob is about to come by the way their thrusts slow down and the loud moans they let out. Eventually, they thrust all the way in and hold, coming down his throat.

Infected tenses up, trying his best to swallow it all down. Poob whines, rubbing their dick against his tongue a few more times before taking it out. As Poob's dick softens, Infected opens his eyes and sighs. "Even your cum is sweet."

Poob laughs, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. They reach over to the side table and grab tissues, patting them both down. "You're cute."

"Are you saying my cum is cute?" Infected asks, swallowing it down. He winces a little when Poob pats gently around his crotch. After that, Infected tucks his dick back into his pants and sits up. He flips the pillow over before laying on it again.

Poob doesn't respond to him, throwing the tissues into the bin in the opposite corner of the room. It falls on the floor and they get up to throw it away properly. They button up their pajama bottoms before they lay down next to Infected. "So… Do you have any plans for Pest?" They tap their fingers across his chest, laying on their side.

"I have a few," Infected says. "First of all…"

#vicsfics #fic: birthday

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joannaliangart · 4 months ago

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Cat and Fish ceramics (2022) slipcast salt and pepper shakers, spoons, and bowl/mugs

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General concept/theme with these is that the cat spoon goes fishing in whatever beverage/soup you put in the mug! And the salt/pepper shakers is the cat licking their lips satisfied with their caught fish hehe

Process details + photos under the cut:

made for my 2nd year ceramics class; Which was such. a pain. in the fucking. ass. Like good things came out of it but the amount of really draining work this class put me through was ROUGH

its also the time I got literally the sickest I've ever been, during a time where I had to be coming into the studio to work every single weekday just to meet deadlines. My cough did not go away for so long and when it did, a few months later it even came back for a while (only popping up near nighttime??) Until it seemed to finally completely resolve itself after like a YEAR. I'm 95% sure it was covid tbh... The test came back negative but I didn't trust those lil at home test guys very much considering how many variations were flying around orz ugh

This ceramics class was also a bummer because I went into it expecting to do at least some wheel throwing (as was on the course description...) But it was all slipcasting and plaster mould making and! I hated it!!! Don't get me wrong slipcasting is v cool, I just hated Doing it lol its hard fuckin work and working with plaster stressed me out orz

But! The nice thing about a ceramics class is you get some fun objects out of it which I always love...

Here's my sketches/ideation:

oh yeah also made some test tiles which was our v first assignment; used these throughout to test underglazes/glazes/colour combos:

Salt n pepper shaker maquettes! testing out two different designs:

Plaster mouldmaking my beloathed (salt/pepper shaker, Bowl, and Spoon+mug handle):

Slipcast the boys; drying before bisque. I'd have to redefine the details on the shakers and mug by hand because they weren't super visible right out of the moulds:

a Bunch o colour/glaze tests:

Also ran into a pretty major issue with the spoons... I 100% should have been putting a little hole in the top of the spoon handle so I could fire it via having it hang suspended in the kiln. Eventually I started poking holes by hand into the spoons, But having overlooked that from the beginning I had a good amount of spoons that were too dry to have a hole poked into and with the deadline so close... (and even with some new spoons I fucked up and broke a few spoons when I tried to poke holes augh) the techs in the studio said they could put em on lil stilts and fire them that way. And I thought ok that sounds good! But... I didn't realize I'd have to be sanding the lil bit of metal from the stilts off from where it gets stuck to the glaze... :((

(see that spoon on the far right with the hole on top? that's the ideal orz)

So I had to take like a diamond tip grinder sander thing and sand that off, but it was very difficult and unpleasant and loud and still left some grey blemishes. And I was still so worried that usability-wise, you'd put the dang spoon in your mouth and feel a sharp bit of metal cut the inside of your very delicate gums :((

Yeah so this whole class and all its projects were a big ordeal for me orz but at least I got some fun salt n pepper shakers out of it (I use the brown/white cat shaker to hold my cinnamon sugar now hehe)

Also storage was an issue, I had to get a locker space just for this class. I'd be cramming all my guys into my locker; kinda funny to open my locker and see a bunch of lil guys lmao:

I ended up giving 4 of my friends a mug and salt/pepper shaker combo each for Christmas that year! I hope they still use them lol but I'm not sure? The sad thing is that my own two mugs I had in my kitchen cupboard have. fucking vanished????? my parents say they don't know where they went n I literally have no idea either and it fucking sucks (if one goes missing it's like fine that sucks. But both of them?? What the fuck happened). I still have like two bowls (ie no handles) in my closet at least but those were the ones that I'm not sure were food safe lol

#ceramics #2022 #uni #process #mouldmaking #plaster mould #slipcast #slipcasting #pottery #cat and fish #wip

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lordgrimwing · 10 months ago

Text

Brewing Darkness #04

It’s raining outside.

Glorfindel wasn’t near a window, but he knew it was raining. Maybe it’s the sound of hundreds of drops tapping against the roof somehow filters inside the building just below conscious perception. Maybe it’s that the air cooled slightly with the clouds and moisture. Maybe the certainty that it is raining outside is because he decided to go to the grocery store after the gym—nothing works in his favor these days.

He had to take the bus (he always took the bus. Erestor used the car since he worked outside the city) from here to the store, a little Rhunic market. The stop didn’t have a shelter, just an uncomfortably narrow bench divided by the thinnest armrests possibly. He’d get soaked in no time.

He didn’t look forward to dealing with his hair. It was braided and neat now, but it got so frizzy the morning after an unplanned soaking unless he gave it extra attention. Did he even have time to squeeze cooking dinner into his afternoon? Did he have the energy?

It wasn’t like Erestor would notice one way or the other. Glorfindel could leave stale, week-old pizza on the table and his husband wouldn’t so much as wrinkle his nose, he’d just eat a few slices, distracted by papers from the lab. Really, why was he going through the effort of cooking?

He had the afternoon off from the office.

Well, no, that wasn’t quite true.

Technically, there was a company-wide meeting the entire accounting department was supposed to call into and listen to for the last 4 hours of the day. The accountants didn’t have anything to contribute, but the higher-ups wanted everyone to attend; they’d brought some bigwig in from the capital and wanted a good turnout. They weren’t required to be in the office during the meeting, though. He’d left as soon as he could, called in on his cell, and then proceeded to leave his phone in the gym locker while he worked out. He’d find an email in his inbox tomorrow if anyone carried about or even noticed his inattentiveness.

He’s in the locker room, sweaty and shaking just a little, just enough to know he’d be feeling it once the endorphins wore off. His shirt stuck to his skin as he opened the locker he liked to use (chest height, near the corner furthest from the door). Retrieving a clean seat of loose pants and a t-shirt and completely ignoring his phone, he quickly exchanged the damp set he wore for the clean one.

It felt a bit redundant when he’d be soaked in a few minutes, but a lot of what he did these days was force of habit.

He wished the gym had more private changing rooms. He started coming here during his lunch hour about six months ago and had to make several compromises to his normal standards to find a gym close to where he worked. At least he usually came outside of peak hours so he rarely dealt with other people changing at the same time.

Stuffing the dirty clothes into his duffle bag, he walked toward the exit. There were a few people using the equipment, headphones on, absorbed in their own corners of the world.

It was raining outside.

Standing at the glass front of the building, he looked out at the sheets of rain blowing across the sidewalk. Thunder rumbled, faint and far away. The neglected window garden at home was probably half-beaten to death already.

He lingered at the door. The bus stop was about halfway down the block, not quite visible from here. He’d be soaked through by the time he got there no matter what he did, but he could delay a minute more before venturing outside. Unfortunately, the bus was somewhat unreliable so he couldn’t exactly time his arrival to minimize waiting in the rain. If nothing else, the weather drove most people indoors and the streets were a bit less congested than normal for this time on a weekday. Small consolation when he’d be the half-drowned fool who went out in it.

“Well, that came on fast,” said a faintly accented voice beside him.

Glorfindel turned.

An elf stood by his right shoulder, inspecting the downpour with a critical eye. He was tall (about even with him) and possessed the defined body of someone who worked out regularly but wasn’t trying to bulk up. His long hair, pale but clearly not white, was partly tied up in a loose bun that let the free ends cascade down his shoulders. He was, objectively, handsome, and the opaque scarring in his left eye didn’t detract from that—though Glorfindel was slightly unsettled the first few times he saw it.

He met Thranduil (it took a moment for his mind to recall the name) when he started coming to this gym. They mostly spotted each other, a tradition Thranduil started with a joke about how unlucky this place would become if someone like Glorfindel got hurt, and sometimes chatted. Thranduil had a son. He drove him to school in the mornings because they lived outside the school bus route and the city bus didn’t arrive in time, then came to the gym after running errands. His wife did something with security. There was probably other stuff but it never stayed in his head.

(He vividly remembered the first time they’d really spoken. Thranduil casually invited him to have a threesome with his wife. Glorfindel answered with a curt ‘I have a husband’. The topic never came up again.)

“Would hate to go out in all that rain; the pavement's practically a stream!”

Glorfindel, because he was still riding the small mood boost from working out, managed to turn his voice to a lighter tone than his thoughts. “If only I thought to bring a raft today.”

“Got far to go?” Thranduil asked, looking over at him.

He shrugged. “The grocery store and home.”

“You walking?”

He shook his head. “The bus should be here in a bit.”

Thranduil glanced down at his watch. “Let me give you a ride to the store at least.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t.” Thranduil smiled. “Look, my kid’s hanging out with some friends after school and having dinner with them. My wife’s out of town. I hardly know what to do with myself today. Let me drive you.”

Glorfindel could have declined. He didn’t even need an excuse, he could say ‘no’ and Thranduil would leave it at that—he wasn’t the kind of guy who pushed past ‘no’. But it was raining outside and it would be so nice to not worry about that.

“Okay. Why not?”

“That’s the spirit,” Thranduil said as he led the way to the elevator that went down to the underground parking garage. “Where’re we heading?”

It’s still raining outside, but that doesn’t feel so important.

#glorfindel and thranduil are going to be the *best* of friends #glorfindel is the main character actually so the weather will fit his mood #(as will the state of his garden)#the plot thickens #hehehe #writing this part of the series is hard but so satisfying #glorfindel #thranduil #twdd au #the silmarillion #grimwing writes

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rotationalsymmetry · 1 year ago

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My own two cents (on top of the many great suggestions above): apartment buildings (and condos with a similar design) are by themselves very sustainable compared to single family housing even if you do nothing. They're high density housing! They're more land efficient than stand alone houses, more efficient in terms of the materials that go into building them, and more energy efficient because it's more efficient to heat or cool a bunch of small units stuck together than a bunch of separate units surrounded on four sides and on top by the elements. Also for buildings with nice extras like a swimming pool, it's far more efficient to share a pool between a bunch of people than a single household.

Toilets: there's some options for water efficiency, the lowest tech one is just not flushing every time you pee (it's ok if you aren't willing to do this but it is an option), next up is putting a brick in the tank, more complicated/sophisticated is they do sell things you can add on to a toilet to make it save water.

Showers and sinks: situationally it might be possible for you to buy a more efficient showerhead or faucet head, or a device that attaches to what you already have. Faucets that have the water come out in one stream use more water for the same amount of pressure than heads that create a spray.

Community gardens or guerrilla gardening: gardening outside your apartment. If you're attached to gardening, which you don't have to be. Sprouting can be done inside with very little light btw, and there's some forms of composting that can be done inside but you will need a place for the compost to go when it's done.

Other outside sustainability projects: does your park and rec department have a native plant restoration area that needs volunteers? (There will be a volunteer page on their website.) is there a local organization that plants street trees or advocates for more bike lanes? Are there any organizations that do something else that would make the world a better place that really need someone to call up members to renew their donations, do data entry, or update their website? (Volunteering: jobs that need a lot of people to do them get explicitly mentioned, jobs that need one person or extra skills often don't and involve talking to a person. For some organizations getting involved just means showing up to a meeting; for organizations with paid staff, you can email the volunteer coordinator and say what you're interested in doing. If you happen to have time off during the day on weekdays, daytime volunteers are extra useful.)

If/when you do find a group to get involved with...some groups will sort of grab you and try to wring everything you've got, so a very important political engagement skill is to recognize your own boundaries and be able to say no. This is vitally important. It's a marathon, not a sprint. Get involved, but also get involved at a level that is sustainable for you. Which might mean alternating periods of more involvement and periods of less involvement, that's fine.

I don't know if you're into bicycles, but if you want to learn bicycle repair that seems to me to be a very relevant skill. I'm not sure if learning tech stuff (right to repair stuff, open source stuff, internet privacy stuff) is solarpunk but I don't see why it wouldn't be.

Hard skills like gardening/cooking/mending/etc are very good, but also consider: working on soft skills. Emotional management/staying cool in a crisis. Small talk/being able to hold a conversation with someone you just met, and being able to go from small talk to more meaningful or more personal topics. Learning how to exit a conversation gracefully. Learning how to remember people's names, if you aren't already solid on that. Learning how to bring up a complaint without unnecessary hostility. Learning how to take a complaint. Learning how to handle yourself when two people you like have a dispute. For more organized groups: learning how to take notes, how to facilitate or chair a meeting, how to talk to people about an organization or project in a way that they want to get involved, how to handle the sorts of conflicts that can break a group apart. How to plan organizational structure so that people feel safe to have disagreements, so that people can identify and respond appropriately to someone who is eg sexually harassing other people on the group, and how to handle leadership roles to avoid getting one person entrenched in an official or unofficial leadership role. And as mentioned above, how to figure out your own limits so you can keep doing this stuff, and how to create group cultures that encourage everyone to find their own balance so they can keep doing this stuff.

Eventually: Tracking and transmitting instititional knowledge so that when you leave a group, what you've learned doesn't leave with you. Teaching/mentoring newer people. Networking with other organizations to share knowledge between organizations.

Hello I was wondering if you had any advice for solar punk dwellers that live in apartments. I always see all these cool add-ons to houses to make life more sustainable, but a lot of them I can't really do while living in an apartment. Also my apartment is fully indoors so it doesn't have a balcony where I can put stuff outside. However, I have started an indoor garden.

Hi! Indoor gardening is a fantastic place to start. Beyond that, it can really depend on what you're interested in. If gardening is really your thing, see what kind of gardening resources are around! Is there a community garden in your area that you could participate in? Would your apartment complex be interested in letting you start a garden for the complex? (They may be more interested than you might think - it's an amenity they can promote to future tenants, it engages current tenants, and they don't have to pay for landscaping on the area you turned into a garden.) If you have a lot of gardening experience, are there people in the area who want to learn that you could work with? If you're new to gardening, is there someone in your local Food Not Lawns group who would be willing to teach you more in exchange for some work on their garden?

Speaking of Food Not Lawns, see what other groups are around in your area that you could get involved in. Food Not Bombs, Freecycle, and Buy Nothing are other good groups to look for. There's also likely groups specific to your area - you may be able to find them by searching on Facebook, but more likely by connecting with other people at one of these bigger groups and asking.

Beyond that, I highly recommend cooking, mending and sewing (see our #mending, #mend and make do, and #sewing tags), and building some community. Meet your neighbors and get to know them! (I love cooking as a vehicle for this - humans often bond over food, and bringing over cookies or inviting them to share some homemade soup is a great way to connect.) You could start a free pantry in your apartment complex or building, or talk about a tenants' union. You can also try similar stuff at work, like a Breakroom Free Box. If politics is more your speed, you can do some activism (see our #activism tag) or even get involved with local political organizations and push them to be more progressive. Especially in local politics, one person can make a big difference.

For more ideas, we also have the following tags:

#apartment solarpunk

#dorms and small spaces

#community building

#mutual aid

#fiber crafts

#diy

I'd also encourage you to check out this post and this post, which are previous answers to similar questions.

I hope this gives you some places to start. If you have more specific questions, feel free to send in another ask!

- Mod J

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gg-astrology · 6 years ago

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h-hello ;; 💕❤️ i’ll be back this weekend!! 💕❤️💕❤️ i hope ya’ll have a good day!! 💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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Breakfast for Choso with ingredients #17 and 34 with #2 sugar? Wine is optional.

EASY

— Nothing is ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d push through hell and back.

meal order: breakfast + 17, 34 (fake dating, rentboy au) + 2 (enemies to lovers) + biting, scratching, choso eating reader out, sex on the beach

warnings: mature content, unedited fic, choso is mean and harsh when he’s angry

notes: thank you so much for this anon! I really enjoyed writing this and this totally made my day. I hope you like it!

word count: 10k+ LOL CHOSO BRAIN ROT

check out the fanart @tigressnej-chan made, it s so beautiful HURRR

Your day was absolutely ruined. Dark, deep bags covered your under eyes as you stormed through the convenience store downstairs your apartment, body clad in an oversized hoodie and socks visible through slippers, hair greasy and lips chapped. You’re aware you look like a mess, but did you care?

Absolutely not, especially when you haven’t been sleeping well the moment you moved into this cursed apartment because of a certain fucker.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. That specific fucker – the cause of your ruin and the devil who prevented you from living a good life – waltzed inside the store, the small bell chiming to signal his presence. You scoffed at his confident, suave walk, further irritated because he just had to be insanely attractive – in an alternative, laid-back kind of way.

He wasn’t even your type; you preferred more refined men who wore pressed suits and leather shoes, but you had to admit this man was insanely attractive.

With deep, sunken eyes, a dark tattoo across the bridge of his nose and dark hair twisted into twin ponytails, large, muscular body covered in a black sweatshirt and a red scarf – he looked very much like a former member of a gang who retired because their barbaric ways wasn’t his thing. It was an odd theory, and you sat there at the corner of the store, glaring at the man who tiredly pressed the coffee maker machine for a dark roast.

As if feeling eyes on him, his lazy eyes slid over to yours, and almost automatically, one corner of his lips tilted up in humor. This fucker knew how much he annoyed you, and he only further pushed your buttons by walking over to you, the steam of his coffee nearly blocking your gaze.

“Good morning,” he greeted sarcastically, well aware that it definitely not a good morning for you.

“Have fun last night, neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Jeez, you won’t even bother denying it?”

“I see no point in it,” he invited himself by sitting next to you, long legs crossed over his muscular thigh. You found yourself staring at how he seemed so firm even in loose sweatpants, averting your gaze and staring at your soggy ramen noodle cup instead. “And you’re not trying to hide the fact you’re listening, either.”

“I wasn’t listening!” you slammed your fist down the table – he didn’t even flinch, only continuing to sip his coffee as if you weren’t burning in anger beside him – as you hissed, “The walls are too damn thin and you’re so fucking loud.”

“No, I wasn’t. She was loud, though.”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms against your chest. He really was shameless. You already knew this man didn’t have enough shame in his body, but you didn’t think he’d have absolutely nothing.

Upon witnessing your stupefied state, he reached over to knock at your skull. “Still there, princess?” you cringed at his nickname for you; you didn’t even know this guy’s name, for pete’s sake! “Or are you still too bothered by the fact I got some good fucking last night?”

You flicked his arm away from you, nearly seething in your seat. “God, you’re insufferable. I should move out.”

“Yes, I think that would be for the best too,” he nodded to himself as he stared at his now empty coffee cup. Had it been that long already? Apparently, it was, because your noodles turned cold and your neighbor was already leaving your seat, dipping for a mocking bow. “Have a nice day, neighbor. Don’t think of my cock too much,” he teased, even going as far as winking until your jaw dropped.

You watched as he threw the paper cup in the proper bin, a little surprised he was decent enough to do mundane tasks like that. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget your neighbor was also a decent human being, but whatever.

You absolutely, utterly hated him, and you kept mumbling to yourself of the different ways you’d get your revenge on him as he walked out the door, his annoyingly gorgeous ass in view. “Yeah, right,” you scowled to yourself, “As if I can get that image out my mind now.”

He would not be an easy feat.

Despite your constant pleas for him to at least be silent during the weekdays to give you enough peace of mind to study for the finals, he didn’t stop. Hours just after the sun sets, you’d hear giggles and sloppy kisses on the hallway.

No matter how much you pressed your hands into your ears and set your music on full volume to block out the noise, you could always hear them.

Your neighbor was undeniably a fuckboy.

Every night, he’d have a different girl dangling in his arms. You knew, because the voices squealing his name while he fucked them right next door were always different. Some days, it was deep and throaty, and on other days it’d be high-pitched and nearly scraping at your ears. They all said the same thing though, such as fuck, right there, you feel so good or harder, harder, please, I’m so close!

To say you were traumatized was an understatement. You never wanted to hear such things again, but alas, your neighbor apparently couldn’t give a single shit because he was fucking someone again.

As if things couldn’t get worse, the person he brought home this time around just had to have the most fucking annoying voice ever. Or maybe it sounded like the others, but you were in the middle of memorizing veins and brain chemicals in alphabetical harder when you heard the headboard of his bed slam against your wall, the sound hard and loud enough you dropped your book in surprise.

They didn’t stop. If anything, he kept going harder until nothing but his low sexy groans and his partner’s screaming – that was right, she was fucking screaming – like she was having her insides rearranged.

You didn’t doubt the possibility that maybe she really was. Your neighbor was such a huge, attractive guy, after all, it would make sense he was capable of such. Before you knew it, you could no longer understand the words in your textbook. You kept rereading the same line over and over again, but nothing registered into your mind. You were so close to screaming at them to stop and shut the fuck up because it was three in the morning and they were still going at it, but you weren’t that mean.

Yes, you hated him, but you weren’t going to blue ball someone or make sex awkward. Sex with your ex was always awkward, so you knew how painful it was to live with that memory. No matter how much you hated your neighbor, you wouldn’t go that far.

So you trudged all the way up to the building’s public balcony, bringing a blanket with you to survive the chilly bite of the night.

You used your phone’s flashlight to read all over the textbooks, keeping your little note cards organized and color coded beside you. Finally, you could make sense of things a little bit more, and you chugged at your Red Bull to keep you awake. Time passed by so fast whenever you were lost with your nose stuck in a book, and your attention was only ripped away when the balcony door swung open, revealing your neighbor with messed up hair and bruised lips.

He looked totally fucked out.

“Oh, fuck, no – what are you doing here?”

“This balcony is for all tenants,” your neighbor barely blinked as he walked closer to you, but instead of joining you on the table, he leaned against the railings and stared into the night sky. He seemed so placid, a little approachable despite his intimidating face even, and for a moment, you were studying his sharp, masculine features before he turned your way with a passive face. “Last time I checked, I’m a tenant, therefore I have the rights to be here.”

“I don’t care,” you retorted childishly, pulling your books closer to you as if he wanted to steal it. He only raised a brow at your actions, the large muscles of his arms bulging up from where he stood.

It felt so hard to not salivate at the sight, but for the sake of your pride, you had to push those thoughts down and remind yourself why you hated him so much. “I evoke your rights. You’re not welcome here.”

“You’re awfully harsh to a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger, you’re my neighbor who brings girls in his home every night and I can never get a wink of sleep because all I can hear is them moaning and the sound of balls slapping!”

“Vulgar,” he smirked, and he had no business looking so attractive with that arrogant smirk on his face that it took all energy you had in you to not whack him with your book.

“I think I deserve an apology.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

You stood up with a scowl, nearly shoving the book right in his chest. “Bro, I’m this close to slapping this book right in your pretty face. You see how thick this is? I’m not kidding, this will hurt. Listen, I’ve got a final exam and a suture practice this weekend. All I’m asking for is just a few hours of sleep – that’s all. I just don’t get why you always seem to be balls deep in someone at every god forsaken hour; I can’t focus on my work when the noises are so distracting. At this point, I remember their begging more than I’m familiar with nerves. I need to study, okay? I really want to graduate.”

He fell silent at your sudden rant, then, he tilted his head to the side, a small smile on his lips. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“After everything I said, that’s all you remember?”

“It’s kind of hard to listen to every word when I’m distracted by your eyes.”

His comment caught you off-guard, and your eyes widened, arm coming up to hide your face that soon began to felt warm. He only chuckled at your reaction, the sound deep and throaty that it went right straight into the pools of your belly. “My eyes – what are you talking about? Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’re so creepy!”

“Hmm,” he snickered, “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“What, no one tells you you’re creepy?”

“No, people always say I’m handsome,” he said it with such a straight face that you gave him an are you serious look, and he raised one shoulder to shrug. “I’m surprised you’re not attracted to me, to be honest.”

“Wow,” you drawled out, shaking your head with a laugh as you plopped down back to your seat in defeat. “Aren’t you full of surprises? First, I get a really horny man as my next door neighbor who keeps me up at night with his shenanigans, and now he’s got the audacity to ask me why I’m not attracted to him?”

“I mean,” he scrunched his nose cutely, a huge contrast to his domineering stature. “Why aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I give up. I’m just gonna crash at my friends tonight,” you mumbled to yourself while gathering your things, leaving your neighbor all by himself. As you reached the door, you called out to him one more time, “Oh, and by the way, you reek of pussy. Go shower or something.”

“So how’s your exams going?”

“They’re fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, slicing through the fish a lot harsher than you intended. The knife scraped against the plate and you winced at the sound, ignoring your father’s loud munching. “Not too much of a big deal. My professors are nice and my classmates are nice too. I’m fitting in really well and I think I’ll even come out on top of my class this time if it weren’t for that stupid little bastard…” your last words ended up as a whisper, eyes glazing to the side as you glared at nothing in particular.

“Stupid little what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you waved your hand in the air, “Someone’s just distracting me from my studies, is all.”

At the mention of someone distracting your usually composed and unbothered self, your father straightened up in his seat, a large smile on his face that made him look younger than he really was. “Is it a guy? Do you finally have a boyfriend?”

“Ugh, dad, really, you’re the only father who’s so eager for his daughter to have a boyfriend. Shouldn’t you be more proud that, I don’t know, I’m pretty and smart? I don’t need a boyfriend or anything.”

Your father nodded, “True, you don’t need them, but trust me when I say life is going to get pretty lonely when you grow old and you’re all by yourself. It’s still better – and life is a lot happier – when you’ve got a stable supporting and loving figure in your life.”

“I have you for that.”

“And you always will,” he patted your hand gently across the table, “But a parent won’t always be there for their child, and if you’re still not prepared for the future or ready to stand on your own two feet, then that means I didn’t do a great job at raising you; that means I’ve failed as a parent. Tell me, have I failed? Have I raised my wonderful daughter to be so repulsed by the idea of love that she’s willingly closing her doors and locking herself away in isolation?”

“No…”

“I didn’t think so,” he grinned to himself, and you watched with a frown as his eyes crinkled in happiness. Your father was such the complete opposite of you; he was always so loving and open to everyone, while you were mopey and afraid of attachment.

“Don’t be too afraid to love, child. It’s one of the most wonderful things in this world – it’s a blessing – the absolute core of our being. Why do we exist if not to love?”

“Not everyone is a romantic like you, dad,” you sighed, “Plus…how is it so easy for you to finally find someone after Mom died? Isn’t she your soul mate?” you questioned, putting your fork and knife down as you looked your father in the eye. “I just can’t believe you’re getting married again.”

“It’s already been years since she passed away, Y/N. And yes, she is my soul mate, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of loving someone again. Our hearts aren’t limited like that, and your mother wouldn’t want me to keep mourning her when she’s resting in peace,” he gestured to the both of you after swallowing his food, “She would’ve wanted the both of us to be happy.”

At the mention of your passed mother, your shoulders deflated, and your eyes watered at the thought of her kind smile. You wished you could see that again.

“I miss her…”

“I know, child, I know,” your father smiled encouragingly, “I also know the reason you’re so afraid to love is because you’re scared they’ll end up leaving you too, like how your mom just slipped past our fingers like that, but it’s only her body that withered. She’s still with us, right in our hearts and in our memories.”

“You really do sound like a lovesick fool.”

“That’s because I am,” your father laughed with a slap to his knees. When his phone buzzed for his alarm, he quickly dabbed a towel on his lips, standing up to excuse himself. “Now, this lunch was lovely and I dearly missed you, but I need to go back to work. We doctors just never get a break. This is a life you have to prepare for if you want to follow my footsteps.”

“I won’t follow your footsteps – I’ll surpass you.”

“I’ll be waiting for that to happen then,” he announced proudly; pride bursting in his chest at how determined his daughter was. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You squinted at the mischievous look in his eyes, wary of what your cunning father had in mind this time.

“You won’t outsmart me. You better bring a boyfriend or at least introduce someone to me on the wedding – or else I’m pulling you out of the university hospital.”

“Wha – Dad, that’s not fair!”

“All is fair in love and war, child, you’ll learn soon.”

“Oh, I just hate men!”

You really did hate men.

Your final exam was tomorrow already and you’d lost count of the coffee and Red Bull you’ve inhaled today, all so you could study one last time for the test, but no, something – or rather someone – just had to get in your way.

“I’ve had enough,” you announced before slamming your door open; not hesitating as your fists came banging down on your neighbor’s door. “Hey! Keep it the fuck down – someone’s trying to study here! Seriously, man, is it really that hard for you to keep it in your pants for one night? This is what, the sixth woman you’ve had around the past four days? Don’t you get tired? Because I sure as hell am very tired of you!”

The moans and the sounds of bed creaking stopped. For a moment, you almost smirked to yourself when they fell silent.

If only you knew it would be that easy to shut them up, you would’ve done so long ago. You were about to turn back into your room when his door swung open, and you were met by his sweaty and muscular chest heaving up and down – either in anger or from his previous activities – you couldn’t tell.

Your throat felt dry as you peered at him under your lashes, almost afraid of the way he loomed over you. Thank goodness he found the time to wear pants, though, because had he been baby naked, you would’ve run for the hills already.

His dark eyes cut through yours as he seethed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m the one who wants to ask you that,” you were surprised to find your voice despite the way your pussy actually ached just by the sight of his chiseled body, but when you did, you forced yourself to stand up taller, refusing to back down from his gaze. “It’s literally three in the morning and you’re about to fuck a hole through my wall!”

“I thought you said you’d be crashing at your friends. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to have your permission to come back home. Next time, I’ll give you a heads-up, good sir. And for your information, unlike you, I actually don’t like bothering the people around me so I came home. Now would you please kick her out and shut the fuck up for once?”

“Babe, are you coming back here or what?”

Red acrylic nails wound from his body out of nowhere, and your mouth fell open as you watched the naked woman press kisses on the blades of his shoulder. You were conflicted, torn between feeling jealous that she got to touch him like that because damn was he fine, but you also felt appalled your neighbor would be this type of person.

“Babe?” you repeated with a sarcastic laugh.

Stepping away from your neighbor’s tempting pecs, you waved to the stunning woman behind him. “Hi, I’m his neighbor, I don’t mean to be a cock block or anything but I’ve been a witness to his fuckboy ways for months now. If you think you’re special to him, I assure you, you’re not. Yesterday he was just banging two girls until the sunrise. If you’re really as sane as I hope you are, I suggest you skedaddle before this man feeds you with more lies. You’re not special, hun, he’s just going to fuck everything that walks on two legs.”

“Is that true?”

“Nadia, you know how this works—”

“I was literally just on the phone with you last night!” the woman named Nadia pushed him away, but because he was bigger, he didn’t budge. Nadia turned to you, her lipstick smudged and a suspicious white stain on the edge of her lips. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look down her head, and you and your neighbor both watched as she got dressed and left, hands up in the air. “Thank you for this. I should’ve known better than to waste time and money on him.”

You snickered as Nadia pressed on the elevator buttons, a scowl sent his way. Turning to him with pride swelling up in your chest, you smirked, “How does it feel—”

“Happy now?” he growled, his eyes so dark and slit into tiny cuts you took a step back, your heart pumping frantically for different reasons. You never thought he’d be this bothered for not being able to bust a nut. “Satisfied now, Y/N? Do you even realize what you’ve just done?”

“Uhm, yes,” you scoffed, matching his tone. “I just saved that poor girl’s life. Who else knows what you would’ve done and said to her. We don’t deserve to be looked down on and treated like this, you know.”

“Neither did I. I’m just doing my job.”

“Job? You don’t even have a job! You don’t even go to university for fuck’s sake – your apartment is rundown and smells like sour cunt and feet! Maybe you should even thank me because I’m trying to give you ideas on better things to do!”

“Yeah, and be like you?” he snapped, tugging at the strings of your hoodie until you fell a step forward. “Dressed in loose shirts to hide the fact you’ve got no tits and your ass is flatter than your back? Lying to her neighbor that she’ll crash somewhere but ends up waddling back home anyway because she’s always cooped up in her apartment studying to prove that she’s not as worthless as she is and that she doesn’t have a life or friends to begin with?” tears pooled at your eyes at his words, and you knew it hurt because it was true, but did he really have to say it that way?

However, his anger got the best of him, and he didn’t stop there. “I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to skip meals and lose sleep studying for something I don’t care about because I don’t know anything else other than following daddy’s footsteps so he’d notice me more than his new bride. I’m happy with my life.”

“How did—”

“Like you said, the walls are thin. You’re not exactly so quiet to yourself, neighbor. It’s kind of pathetic you talk to the walls when you think I’m asleep because you’ve got no one else to talk to.”

Hands balled into fists at your side, you stood on your tiptoes to spit the words out. “You’re a terrible human being,” no matter how much you tried to exert dominance over him, your lips still quivered as you fought back the urge to cry. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re the one who needs to go fuck yourself and get laid,” he didn’t let you have another word as he slammed the door in your face, but you still heard him through the door anyway. “Uptight bitch.”

You were wrong.

Your neighbor wasn’t just difficult – he was completely impossible.

[Dad:] Don’t forget your date!

[You:] Dad…don’t push it.

[Dad:] I find it hard to believe my beautiful daughter can’t have one. Go out there and make some friends, Y/N, I know you isolate yourself too much. It doesn’t even have to be a boyfriend. You could date a girl for all I care. I just don’t want you to be too bored at the wedding. Bring a friend.

[You:] Fine, fine, okay.

[Dad:] But a boyfriend would still be better. Your old man isn’t getting any younger and I want grandkids in the future.

[You:] Dad!

[Dad:] love ya kid !

And so it was the turn of your events that had you groaning in your swiveling chair, the grip on your phone so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up breaking it. As if your week couldn’t get any more horrible with your neighbor’s hurtful words still living at the back of your mind, your father hadn’t stopped talking about you to his co-workers and his equally crazy mother that your grandmother didn’t waste time in calling you.

You loved your nan, you really did, but more often than not, she was much more of a pain in the ass than your father was. The old woman was ruthless, shooting you question by question on why her pretty granddaughter was still single, then came the demeaning comments of how you “weren’t living life to the fullest.”

Frustration eating away at you, you let out a silent scream.

The escort site blinked back at you mockingly, temptingly, as if to remind you that your problems could easily be solved with just a click. You chastised yourself for always having the need to solve problems fast and as easily as you could, because before you even realized what you were doing, your heart started beating a mile a minute as the other line kept ringing.

You ended up lying to your grandmother that yes, nan, I have a boyfriend, can I study for my exams now please, to which the pressing woman responded with, oh, finally! well, I won’t bother you anymore. study well, my dear, I can’t wait to see him!

Just thinking about how she would react if you came alone at your father’s wedding had you breaking out in a sweat, and you chewed at your nails while waiting for the site to pick up.

You were truly desperate now, so much so that you were actually calling a rental boy site.

“Good afternoon, thank you for calling Kamo Escorts! I’m Ijichi, here to assist you. What can I help you with?”

You held back a really painful cringe, biting the insides of your cheek as you got your heart to calm down. “Uhm, yeah…so this is like my first time c-calling a site like this and I don’t know what to do but…yeah.”

“I see, we get new callers too. Would you like a guide?”

“Yes, please, that’d be great thank you.”

“Kamo Escorts is all about, well, as you can see on our webpage – we have men and even women you can hire to escort you on special events. We mostly cater to clients who only need a pretty face to dangle off their arm for social company or even care, or whatever reasons the client may have and the relationship is purely business and professional, but in some cases, the escorts may have sex with the client too under the condition they are paid more.”

The gasp that left your lips was barely stifled, and you furrowed your brows at the implication. “Wh-what, so that’s like a real thing? Isn’t this…?”

Ijichi chuckled from the other line, almost as if he’d been asked this question many times before. “In a way, it is, which is why Kamo Escorts is commercially advertised for purely social company only. You may, however, negotiate with your escort if you would like more services, but we do require that you keep our escorts’ dignity and not look down on them. The service we provide may not be your typical honorable one, but we are dedicated and equally eager to be of service to this society. Should we find that you’re dehumanizing or harassing our escort, we won’t hesitate to…take some action,” the light warning of his tone didn’t go unnoticed by you, and Ijichi took note of your hesitant silence. “Would you still like to proceed?”

“Ye-yeah, I didn’t want the sex anyway.”

“Very well, then. What event are we looking for?”

“It’s for a relative’s wedding,” you supplied, “I need a date.”

“Any preference in escorts? Male, female, tall, short, sociable or introverted?”

Your eyes widened, your back flattening against your chair. “Oh, wow, so this is like a Build-A-Bear, okay, wait,” you chewed your nails again, racking up on your mind on who or what exactly you liked. “My ideal guy is…someone tall, and has pretty broad shoulders…I think I prefer a more introverted one too because people with too much energy sort of drains me…and someone caring and attentive, yes. Handsome too – but if that’s too much to ask for then—”

“It’s okay, Miss. I assure you all our escorts are definitely blessed in the gene department.”

At his confidence, you scrunched your nose and made yourself small on your chair. “Okay, but now that you say it, if he’s too handsome then I’m going to look like a potato next to him.”

“We’ll find someone compatible for you; we always never fail to please our clients. We’ll be able to match you with a more suitable escort if you’re more descriptive with what you want.”

“Okay, okay,” you continued, “Oh, and I like guys with long hair too, but really, anything is fine. I just want someone to effortlessly pretend they’re enamored after just one date and that they’re very glad to be there with me on the wedding. It’s even better if they’re introverted but can communicate well and isn’t shy at all. My relatives are kind of…freaky.”

Freaky couldn’t even begin to describe the chaos of your relatives.

In fact, had you not been paying for this service, you would’ve almost felt bad for the guy. He had no idea what he had coming for him – but then again, neither did you.

“I think we’ve got just the perfect guy for you,” Ijichi answered after a beat, “May I ask when is this event and how long you’d like to book the escort service for?”

“The event is in two weeks. I don’t need to meet him before the wedding because I’m very busy with exams, so I hope this guy can just act really well. As for the duration…I think just one day is enough. After the wedding, I’m coming right back home.”

“Convenient then,” he mused to himself, and you heard slight clicking from his side. “Let’s see…someone introverted and able to communicate well…definitely not Satoru, and his entirely booked by sugar mommies too…” Ijichi whispered to himself, followed by a slight humorous snort. “One last question: would you like someone older, younger, or the same age as you?”

“I’m in uni – I’d be more comfortable if they were closer to my age.”

“Oh, perfect, his schedule is oddly open for the whole month. Wonder what happened, he’s barely had free slots before…” the man was speaking to himself again, and you sat there pouting, even more dumbfounded at how this whole process worked.

Ijichi talked about this escort service and guided you so easily you almost couldn’t believe that it was as…simple as that. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but deep down in your mind, you were waiting for something fishy or weird to happen.

“I found someone for you. He’s one of our best escorts and I believe he’ll be great for this event. However, due to privacy issues, the disclosure of contacts and personal information can only happen once the escort agrees to this service. We’ll shortly get back to you if he’s up for the job. If not, I’ll find you another one quickly; you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, thank you so much!”

“It’s our pleasure. Thank you for contacting Kamo Escorts – we hope to see you again!”

Once the call ended, you fell back on your bed with a sigh. Your neighbor wasn’t around the whole day, leaving you in peace and silence, and you took advantage of the rare quietness by pulling out a book. Hours passed, and you were nearly finished with half the textbook, fingers slightly numb from practicing sutures over and over again when your phone lit up with a text.

It came from an unknown number, but the words were loud and clear. Hey, this is Choso, I’ll be your escort for the wedding. Please text me here for the details and what else you expect from my service. I’m only a text and call away, please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything else.

You blinked at your phone, unsure of how to process the whole thing.

So it was official now – you rented an escort and you had a date for the event. Quite frankly, you were kind of expecting that escorts would be a lot more…flirtatious or even eager to please, but this Choso guy sounded too formal for you to picture yourself having this stranger be a good company for your event. Ijichi sounded so sure though that you no longer questioned it; smiling instead now that you’ve finally solved one of your problems.

Life felt a lot easier.

At around four in the morning, you were too worn out to keep going. Your exam was in the afternoon so you still had plenty of time to sleep, your stomach grumbled, prompting you to leave your unit to get some snacks.

Keys in hand and feet cold in your socks, you locked your door, halting in your steps when you saw your neighbor. Different from his usual comfortable clothing, he was dressed in a formal white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his large, masculine hands coming up to loosen his tie. He wasn’t aware of your presence, almost blindly walking to his door and sighing. You didn’t miss the fact his shoulders were slumped, and he looked absolutely worn out.

For a moment, you actually felt worried, until you remembered what he said to you.

“What, no pussy to fuck tonight?”

He froze in front of his door for a moment, slightly tilting back to see your aggravated stance. Upon seeing it was just you, he shook his head and turned back to unlock his door. “No thanks to you.”

“Aw, did I ruin your reputation?” you mocked sarcastically, “I’m surprised people aren’t smart enough to pick up the smell of women’s perfume on you already. Seriously, are people that desperate for touch?” It was ironic; you’d never admit it, but you weren’t any better than them. You were equally desperate to be touched despite your aversion to romantic relationships, but he didn’t need to know that.

“It’s normal when you’re someone people are naturally attracted to. Not that you’d get it, of course, because it’s clear you don’t get some.”

“At least my apartment doesn’t smell like pussy.”

“At least I don’t masturbate every night then pass out after one weak orgasm.”

Your cheeks burned at his offhanded comment, and even with his back turned to you, you could see the slight smile tugging at his cheeks. He must’ve felt so cocky, thinking that he’d defeated you, so you blurted out the most intelligent thing possible: “How dare you!” while grabbing onto his shoulders to make him face you. “Look me in the eye and take that back!”

“Whatever you’re planning,” he crooned, head tilted to the side and making strands of his bangs fall over his eyes. He looked absolutely handsome under the flickering lights of the hallway in that moment, and you hated how you weren’t able to take your hands off of his strong shoulders, his masculine and spicy perfume clouding your mind. “It’s not going to work. Surprise surprise, but you’re not as cute as you think you are.”

Your eyes burned with fire, the nerves in your body so closing to popping. He infuriated you so much. “And you’re not as sexy as you believe you are!”

“Oh, yeah?” The positions are suddenly switched as he cornered you beside his doorframe, both of his arms planted beside your head. Because he was taller, he had to lean down to look you in the eye, his warm, minty breath brushing over your lips. You stared at him with wide eyes, fingers raking over the wall in a silent attempt to flee. Upon seeing your pursed lips, he laughed.

“Then why are you so shaky? Do I make you nervous?” his head dipped down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Say…you only pretend to hate me, but you actually wish it was you I’m fucking every night, don’t you? Tell me…do you touch yourself when you hear me eating someone out?”

“I-I’m not—”

Before you could combust under his gaze, he pulled himself away from you, a satisfied smirk on his face at your flustered state. He chuckled lowly, keys spinning on his thick finger. “I was just teasing you, princess. No need to get so worked up.”

“I never want you near me again!”

He raised both brows as if to challenge you, and you knew from the glint in his eyes he was up to no good. “Princess, you jumped on me first.”

“I didn’t!” You shouted, immediately slapping your palm over your lips after realizing people were sleeping. He snickered at your reactions, and you pushed past him back to your unit, suddenly losing the appetite to get your precious snacks. “God, I hate you so much.”

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

Difficult. Unbelievable. Complicated. Idiotic. Nothing was ever easy with him.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” your father scolded from his chair, his body barely moving as the stylists fixed his hair and makeup, but his eyes glared at you from the mirror. “You’re a lot more nervous than I am, and it’s my wedding.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

Your father sighed to himself, standing up after they were done with him. He checked his appearance in the mirror for a while, nodding to himself in satisfaction. It was still a little surreal that he was going to get married again, to a woman half his age of all people, but he was happy, and his bride seemed to really love him too, so you no longer questioned your father’s decisions. He was an adult, anyway, he could make his own decisions.

“You’re waiting for your boyfriend, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

You stiffened at the question. Not wanting your sharp-eyed father to pick up on the smallest cues, you lied through your teeth despite not having any idea on who or what kind of person the escort was.

Other than discussing details of how you two supposedly met, conversations had been crisp and short. You were lucky that the escort seemed to be nice and smart enough to not always ask you to explain everything, and he was crisp and curt in his texts too. No flirty or suggestive messages, not even a single emoji. He seemed a little stiff, and while you worried if you could fake chemistry with someone who seemed like a wall, you were also assured by the fact he wasn’t some creep.

“Nice. He’s sweet. You’ll like him.”

“And when did you meet him?”

“Dad, do I have to tell this story all over again?” you groaned, “We met after exams, he goes to a different uni and he studies law—”

“Law. Impressive.”

“Of course you’re impressed,” you rolled your eyes. Coming from a family of doctors and engineers, your father, and pretty much everyone else in the family, also expected that you’d date someone who was equally intelligent and had enough connections in different industries at least. It just so happened you were really lucky your escort also really did study law for a bit before he became an escort; a detail you never got enough explanation for. “He’ll be here anytime soon. Just you wait.”

In reality, you were the one who couldn’t wait.

You were excited and nervous at the same time to see this mysterious escort, and you were in the middle of talking to your father and his bride when someone called you.

“Y/N?”

You turned around with a bright grin. That must be him! You clasped at the hems of your dress so you could meet this mysterious, rigid man properly, but the moment your eyes met his equally startled gaze, you choked on your own breath. “Y-you—”

Choso stood before you; handsome as ever in his suit and tie, his iconic twin tails still there. How ever would your father believe you now that he was a lawyer, especially with his messy hair and face tattoo? You loved it and found it sexy on him, no denying that, but your father was a little bit more traditional. But that aside, it was Choso?!

His professionalism arose and he regained his composure quicker than you did, the smile on his face so natural and alluring even you almost fell for it.

Choso wrapped an arm around your waist before kissing you on the cheek, and the skin felt extremely hot under his lips. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak, because Choso was pressed flush against you, and he looked at you with stars shining in his eyes you didn’t know whether to be flattered or afraid.

Maybe a fucked up mix of both.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad,” he explained with a small smile on his lips, and he looked so handsome and smelled so good in that moment you were left gaping at him as he bowed to your father, arm politely extended. “You must be Y/N’s father. It’s very nice to meet you sir. I’m her boyfriend, Choso.”

To your surprise, your father eagerly shook his hand with the brightest grin he’d worn the whole night before he faced you with a laugh. “No way,” he beamed, gesturing to Choso. “He’s your boyfriend? You managed to snag this fine man?”

“Dad!” your ears burned with embarrassment. Choso only laughed; making you painfully aware of his large, warm hand resting at the small of your back.

“I heard you’re a lawyer, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

Your father nodded in approval, the two exchanging over words about what his plans were for the future and how his studies were going. You stood there with a pounding heart, fearful that Choso could fuck up any moment, but he was so effortless and easy going. Had you not been the one paying him, you would’ve been fooled too.

So this was the life of an escort.

“So how much did my daughter pay you?”

“Dad, I didn’t—”

“I mean, there’s no way she actually charmed you with her non-existent social skills. My daughter here can’t even talk to someone and look them in the eye, much less ask someone out, so how did this happen?”

Choso laughed at your father’s lighthearted comment, saving the day for what seemed like the hundredth time already. “I approached her first, sir. We were both eating in this small diner and it was cramped, so we shared tables and started conversation,” Suddenly, his grip tightened on you as he pulled you closer, your ear now resting above the lulling and steady beating of his heart. How was he so calm?

He lightly squeezed your hip and it had you freezing under his touch, stiffening even more when he looked down at you so adoringly. “Guess it went downhill from there.” God, you had no idea who this man was.

“Really? What did you guys talk about?”

Choso opened his mouth to speak, but it was there, that damned glint on those dark eyes again that you clutched at his bicep. He may be damn good at this job, but knowing Choso, he was enjoying this way too much.

Anything you couldn’t predict or control properly was a huge no in your game, and you pulled Choso away before he could say something downright humiliating.

“Dad, just go focus on your wedding. I want to spend time with my boyfriend, okay?” You couldn’t even begin to fathom the inward cringe upon your words, the feeling only worsening when Choso fought back a laugh masked with a cough. Before your father could say anything else, you dragged Choso rather harshly, but he didn’t mind; he followed you obediently. “Come with me. I need to talk to you,” You didn’t stop until you were both alone in a desolated corner, and finally, you hissed at him. “What are you doing here?!”

“I should be asking you the same thing – but it turns out you’re my client.”

“Client? So you really are my escort?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So those women…”

“All my clients,” he confirmed your thoughts. “I assure you they knew what they were getting into. In fact, they were the ones who asked for that special service that caused you to lose your sleep every night. That woman the other day was just pissed because she booked me for three days, but I lied that I was available until the duration she wanted when I wasn’t.”

“You mean you were still working an escort for somebody else?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Why did you lie then?”

“It’s more money,” Choso stared down at his hands before his eyes flitted back up to yours, his face unreadable. “I’m saving up so I can move somewhere else. Our apartment isn’t exactly the most ideal considering my profession. I need to find someplace quieter with thicker walls this time,” he smiled, “That way, I’ll no longer bother my sweet neighbor,” your lips felt dry at his words, your tongue darting out to lick at them while Choso scrutinized you under his gaze.

“I have to admit though – you asking for escort service is the last thing I’d ever imagine you doing. Not that I’m complaining since it’s still money in my pocket, but you’re not the most pleasing company to be with.”

“Oh, you bet, Choso. Had I known you were going to be my escort, I would’ve declined long ago,” you groaned, your head dropping in your hands. “What was Ijichi thinking when he said I would be compatible with you?”

“You’re not,” he stated, “But I am compatible with you – as I am with pretty much everyone else. I’m one of the best escorts, and soon you’ll see why.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by then, but it seemed Choso was quite eager to show his skills off when he dragged you back inside the reception event. The whole time, you couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone else other than Choso. It still felt hard to believe that the whole time, he really was doing his job, and upon seeing how easily he had people believing you two were an item despite you just standing silently beside him, you felt guilty that you disrupted his “work” like that.

Guilt gnawed at you as Choso made everyone laugh, and soon your relatives were cooing, praising you and congratulating you that you were “happy” now.

Back then, you always looked down on him and even called him a mere fuckboy, but Choso was so much more than that. He was intelligent; his past as a lawyer proved that, and whatever happened that caused him to work in this industry kept lingering in your mind.

There was no denying it now.

You respected this man – admired him even.

“And now it’s time to join the newly married couple on the dance floor! Come on, people, bring your dates up here for a twirl!”

You remained planted in your seat, too comfortable with Choso’s jacket draped around your bare shoulders. You’d lost count of how many times your head ducked down for the lack of sleep, and as much as you loved your dad, you wanted nothing more than to go home and rest.

Choso offered his hand to yours, a teasing smile on his face. He wriggled his eyebrows up and down, and he looked so utterly ridiculous that you couldn’t believe the boring man you were texting was the same infuriating yet undeniably attractive bastard who was your neighbor was the same fun. The world is very small, it seemed, and you weren’t sure whether you were brave enough to venture these strange places and feelings.

“Uh-uh. No. I’m not dancing.”

“Two left feet?”

“No, I’m wearing heels. My feet hurts.”

“Then take it off.”

“And get my feet dirty?” you scoffed. As if to prove your point, you snuggled deeper into his jacket that smelled heavenly like him, closing your eyes as you pretended to sleep. “Sitting here isn’t so bad. Plus, look at them, all staring at each other with goo-goo eyes. It’s revolting,” you shuddered.

Through the sickeningly romantic music playing in the background, Choso fell silent. You cracked an eye open, frowning when Choso studied each of your features carefully. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You seem to hate the idea of love.”

“Because it’s pointless.”

Choso narrowed his eyes at your answer, brows bunching up at the way your shoulders squared to keep yourself away. Then, he stood up and sighed, offering his hand to you once more.

“I won’t really ask you to explain why, because frankly, I don’t care,” you stared at his large palms for a few seconds. There must be a ghost possessing your body because you looped your fingers through his and allowed him to guide you on the dance floor despite your mind’s protests, and soon, Choso’s eyes were all over you. “But if you don’t want your money to go down the drain and you really want to convince everyone, I suggest you forget about that mindset for just a few more hours,” his voice dropped down to a low whisper, his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes turned solemn, his hand on your waist gentle. “Dance with me. Let’s show them how madly in love we are with each other.”

“We met just last week, remember?”

“Love at first sight, princess,” Choso kissed your forehead, sending your heart thumping and running to another dimension. Oddly enough, you didn’t mind, and your hands travelled from his strong arms to his broad shoulders instinctively. “Take your heels off. You can step on my feet and I’ll dance for us both. Just put your arms around my neck – yes just like that,” he nodded with a smile when your fingertips nervously played with his hair, and Choso began to dance you both in time with the music. “Are you good?”

“I don’t like this lack of space between us.”

Choso smirked, “Why, do I get you all hot and bothered?”

“Jesus, Choso, you can’t be serious for a minute, huh?”

“It’s kind of hard to be serious when you’re so flustered and adorable right now,” you pulled at his hair in response, but of course, he wasn’t really hurt.

“Look at me,” he demanded, but you refused, keeping your gaze planted on your bare feet on top of his again. “Hey. I said look at me,” he tilted your chin up until you’re forced to be like prey under his gaze, his breath tickling the bow of your lips. “I am your escort for tonight – and I humbly ask that you do your part as my client so I can perform my job well. I need you to look into my eyes and pretend you’re in love with me.”

“I don’t want to fall in love with anyone,” you suddenly admitted, “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” he replied, softly this time, and his hands ran down tenderly to your hips to pull you closer to him. “I’ll be there to catch you.”

You couldn’t remember who leaned in first. The only thing you remembered was that the music faded in the background when you kissed him – or maybe he kissed you – fuck, you didn’t really remember. Eventually, the kiss grew too heated, his hands squeezing your waist while you moan at the taste of chocolate and wine on his expert tongue.

Choso easily read your mind and swooped you away from the crowd, the both of you stumbling until you made it out to the venue and onto the beach.

The salty air kissed your skin while Choso carried you bridal style, arms looped around his neck while he kept moving his lips above yours. He was laughing through the kiss with how messy and eager you were, tugging at his shirt to encourage him to unbutton it. Choso set you both down on the darker, isolated part of the beach where nothing but the sound of waves lapping against one another could be heard with your breathless pants and his chuckles.

You were lying on his jacket, dress bunched up to your chest while your legs were spread wide open for him. “Ch-Choso,” you choked out when his tongue ran flat across your slick folds, his hands keeping your hips pinned down to the sand. “I-I, please.”

“I got you, princess,” was all he said before he completely dived into your heat, his sharp nose brushing into your cunt.

It didn’t take long until you were spasming in his hold, legs closing around his head. Choso groaned into your pussy, a finger working its way inside your sopping cunt while he licks and slurps your arousal like it was fucking water. Now you understood why those girls always lost their mind – Choso was a fucking expert when it came to worshipping pussy.

Choso pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness, but he was kind, eager to please you that he immediately replaced it with his tongue.

You cried out when you felt his tongue entering your hole, one thumb pulling the hood of your lips up to reveal your sensitive pearl. Choso rubbed your clit fervently, his other hand reaching up to squeeze and tug at your breasts while he drank your juices dripping down his tongue as if you would be his last meal – and he honestly wished you were, because you tasted like heaven on him and he wanted more.

Once he felt you clamping down on his tongue so tightly he struggled to retrieve his warm muscle back, he helped you reach your high by pinching your clit. You moaned out his name, the sound sending blood straight down his cock, and he groaned into your pussy the moment you grinded on his face as you relaxed from your orgasm.

Choso didn’t give you the chance to recover from your orgasm, pulling you up to his lap before he’s kissing you again. You moaned when you tasted yourself on his tongue, his face and cheeks sweet from your arousal and cum.

You should be ashamed, but you couldn’t find a single bone in your body that felt shy right now. Choso was right – there was no point in being shameful when it came to your pleasure.

The kiss was sloppy, more tongue than lips and teeth clashing onto another. Choso grinded you on his hardened erection in search of your heat that would bring him relief, but he slowed down and pulled away from you, a string of saliva connected from your lips. He wanted you – wanted to fuck you so badly – so he searched your eyes for the answer when you aligned the tip of his cock to your entrance. “Is this okay? Are you sure with this?”

“Yeah,” you gritted your teeth when his tip entered your tight cunt, your walls sucking him in greedily already. Choso’s head dropped down to your shoulder, his teeth sinking down to your shoulder. You slowly sat down on his thick length, but then froze before he could bottom out. “Wait, no, I’m broke! I can’t pay for your extra services!”

“It’s free for you, princess,” he rasped out, “Now sit on my lap so I can feel you around me already.”

“Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

Through the pleasure that had his abs rippling, Choso managed a laugh. “You might want to get used to it.”

“Why would I?” you breathed out, eyes shutting tight once he fully slid into you. He allowed you to get used to the sudden stretch; it had been too long since you’ve been touched this way that you were impossibly tight around him right now. Your chest rose and fall with each faltering breath, your nails running down his back when Choso gave a deep, experimental thrust that immediately hits your sweet spot.

You moaned, cheek resting on his shoulder as Choso set the pace, squeezing your ass as he bounced you up and down his cock. “You’re gone after this. Once this contract is over, you’re moving away and I won’t get to see you anymore. I-I won’t lose sleep anymore after hearing you fuck all those women and gosh, I hate you so much, you know that?”

“I hated you too,” he groaned through your skin, “Or at least, that’s what I told myself so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Hurt? I would never hurt you,” Really, you praised yourself for still being able to form coherent sentences even after Choso kept fucking into you.

“I’m an escort, princess, I’m everybody’s and nobody’s at the same time,” he explained almost angrily, and his lips zealously sucked love bites to the sensitive flesh of your neck, “Even if you won’t hurt me, we’re bound to crash and burn at some point. This is why we’re not allowed to get attached to anyone,” his lips brushed over her collarbone, his canines dragging along to make red marks. “Why we’re not allowed to fall,” he squeezed her breast in the palm of his hand, twisting the peaked nipple until you whined, hips bucking deeper into his cock. “Why we’re not allowed to love.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I’ve always liked you,” he laughed through the pleasure, holding your hips down so he could drive his cock deeper into you. Yes, he was selfish, yes, he was frustrated – and his feelings burst through the way Choso powered into you. You fell limp in his arms and he easily caught you like he always did, his eyes blown wide as he stared right into your eyes, his dick still pummeling through your gummy walls.

Choso inhaled sharply when you clenched down on him, an elongated moan spilling past your lips. “I liked you the moment you moved in and you fell flat on your face before you could greet me.”

“Shut up, don’t remind me of that!” you raked your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood, and Choso concealed the pain with light chuckle, the pain only prompting him to absolutely use you. “You’re seriously bringing it up now when you’re – ah, fuck – b-buried in me?”

Choso tugged at one of your legs and wrapped it around his waist, the sudden change of angle had you pressing down deeper into him. It felt like you were sinking closer and closer to his cock, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix until you’re crying out in his arms, scratches evident on his back.

“For now,” he breathed out, “I want to at least be selfish enough to want you now, just for now if fate won’t still allow it.”

“W-we can try,” you said in your lust-filled gaze, lips crashing down messily to his while you bounced on him, your hips slamming down at the same to meet his thrusts. “It’s not going to be easy, but we can try, right?” You cupped his face, surprised with the sudden vulnerability from his hooded eyes, looking so innocent and beautiful as if he wasn’t painting your insides white.

“Okay,” he nodded, brows pinching together. And that was all the both of you needed before Choso sank his fangs down the column of your neck to hold on his low groans; your head thrown back as you both drown in the pleasure of being with one another.

In the blink of an eye, all tenderness is Choso’s touches replaced by the hunger in his eyes and the power of his lust-filled thrusts. You were a moaning mess by the time your hips sit flat on his pelvic bone and his balls brush on your ass from how deep he was hitting you, and you felt his teeth nibble at the side of your breasts again as he warned, “But for now, I’m not going to go easy on you – not when I’ve wanted you for so long and I’ve been so hard for you these all time.”

And you allowed him. Because nothing was ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d try pushing through hell and back.

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atsumiye · 3 years ago

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a weird meet cute with akaashi, where you both take the same bus home everyday and you fall asleep right as you get on so he always wakes you up before his stop.

during the weekday, your schedule is pretty consistent in that you go to work, stop by the convenience store to buy a coffee and make your way to the, normally empty, bus stop. except there's always one man who you have some sort of unspoken agreement with.

hes very kind, always says hello to you when you get to the bus stop, lets you on the bus first and even paid for your bus ticket a few times when you forgot your wallet. and all your interactions started one day 4 months ago.

you both got onto the bus and ended up sitting next to each other. you had fallen asleep 2 minutes into the ride and as he approached his stop, he decides to wake you up to let you know which stop the bus is at. you thank him, and get off the bus, both walking opposite ways.

so the next day when he sees you at the bus stop, and then falling asleep on the bus again, he makes sure to wake you again so you wont miss the stop. and it started happening every day, so it became a routine.

but the courtesies ended there. you've never had a real conversation with each other because, well, you don't really know each other.

but on a friday night, you're stuck in a horrible rainstorm, armed with your thin jean jacket and flimsy shoes. akaashi notices your shivering and wet hair as you run to the bus stop, but doesn't say anything. still allowing you to get onto the bus first so he can pick a seat near you to wake you up.

when he shakes your shoulder, he lets you know its time for you to get off and he stands up with you. he offers to walk you home (he checks 10 times that its okay because he wants to make sure you are comfortable with it), since he has an umbrella. and he claims he has to walk that way anyway so there’s really no harm.

and as you're walking home he slides his thick winter jacket around your shoulders claiming he “isn't even cold" and your shoulders are brushing against each others from how close you are standing and the walk is filled with small talk about your jobs and interests. when he drops you home, you thank him profusely and then he walks off. and only after you get inside your apartment, do you remember you're still wearing his jacket.

you run outside to look for him but he isn't there anymore. and when you reach inside the pocket to look for anything on how to return the jacket tonight, you find a small piece of paper with a little cartoon drawing of you sleeping with drool slipping out of your mouth, a small and neat ‘akaashi keiji' written next to it and his phone number right underneath.

you made sure to give him a call that night.

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bookishofalder · 4 years ago

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Pretty Girl

Pairing - Flip Zimmerman X Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, swearing, smoking, crime, (eventual) smut, racism (no slurs), sexism, general views/language of the time.

A/N: Well, here’s the prologue to the multi-chapter fic I’m working on! I hope you enjoy, feedback welcome and appreciated, especially if you notice any over-description of the reader! This is a female reader based fic.

Flip Zimmerman sauntered into the Colorado Springs police department early Monday morning, his black hair in need of a trim, a bit of a shadow darkening his unshaven face. He’d had the previous week off, after wrapping up the Klan investigation with Jimmy and Ron. The chief had insisted they each take some time, and Flip ended up taking the whole week, though he knew his partner opted to simply take a day, and Ron only a few more than that.

But Flip had needed the break-the case had exhausted him. It had drained him mentally to pretend to be one of the Klan, to agree with their views and utter slurs as if they rolled naturally off of his tongue. No, he had felt each moment with them chip away a little at his soul. So he took the time off; went fishing, watched television, did some work on his home, and spent some time with his family, who rarely got to see him. He didn’t live far from his parents, but with the hours he took on, it had been hard to visit often. They understood, but Flip knew his mother wished he would settle down, start a family of his own. She hated that he came home to an empty house, with no warm meal ready and waiting. Flip didn’t mind it so much, he was too busy at work to notice the void.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Flip wasn’t at his desk for more than twenty minutes before Jimmy came in, all smiles for Flip’s reappearance.

“Flip, welcome back kid.” Clapping his shoulder, Jimmy sank into his chair and fixed Flip with a knowing stare from across their desks. Flip frowned, wondering what had his friend in a chipper mood early on a Monday morning.

“Jimmy, the fuck are you staring at?” Flip grumbled though the threat in his voice was laced with affection for the man he’d called 'partner' for years now.

More detectives and office workers began to filter in, coffees in hand, all greeting Flip with casual ease before they settled in and began their workdays.

Jimmy shook his head, “Nothing, just glad to see your miserable face back, it’s been an interesting week.” The mischievous glint in his eyes said otherwise.

Flip didn’t look up at Jimmy’s words, merely smirking in response. He noticed then a neat stack of files on the left-hand side of his desk. When he grabbed the first, curious, he saw it was a case file of his, only it had been organized, and some of the sections of the report had been filled out for him. He stared a moment, shocked, before glancing up at Jimmy-whole was, annoyingly, still watching Flip.

He held up the file, “You do this, Jimmy?”

But he was shaking his head before Flip finished speaking, “Nah don’t like you enough.” He didn’t elaborate and Flip was too stubborn to press the issue. Whatever.

Flip glanced at the other files and saw they were the same. Someone had taken his paperwork, organized it and fill in the sections that were mostly clerical information, before returning them to his desk for him to finalize and submit. He had come in early specifically to finish off these files, and now his two-hour backlog was reduced to maybe thirty minutes of work. Impressed, and grateful, he began to work through the stack with his notes. He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but the gesture-wherever it came from-was more than welcome. Paperwork was the least appealing part of this job.

At nine, the station was buzzing with activity normal for weekdays. Ron had greeted Flip warmly when he came in, advising him that Sergeant Trapp wanted to see them in his office in an hour, before moving to his desk and checking his messages. And while it felt like any other day in Colorado Springs, Flip, ever the detective, noticed the moment the atmosphere in the bullpen shifted. Every man in the room seemed far too damn chipper.

He glanced up from proofreading his work to find many of his colleagues glancing toward the glass wall and doorway that led to the hallway, beyond which and out of sight, was the front lobby and administration desk.

After a few moments, Flip turned his chair to face Ron, whose desk was behind his own, only to see his friend doing the same thing. He frowned, “The hell is everyone in a tizzy for, Rookie?”

Ron grinned, “Chief hired a new secretary for the front desk-“

“What, Donna finally got herself a helper?” Flip cut in, referring to the homely but overworked secretary that had been asking for a second in command for years, during which team the operation of the division had nearly doubled.

“Yep,” Ron nodded, “And Donna already looks like it’s made a world of difference for her, but wait until you meet, she’s incredible. Nicest lady I’ve ever met.”

Flip rolled his eyes at this proclamation and spun back around, stacking his files together. He was glad to hear Donna had the help she needed now, it was a long time coming and would certainly make a difference for the entire station. Donna was like the mother hen, taking care of everything from coffee to endless paperwork, dealing with the public that came in, and everything else they could throw at her. She never complained, but always made the point of saying things would happen quicker if she were two people. He wondered what it would be like to have another Donna type woman in the office, but intended on giving it no further thought.

That is until he heard the distinct click of heels coming down the hallway, and glanced up, half interested, at the sound.

He did a double-take when he saw her and felt himself freeze. Stunned into stillness, Flip immediately felt that Ron using the term ‘incredible’ to describe the new secretary was entirely understating this woman. Everyone’s heads in the room turned her way, and it wasn’t just anyone who could unknowingly conjure up that kind of reaction.

Dressed in a fashionably smart secretary dress, which was a shade of dark blue that perfectly accentuated her skin, the woman was breathtaking. Curvy, with long (Y/H/C) spilling down her back in soft waves, she wore kitten heels that gave her a small amount of extra height, yet she was still short. She walked with an air of peaceful grace, carrying a large basket in her arms. But it was her smile, dazzling and genuine, that captured his attention.

Flip had to shake his head slightly, dragging his eyes away from the beautiful creature dancing into the bullpen. He refocused on his files, hoping to look busy, all the while straining his ears to hear her speak.

“Happy Monday, boys.” She sang, and a chorus of good mornings and hello’s filled the air, “I hope you like banana bread because I’ve got two fresh loaves here, one plain and one with chocolate chips-Jimmy, I made that for you.” And Flip looked up in surprise in time to see her wink at Jimmy, who gave an appreciative laugh, then thanked her.

She had set the basket down next to the water station, where there was a small foldout table set up. Sure enough, she pulled out two loaves of bread, already cut and laid out in smaller basket trays for them. She made quick work of setting out the loaves, plates and napkins before reaching into the basket, pulling something out she had wrapped in sandwich paper, and spinning around toward Flip.

He dropped his gaze before she noticed him, now making work of organizing his desk-why the hell was he suddenly so nervous? From behind him, Flip heard Ron give a small groan, “Tell me you didn’t.” But he sounded delighted.

“Ron, of course I did, don’t be so silly, it’s nothing.” This captured Flip’s attention entirely, and he gave up the pretence of tidying his desk to turn around and see what she had passed him. Inside the wrap was a slice of pineapple upside-down cake. Ron pinched a piece off with his fingers and tried it, giving an appreciative nod.

“That’s just like I remember, thank you.” He noticed Flip watching with a frown and grinned, “Oh, now, you two haven’t met yet, Flip’s just come back from vacation.” He clapped his hands together.

Flip looked away from Ron and met the (y/e/c) eyes of the young woman standing a few feet away, who wasn’t much taller standing than Flip was seated. She reacted first, though Flip did notice her eyes widen slightly before she stepped forward, all smiles.

“Detective Zimmerman, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m (Y/F/N).” She stuck her hand out. Flip automatically grasped it, noticing how entirely tiny her hand was in his own.

He tried to smile, “It’s nice to meet you, miss. Please, call me Flip.” She smiled at his words and Flip suddenly felt like his brain might be needing a jump start, as it was the prettiest smile he’d ever had directed at him. He felt warm and craved a cigarette. Or a cold shower.

“Well, Flip, only if you call me (y/n).”

Ron had watched the entire exchange with a shit-eating grin on his face, “(Y/N) here is an amazing baker, in addition to her many other skills that Donna can’t stop raving about, so before you know it, Zimmerman, you’ll be sporting a few extra pounds.”

(Y/N) giggled. Truly giggled, and Flip found himself surveying her, trying to decide how old she was. She carried herself with a confidence and ease that seemed mature, yet she did appear youthful in many ways. “It’s what I’m known for, leaving heavyset men behind me everywhere I go.” She held up her hands, as if in defence of herself.

Flip snorted, “And you take special requests?” He asked, nodding at the cake on Rons' desk.

“Oh, well that was actually what I baked for Sunday supper for my sister and me,” She leaned against Ron’s desk, her hands neatly folded in front of her, “And when I told Ron here what I was planning, he asked for a slice because I make it like his aunt used to.” She shrugged, giving Ron a friendly smile.

“It tastes exactly like hers, (Y/N), you’re the best.”

“You two seem awfully, uh, close.” Flip remarked, and while Ron seemed unfazed and unbothered by the comment, he noticed that (Y/N) seemed to flinch slightly at the words, her smile disappearing.

Flip knew he was a gruff, grumpy son of a bitch, but he was also always like that, and no one ever seemed to care. Now though, the tone and accusation that she might have assumed from his observation seemed to hit a nerve, and her demeanour shifted, embarrassed.

“Oh, yes, well Ron’s been a gem, being pretty new here himself. He’s helped show me the ropes,” She murmured, “I should get back to it-nice to meet you, Detective.” And she hurried away, still taking time to greet those she passed, before disappearing down the hall.

“Man, Zimmerman, you have a way with the ladies.” Ron deadpanned, shaking his head at Flip, who was staring toward the hallway feeling both annoyed and guilty. He glared at Ron, who was shaking his head, a hand clapped dramatically to his face, “A real Romeo.”

“Fuck off, Rookie,” He growled. A thought jumped at him then, “Wait, is she the one who did all this-‘ He gestured at his files ‘While I was off?”

Ron rolled his eyes now, “Of course she did-she helps everyone stay on top of paperwork. When I told her you were off last week, she made a point of getting you all caught up.” Again, Flip stared down the hall, his mind working.

He just wasn’t very good at socializing, or making friends. He was gruff and sarcastic and his sheer size usually kept others at a distance. He had a hard time knowing the right thing to say, especially to someone as pretty and kind as (Y/N). He hadn’t thought his words would come out the way they did, sounding accusatory, and he wished he could take them back.

Over an hour later, Flip was still replaying the interaction in his mind, over and over. When he, Ron and Jimmy re-emerged from Sarge’s office, new assignments in hand, he had come to a decision. He had never been one to simply leave something unaddressed, not if it bothered him. And while he was certainly terrible at socializing, he would never stand for himself to be ungentlemanly. First impressions were important, and he intended to correct this one.

While Ron and Jimmy continued toward the bullpen, Flip turned right and stomped down the hallway, entirely missing his friends exchange a knowing look behind his back. As he approached the front desk, his eyes peeled looking for her (y/h/c) hair, he was surprised to notice how tidy and welcoming it now looked.

(Y/N) had made quick work of reorganizing and decorating, which was probably why Donna was nowhere to be found, no doubt in the files room making work of the backlog she’d been complaining about for years. Flip figured she must be in the best mood of her life.

The reception was empty, however, and Flip wondered where (Y/N) must be. He continued to march forward, considering if he should look around for her, or wait at the desk, when a door on his left, which led to the bathrooms, opened. Before Flip could stop, she was suddenly hurrying out of the doorway and slammed directly into his side, gasping in surprise.

Flip had just managed to turn his body slightly toward her before they collided, allowing his arms to shoot out and large hands to grab her shoulders as she bounced off of him and fell backwards. Steadying her, he peered, “Damn it, darling, I’m sorry-are you alright?”

She was wide-eyed, her head tilted back to meet his eyes. He released her, taking a polite half step back. “I’m fine, goodness, I should apologize, I ran out of there like a bat out of hell.” Her hands moved to her waist, where her dress tie sat, and began to redo the knot absentmindedly.

Flip raised a brow, “Something scare ya?” When her face flushed at his words, his eyes drank in the sight, heart rate speeding somewhat. He watching her curiously.

“I, um,” She sighed, her eyes closing briefly as if attempting to find the strength to speak, “It’s silly, I was washing my hands and noticed a big spider and I really, really hate spiders-I live alone and I can never kill them easily, I always get the broom so I can stay far back, so I thought I’d run out here and find a broom-“ Abruptly, she stopped speaking when Flip began to laugh, and after a moment of uncertainty, a smile spread across her face-dazzling white teeth on display.

“I can kill it for ya’, no need to resort to desperate measures,” He joked, happy to see his words cause her to giggle slightly, “But do me a favour?” He added, his expression becoming serious.

(Y/N) glanced up at him curiously, “What’s that, detective?”

Flip took a breath, “Accept my apology, for earlier,” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’m a grumpy S-O-B and my words came out harsher than I intended, I only meant to tease. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously as he spoke.

She seemed to consider his words for a moment, crossing her arms across her chest, a small smile on her pretty lips. Flip kept his eyes on her face, not wanting to be disrespectful by ogling her, but it was impossible not to notice the way her bust pressed out when her arms wrapped under them. He needed a cigarette. And probably a proper smack around the head.

“Of course I accept, detective,” (Y/N) was smiling properly now, “Jimmy warned me you were a mean lumberjack-his word, not mine. I just-“ She paused, “Worried I’d given the wrong impression, is all. I’ve got a good work ethic and don’t want anyone thinking I’m silly or chatty over hardworking.”

Flip was surprised at how serious her tone turned, her words heavy with concern. “You organized all my files for me, while I was off?”

“Yes-why?”

Flip laughed, “Darling, that knocked two hours of painful catch-up off my plate and we hadn’t even met before, I can already tell you’re impressive, so if anyone here ever tries to question that, you send them to me.” He huffed, glancing at the bathroom door, “I’ll go kill that monster in there for you.”

She had flushed again at his words, something that sent a jolt of electricity through his core. Flip realized he was well and truly fucked for this woman, and he’d only known her an hour.

“Wait,” He paused at the door to the bathrooms, glancing back. She was giving him her best little grin now, “Thank you, Flip.”

He merely nodded, before stepping through the doorway to kill the damned spider.

Although, he thought, maybe he should thank it instead.

Chapter 1

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#flip zimmerman x reader #reader insert #adam driver x reader #adam driver #fanfic #smut #multichapter #flip x you #Zimmerman x reader #fluff #friends to lovers #best friend #feedback appreciated #Fem reader #prologue

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dustofbrokenheart · 4 years ago

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The Lost Boys: Take-Out Intrigue Part 1

Part One | Part Two

Marko x Reader

Word Count: 2,400

Warnings: racial slurs, some gore

Summary: You catch Marko’s eye while he’s waiting on an order. (Since my blatant favoritism towards Dwayne was called out, I’m trying something new!)

“Nin hao ma,” Marko called out as he entered the small restaurant.

The familiar scents of garlic, rice vinegar, and sesame oil wafted out from the kitchen in the back. Marko personally preferred the take-out joint down the block but it was David’s night to choose so he didn’t complain. Much.

The older woman at the counter bowed her head slightly with a smile. He wasn’t a regular but he was there enough that she recognized him. “Hao, hao.”

Mandarin was fluent but these owners spoke Cantonese which he wasn’t as familiar with. He supposed he could take time to learn but he’d been occupied with spray painting and the birds for the past few years. That didn’t leave much time, or desire, to pick up something else. Pleasantries out of the way, he switched back to English. His

“Let me get three orders of the sweet and sour pork, one sweet and sour shrimp, four chow mein, one lo mein, and one fried rice.” After a second of thought he added, “Oh, and some egg rolls.”

The owner wrote it all down quickly and waved the paper slip in between her fingers. “Wait here.”

She disappeared to the kitchen, leaving Marko by himself to admire the scrolls of art that hung on the wall.

In the back, she calmly walked over to where you were hunched over an open textbook, frantically taking notes. It was noisy in the kitchen so you didn’t notice her until she cuffed you on the back of the head.

“Oww!”

“Time to work. Keep an eye on the customer out front,” she nagged in Cantonese.

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” You held your hands up in surrender. But you snagged you stuff when she wasn’t looking and hoofed it to the register before she could chastise you again.

You stood at the register and it was impossible to miss the customer. He had a riotous mass of blonde curls pulled back into a ponytail and wore a patched-up jacket that was simultaneously too busy to look at and too interesting to look away from. He must have felt your gaze because he suddenly shifted his focus from the calligraphy on the walls and stared you straight in the eye.

You held your breath and after a few seconds, his face relaxed and he smiled at you. The smile only added to his attractiveness but you instinctively knew that he wasn’t as sweet as it would lead you to believe.

“You’re new,” he commented.

“Y-yeah. I mean, no,” you sputtered. That was embarrassing. You’d never struggled to speak with a customer before. The fact that he stared without blinking made it worse.

He merely hid his smile behind the fingerless gloves and stuck a thumb in his mouth. A possible oral fixation—? You stopped that thought dead in it’s tracks. It was highly inappropriate to think of a paying customer that way. His actions were none of your business.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to start over. “Actually, my family has known the owners forever. But yes, I’ve only been working here for a few months.”

“I don’t remember seeing you,” he said crowding you despite the fact that there was a register between the two of you. “What’s your name?”

You weren’t sure why, but you felt the need to defend yourself to him. Which was ridiculous. You talked with chatty customers all the time, no problem.

“My name is Y/N. I always take the busy shifts since my English is better. This is the first time I’ve stayed later than the dinner rush.”

That answer must’ve settled something for him because he took at thumb out of his mouth and gave you the first genuine smile you’d seen thus far. In turn, you smiled back and the mood in the room calmed.

His attention went back to the calligraphy and you opened your textbook to the spot you left off at. Everything was quiet. “So…you like calligraphy?” he questioned.

The next fifteen minutes passed quickly as he got you talking about the restaurant’s décor. He was especially absorbed by the painting of a fiery-scaled eastern dragon, which you also liked. But your favorite was the Chinese phoenix on the opposite wall.

“Did you know the fenghuang is a lucky omen? They’re the bird of all birds in traditional mythology.”

That seemed to intrigue him. “The bird of all birds, huh?”

You latched on to the tone in his voice. “Do you like birds?”

He toed the tip of his worn boot into the linoleum floor. Laughed a little. “Yeah. You could say that.”

He opened his mouth to say more but at that moment you were called to bag up his order. A little reluctant, you excused yourself and went to kitchen. The food was already portioned into their respective white cartons, the top flaps folded in neatly.

Opening up the plastic bag, you quickly arranged the cartons inside and tied a with a small, snug knot at the top. Stapling the receipt to the bag, you drew a smiley face on it with a blue-ink pen. The smile came out a little lopsided but you left it alone, afraid it might turn out worse if you tried to fix it.

You lingered near the door, twisting the plastic in your hands. For some reason, you would be disappointed to see him leave. Which was crazy as you’d only talked for a few brief minutes. Judging by the size of the order, the poor guy probably needed to leave so he could bring other people their dinner too.

Resigned, and uncomfortable with that feeling, you went back out to the register. You made sure to use your most polite voice as you rang him up. The exchange happened normally and he dug a wad of dollars bills from his back pocket. It made you cringe to see the money so wrinkled and spotted with an unknown stain, but you kept your reaction to yourself.

“Have a nice night,” you wished him as you tried to hand him his change.

He waved it off with a shake of his head that sent his curls bouncing. “Nah, keep it.”

And that was it. He turned to leave, swinging the plastic bag at his side with every step. There was no hesitation on his part and you sighed. Clearly, your interest was one-sided.

Logically, you knew shouldn’t take it personal, but emotionally, you couldn’t shake the feeling of rejection. Remembering that you were in the middle of reading, you went to open your notes again. You flipped through the pages slowly, your heart not in it.

Outside of the small restaurant, the red neon open sign casted hazy lighting on the cracked cement sidewalk. Marko hovered just far enough from the door that you couldn’t see him. He snickered.

Your disappointed sighs had followed him as soon as he turned his back on you to leave and he had to be honest—it delighted him. Good to know that you were attracted to him. He certainly liked you.

Santa Carla was full of interesting people, alive, undead, or otherwise, so it was hard to catch his attention. But as soon as you started spouting off about mythical Chinese phoenixes, he was hooked. Yes, he was into birds, screw you, but he’d never heard that story before.

He supposed you could’ve been talking out of your ass but he didn’t get that vibe from what he had seen. Your eyes lit up when you talked about the image so he bet that you truly did admire it. Your voice was steady for the first time in the encounter, meaning that you were comfortable saying those things, had probably told them to other ears dozens of times.

So, yes, you could be making it up. If you were, he’d be the first to admire your skills. But you seemed too straight and narrow for that. After all, you were actually studying at work. What kind of person did that?

The tantalizing combination of authenticity and passion for your Eastern mythology made him want to talk to you again. That way he could pick your brains more and maybe, if he was lucky, make you stutter again. Still, he wasn’t going to walk back in there like a sap. Not after he just left.

“Hey!”

His ears twitched and he finally got a look at the guy he’d been watching stagger down the sidewalk the entire time he’d been outside. He chose not to saying anything figuring the human would keep talking anyway, which he did.

“You get that food from here?” The human pointed to the restaurant with his thumb.

Marko nodded, biting on his thumb.

“These chinks, or japs, or whatever any good?”

Marko’s eyes that had been taking in the guy’s appearance the entire time paused in the bird pin he had on his cap. It was yellow orange. Similar shade to the fenghuang’s wings. He took his thumb out of his mouth, his slick fangs descending to bite into his bottom lip.

The ass hadn’t even noticed, still talking and seemingly some kind of inebriated. Fine by Marko. He liked surprising people.

His clawed hand shot out faster than the human eye could track and plunged into the guy’s chest. A hole was torn clean through. The blood and heart organ felt warm and wet as it stuck to his fingers. “I don’t think you need to worry about that you prick.”

The hole was much more pronounced and blood began spilling out. In the light of the moon, the blood looked black instead of red. The about-to-be-dead offender’s jacket absorbed some of the liquid but the rate at which it poured out was too much for the fabric to soak it all up. It wouldn’t be long until he was officially dead.

The shock registered late and by the time the human looked down, Marko had already pulled his hand out and was sucking at the blood. He laughed at the other’s confused expression. The last thing the guy saw was Marko giggling and playfully waving his fingers.

The corpse sagged to the ground and Marko wrenched it up by one of the arms. He must’ve used too much force because he heard the shoulder pop off out of its socket.

He shrugged, not really bothered. No one else was out on the streets at this time. Especially not during a weekday. Getting rid of the body would be easy. Strengthening his hold, he flew into the night sky to dump the body where it would never be found.

When he came back, the white bag of Chinese take-out was sitting exactly where he left it. Excellent. Bending down to rip off the receipt, he pinned his new yellow orange bird pin to it. There was a small speck of blood on the glossed paint near the small bird’s wing that he licked clean.

He didn’t mind scarring you, but he didn’t want you so freaked out that you went to the cops. That would make things a little messy and make David pissy.

Following his nose, he wandered over the car that smelled of you. A quick glance through the driver’s window showed a stack of other notebooks and…a ridiculously bedazzled charm dangling from the rear-view mirror. It made him raise his brow, but he decided he liked it.

Mythological creatures, bedazzled charms…he couldn’t wait to find out more about you.

He arranged the paper backed pin under the windshield wiper to keep it from falling or blowing away. Marko prided himself on giving gifts and he wished he could be there to see you find it, but he’d been gone long enough. The boys were already going to give him hell for it. And he was getting hungry, too.

Besides, he knew where you worked. He’d find you again when he had more time.

Revving the bike, he raced down the road, the plastic bag quivering where it hung from his handle bars.

---XXX---

“See you later, Auntie,” you called out. A bell jingled as you pushed the front door open. You weren’t used to working this late and were long past due for sleep.

“Bye bye, drive home safe,” she said in Cantonese, the gruffness failing to mask her fondness for you.

Being in the restaurant all night, the crisp air outside was a nice reprieve. You loved the food, you really did, but oil could be headache inducing after a while. There was a slight breeze, too, that refreshed you with its invisible caress.

Most of the other businesses in this area were closed by now, leaving the streets dim and vacant. Luckily, there was a streetlight by your car so you didn’t have to walk in the dark. There was no such thing as being too safe in Santa Carla.

You shifted your things so you could get the keys and stopped in your tracks when you noticed a small piece of paper on the windshield. You looked around, not seeing anything else out of the ordinary. Still, you couldn’t shake the wariness.

Was it a ticket? A threat? A piece of trash that just blew into the window?

Creeping forward, you recognized the smiley face you had drawn earlier. What the—? When you were close enough to snatch it, you realized there was something weighing down the corner of the flimsy paper. A pin.

You angled it toward the streetlight, unsure what it was. An orange, no, golden orange bird gleamed in the light. Its wings spread wide and were smooth under the pads of your fingers.

Warmth spread through your chest. There wasn’t a message on the receipt, but the smiley face gave it away. This could only have been from that customer with the curls and jacket. Had he been wearing it inside? You couldn’t remember.

Clutching the pin, you sat in the driver’s seat. The car ran idle for a bit and you fiddled with the back of the pin. There was plenty of space on your bare jacket to place it wherever you wished. With the delicate gift attached securely to the jacket, you backed out of the parking spot, a smile on your face the entire way home.

Hopefully, he stopped by again soon.

_______________

My first time writing for Marko! Thumbs up or thumbs down?

Regardless, East Asian (and any) racism isn’t cool peeps. Let’s do better :)

#the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys x reader #imagines #marko the lost boys

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squeiky · 4 years ago

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!!!List of papyrus things!!!

(Update 3! mini update.)

For anyone who needs more info on the guy! Since you usually dont see alot of info about him!

A list of stuff thats just papyrus's tid bits i've collected overtime!

(Disclaimer: some things can be taken off of memory, though I did search most of the stuff up, so you dont have to worry too much. But if your feeling unsure, search it up! And correct me while your at it.)

his room doesn't play/have music.

(If you have reunited playing at enter his room, it'll disappear forever. Untill you go back and let it play again. Even without reunited, a song that plays no matter what room your in, doesn't play any music.)

Never takes off his battle body.

(According to sans, he only takes it off if he has no other choice too. Otherwise he'll just put clothes ontop of it, or just repaints it if needed. He does how ever, change his pants but never takes off the top.)

the minute "royal gaurd " is out of the picture, he's got nothing.

(It was the one thing he worked up for. When the royal gaurd disbands He says he "working hard on doing absolutely nothing". Then again this can be interpreted as papyrus does say he is working on something, despite not being a royal gaurd yet.)

He lies. (And can manipulate)

(Though he is really bad at lying, he seems to manipulate just fine, though its usually not out of malice. He gets undyne to befreind you by mentioning "challenge", which is a weakness of hers, since she never can turn down a challenge. And has lied about floweys name to her to. Has lied to sans or atleast mislead him about the things he knows about. Pretended he didn't know what a lab was during a call in hotland, but if you call him when sans isn't there, papyrus mentions the lab as if it was common knowledge instead of saying "Labrador-y?" As if he had no idea.)

Changes up his attacks

( if you get captured a few times, you see variation in his attacks. If you do it right, you can get him too skip half of his entire attack.)

Calls his own puzzles "Awful"

(This happens after battling papyrus, he says "WHO KNEW THAT ALL I NEEDED TO MAKE PALS... WAS TO GIVE PEOPLE AWFUL PUZZLES AND THEN FIGHT THEM??" This could be interpreted in many ways.)

Spikes, fire, traps, fencless bridges: are all safe for children, according to papyrus.

("EACH AREA HAS TO HAVE A PRECARIOUS BRIDGE" -bridge likely to collapse, dangerous. "ITS MANDATED BY THE GOVERNMENT. OF COURSE KING FLUFFYBOY WANTS TO UNMANDATE IT SAFER." "WHY?! WONT HE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!)

Has "talked" with asgore before.

(Sadly, asgore and papyrus has crossed paths. Asgore advises him not to but dangerous puzzles around town, for the children. Papyrus wants to put dangerous puzzles around town, for the children. This results in them bickering over saftey laws, with papyrus usually winning.)

Tried to start a flowey fan club

(On multiple occasions calls flowey "his best freind" and shows genuine love for the little guy. He even gave flowey a little red scarf to match his, during the 5th anniversary winter alarm clock.)

Has photo-graphic memory for phone calls.

-call in the room where undyne chased you. He seems nervous, or atleast stressed out during this call. I'll leave any and all interpretation to you.)

(Ps: papyrus has bad memory, but good photographic memory?)

His disliking for grease

(Says this during a call with undyne in grillby's place. Undyne says she loves grease, and he quickly dismisses his opinion in favor of hers. Of course, papyrus HAS visited grillbys before, as the dogamy and doggeressa mention him with sans. )

Calls alphys "great"

(During the first tile puzzle, he praises alphys by calling her "THE GREAT DR. ALPHYS" )

Knows about undynes crush on alphus

(He teases undyne a few times on this, leading to the "hot voice" and "audible wink" papyrus lines. He's not oblivious to the things around him, unless he chooses to be.)

Put limes in his eyes!

(Conversation in hotland! The guy thought limes where cucumbers and stuck them in his eyes. When. He thought it wasn't working he put more limes. It burned like hell but he says it was all to have "mettaton's bishoning eyes")

Knows about mtt's eyes

(Nobody seems to know that mettaton has eyes?! Undyne confirms this fact. Papyrus is the only one who outright mentions it.)

He got mettaton to do the tile puzzle thing

(FOR SOME UNEXPLAINED REASON- mettaton was the tile puzzle robot alphys built. The puzzle robot papyrus had during his own tile puzzle. Infact, during mettaton's tile puzzle in hotland, he says that you'd is this a few hundred rooms ago. If you call papyrus, he starts rambling on all the instructions again. Hehe.)

he likes dinosaur oatmeal

(According to the undertale tumblr, flowey response to "whats papyrus's favorite food?" Is DINOSAUR OATMEAL!! YAY!)

really enjoys mtt's show and mtt in general.

(and mtt even helped him with a tile puzzle)

enjoys cars

Owns a car bed

(Want to drive one)

really freaking artistic!

(Paints a whole bridge, makes a snowpapyrus, made his own costume/battle body, built a okay replica of a sentry station)

The red book on the table in the skelebro's house is infact his!

(For specifics, the quantum mechanics book with infinite books inside of it. It isn't specified who reads it, but both brothers should be capable as jokes and puns are not out of papyrus wardrobe.)

has his own shed and tools.

(Also known as "the punishment shed, doghouse, cpature zone, guest room, a garage" or undyne's pun which was "the coolshed". Ah, to be enriched by shed puns... Wonderful.)

tried to learn the "horoscope"

(Got "stumped" according to sans)

thinks junior jumble is harder than crossword

wants a 6 pairs of hot pants and 6 pairs of legs to wear those pants

has a dream of owning a shop where he just sells flames

(Call near in waterfall, near the turtle man shop.)

He's very influential

(If he's the only one killed in a neutral run, even without undyne, a revolution will still occur. Look into it yourself if need be.)

Called himself a genius

(During the instance, where he talks to you after turning the light on in sans's room.)

Can't really tell when someones mad

(He couldn't tell when undyne was mad at him during a call. He asks us too.)

Doesn't watch anime.

(He thinks its like cartoons for babies. Jokes around with undyne for awhile before taking it all back once he knew she watched anime.-during one of the calls.)

Brutal kind of guy

(He says this himself, i don't exactly know WHY he thinks this of himself, but he does.)

Bookworm

Owns a bookshelf

(He has a book Its where his vast dictionary comes from.

Knows about the time and space manipulation tactics sans uses.

(HE KNOWS- HE MENTIONS IT WHEN HE TURNS ON THE LIGHT IN SANS'S ROOM!!)

believes you can be a better person, if you just try.

(And he's right. Even if you kill him he still believes this, beacuse well.. Its true. Undyne wont forgive you and try to kill you, sans won't fight you, bht he's still right either way)

Knows about river person

(He asks about how river person is doing. No body seems to know about river person, and its unsure if undyne knows about their prescence.)

The days in his date scene (Monday, Tuesday, weekday, Thursday,e.c.t ) changes depending on your computer. Even though the date in undertale is always Monday.

(River person has a scheduled thing that matches up to your computer date as well, but this is about papyrus, not river person.)

Weird abilities

(Flying and super speedy twirling, flying backwards. He doesn't even hide it.)

He's pretty freaking tough!

(According to undyne, the person who defeated asgore.)

His "absolutely normal attack" is a giant cluster of bones.

(In theory, his attack could be the size of the entire area, including the giant bone at the end.)

Papyrus can lower the giant bone at the end of his "absolutely normal attack"

Has Collection of bones (or was planning to make one.)

(The room behind the sink was made for.. His attacks/bones. Before toby(dog)came in and made a shrine instead.)

Is annoying dog's favorite target.

Has a cannon, spears, fire thingy, and a dog at his disposal.

(Displayed during the bridge scene)

One persistent dude.

Likes to say "NYEHEHE!"

Has alot of MTT items.

Owns makeup!

(Mtt brand of course!)

Never dated anyone before.

(He says it himself.)

owns a dating manual

Not much of a sleeper.

(To the point where he just calls sleeping "naps" which aren't that long. He outright says he's always working, so he doesn't sleep.)

Dislikes hotland

dislikes hotland x2

Dislikes hotlands puzzles

Dislikes hotlands ethics.

Doesnt know much about hotland

(Says he knows it like the back of his hand!)

Says he never taken off his gloves, so he has no idea how his hands look like.

(He wears gloves or mittens on top of his gloves. And refuses to take it off, like his "battle body")

Calls hotland's steam puzzles garbage.

Dislikes hotlands conveyors

Thinks L1 and R2 stand for left and right

( Of course, it takes him awhile. He starts making puns, and tries to compare the words to pasta, and THEN comes to the conclusion that its left and right. Its Trail and error.-)

Knows about death.

(Said he wanted to meet death one time during a waterfall call.)

He pauses when speaking as a lost soul.

("I MUST CAPTURE A HUMAN! THEN EVERYONE WILL. ...." This is unusual as he is the only one that pauses. This can be interpreted, but it is rather interesting nonetheless)

Alright this is a bit more interpretive. Things may not be 100% facts down here.

Disclaimer: i will be putting "Interpretive" in red coloring for things that have may my interpretation or opinions in! Please do be mindful in your search, and take it with a grain of salt. It doesn't make it comepelty wrong, it has facts! Just muddled with oppinions.

Ready?

self-worth problems.

( can be called interpretive: He always feels very unimportant, as if he doesn't actually matter. During a call in waterfall, with the puddle hallway, papyrus talks about not letting it "get to you" or something along the lines of that. Since undyne speaks from her experience with the puddles, then i'd assume papyrus would too.)

(I think its just a sign of self doubt or insecurity. Someone once said its dysphoria, which is a cool headcannon for paps or something. What ever it is, he has some demons that he doesn't want to let out.)

Forgetable.

( according to the genocide description)

( Interpretive: Other than that, he's not even noticable. Though, there are a few people that appreciate him, most dont really acknowledge him. Unless you kill him of course!)

Sad/depressed?

( interpreitive as well:Before the human showed up, sans explains how his brother was feeling quite down lately. We see a.. Happier side of papyrus through out our journey.. He vents out to us, the player/human, about things he dislikes, or troubles he faces. Hes like a froggit. Life is hard for a froggit.)

Smiles through things.

("This is where I tried to capture you! What a bad memory." -quote he says as he smiles through it all. He does have a sad emote, but so far i have only seen it during a call in hotland, where the CORE was shown. As your adventure is coming close.. To an end.)

Uses his playful "OUCH!" emote when you straight up kill him. Instead of his hurting/in pain emote when flowey catches him off guard before absorbing everyonesones souls.

(The reason is unkown, but that emote is normally associated with more of "light taps." Examples are, toriel's fireballs at asgore and flowey. Unless... Cutting off his head was considered a "light tap" then, but flowey wrapping him in painful vines is considered more painful than getting his head chopped off and still having enough consciousness to joke about it.)

He knows his cooking sucks and that nobody likes it.

(He's not naive. He knows. He even says it. "Nobody has like my cooking before!" - QUOTE. This isn't some hidden fact. He's trying his best, "mabye next year, he might even make something edible." -sans quote.)

That was all the stuff i gathered for now.

Feel free to tell me anything i haven't added! :)

yeah, hes a pretty cool dude, ain't he?

(Edit: i've added some new things to the bunch, and fixed/deleted ome opinions or unrelated junk. Please, continue helping me add!)

#papyrus #papyrus quote #undertale #undertale facts 101 #sans and papyrus

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heroofpenamstan · 3 years ago

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—OC PROFILES: JOANNE & MICHAEL

tagged by the lovelies: @shallow-gravy, @shellibisshe, @belorage, @honeysides, @strafethesesinners, @faithchel, @blissfulalchemist! thank you, dears! x since i’m tragically late to the party as per usual, not going to be tagging anyone since i assume most of my mutuals have done it, but if you want to go right ahead and tag me too so i can see! :”)) also, fair warning: 80% of the questions i answered at ungodly hours overmedicated on paracetamol and it shows because re-reading this in the morning was a Yikes

GENERAL

name: joanne burton alias(es): jo, annie ( mike exclusive ), burton, dep, jr. deputy, rook, traitor, sinner, wrath/pain in the ass ( john exclusive ), rabbit ( jacob exclusive ), heinous fucking bitch—( also john exclusive ), black widow ( new dawn au ) gender: cis. female age: 29 birth: 30th october, 1988 place of birth: meridian, idaho spoken languages: english; may or may not recite some hebrew lines over the holidays sexual preference: bisexual occupation(s): junior deputy of hope county, montana/menace to all cultists everywhere ( in a certain radius of said hope county, montana, anyway )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: brown hair colour: black height: 157cm ( 5′2 ), or approximately 7′11 when balancing on michael’s shoulders to peer inside john’s windows scars: split right eyebrow ( thanks, jake ), minor cuts and incorrectly healed bruises and gashes, scarred bullet wound on left hip ( you’re welcome, jake )

FAVOURITE

colour: orange or yellow or cyan, or whatever is more stupidly eye-catching and not at all fit for her current environment song: i’ve been thinking by handsome boy modeling school food: various stir-fries, fruits and protein ( or anything that she claims to be “healthy” when, truly, bitch is one step away from living off of instant noodles and canned pineapple and cigarette buds from dutch’s stash ) drink: beerherbal teas and infusions

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, but passing the police academy was already a pleasant enough surprise for her had sex: today? no. two weeks ago? probably had sex in public: probably said two weeks ago gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes, but we don’t talk about it kissed a boy: yes ( derogatory ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate ) gotten tattoos: yes, loads: most were practice scribbles for her ex-girlfriend, and the only true meaningful one she possesses is lydia, scrawled into her pinky in remembrance. otherwise, john seed do not even engage with that rusty ass tattoo gun— gotten piercings: yes, loads multiplied; if there’s a place for a piercing in her ears, she has them. also, an old septum piercing she hasn’t worn in a hot second been in love: yes, loads squared ( girl rents out her heart on the weekdays and cries about the scratches she notices on saturday, but still repeats it all over again come monday; falling in love for her is easy, but actually loving someone and getting over her self-loathing to do so is a whole different ball game ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: she’s probably on hour 31 as we speak ( someone knock her out pls )

ARE THEY

a virgin: whitehorse has heard enough horror stories in the break room between her and joey to last him a lifetime a cuddler: closeted cuddler, yes a kisser: most definitely; woman has to play up her natural assets scared easily: her response time is too lagged for that jealous easily: depends; she’s more jealous of what she should have/could have/would have had in a general sense than being jealous of a particular person or a thing trustworthy: in her own way, yes dominant: disgustingly so submissive: not in this lifetime in love: very much so single: very much so part 2

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: yes, but it’s more by means of unintentional yet severe substance abuse thought of suicide: not as often as one would assume; joanne has a very strong sense of self-preservation, but tends to run from her bleak reality by means of one harmful way or the other attempted suicide: once or twice during her lowest points in life wanted to kill someone: on the daily have/had a job: girl had juggled three part-time jobs; there is nothing she fears anymore have any fears: ( see above ) to fall back into old bad habits, loss of control, death, failure, a bad future, poverty, being abandoned and forgotten, long stays at a hospital, the judges, the bliss, the power of john’s hair gel

FAMILY

sibling(s): micah burton ( older brother ) parent(s): abigail burton née belman ( mother ); jim burton ( father ) children: asher seed ( daughter in new dawn au ) significant other: jacob seed ( circumstantial lover/”could do without” mentor/#prisonwife #prisonhusband #imkidding #kinda ) pets: boomer for the cuddles, cheesecake for the throttles ( bitch naturally attracts the judges but will forget her dog 101 and run away like what does she think will happen then?? )

GENERAL

name: michael scott-hughes alias(es): mike, mikey, mickey ( mary may exlusive ), mike the bike/fall’s end’s bicycle, resistance’s poster boy, manwhore, cassanova, the archangel ( joseph exclusive ), the antichrist ( also joseph exclusive ), war dog, hughes boy ( fairgrave exclusive ) gender: cis. male age: 30 birth: 6th july, 1988 place of birth: fall’s end, montana spoken languages: english, russian, basic chinese mandarin and turkish sexual preference: pansexual occupation(s): residential shady, shady man ( international arm’s dealer, most recently demoted to local resistance leader and occasional general goods store co-owner )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: green hair colour: brown height: 181cm ( 5′11 ), and 6ft on tinder jkjk man’s confident enough to not grasp for that extra inch, unlike someone ( john ) scars: heavily burnt left hand ( from trying to fish out his ex girlfriend’s boiling corpse r.i.p. to that steaming puss— ), gash on his right temple, nicely healed gun wound on left shoulder, not so nicely healed amputated right hand ( man’s not having the best time in my canon, is he ), various incorrectly healed cuts and bruises

FAVOURITE

colour: green and rustics song: wild world by yusuf/cat stevens food: unlike the faker above, michael actually likes to cook and eat healthy meals, so anything from salads to veggies to oatmeal to soups will do ( and meat; man’s been a vegetarian for a grand total of 4 days in his entire life ( or 14, if you count the time he got abducted to john’s bunker womp )) drink: sugary drinkswhiskey, fresh juices, “water can be so, so sexy, annie—”

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, though michael really busted his ass to self-educate on subjects that will be beneficial to his line of work had sex: we stopped keeping tabs and numbers nearly ten years ago had sex in public: we stopped blinking at these types of shenanigans nearly ten years ago too gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes? no? maybe? ( mike’s too afraid to even think about it, but hopes he hasn’t fathered any babies any time soon ) kissed a boy: yes ( affectionate ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate² ) gotten tattoos: yes: the sword of damocles on his left inner forearm, intertwined snakes running across his right ribs, a tiny smiley face on his ass lord save him gotten piercings: yes, and everyone hated his attempt to revive the 90s with his lil earring like c’mon you already have a reputation of being a sleaze— been in love: yes, but surprisingly not as many times as one may think ( truthfully, three times: mary may, lana, joanne mary may again ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: sometimes it just cannot be helped

ARE THEY

a virgin: maybe in a past life as an amoeba a cuddler: yes ( try to escape his hold during a summer night i’ll give you 5 bucks if you can break the deadlock ) a kisser: he just exists to smooch at this point scared easily: truthfully, he’s quite desensitized as is, so it’s really hard to truly rock him jealous easily: no; though he might get a bit petty and bitter if someone mentions merle and mary may becuase, like, c’mon, mary—merle briggs? trustworthy: one of his better traits, but past events have shown that boy tends to lose some of his morals for love dominant: yes submissive: yes part 2 man will accommodate and switch it up in love: often single: loosely, often

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: michael has bad mental health trips stemming from having a lot of insecurities as a child; these may evolve into bad habits and pure recklessness on his part to prove his worth thought of suicide: these thoughts don’t come often, but when they do, it’s harder for him than most to shake them off and recover attempted suicide: once, during the boiling pit incident wanted to kill someone: yes, but it comes more from need than want usually have/had a job: yes, though no retail until he was 30 and stuck providing hope county with slugs and bullets have any fears: loneliness, rejection, abandonment, repercussions and consequences, not being good enough, powerlessness, loss, the angel pit, the process of dying

FAMILY

sibling(s): none, but: jackson hughes ( uncle ) parent(s): jessica hughes née scott ( mother ), david hughes ( father ) girl i have his whole family tree drawn up like you wouldn’t believe children: andrew hughes ( son in new dawn au and maybe canon ) significant other: mary may fairgrave ( childhood sweetheart/awkward ex/once in a rare cosmic event fuck buddy/volatile lovers ) pets: peaches loves him she doesn’t; she just wants to chew on his hair

#tag game #deputy joanne burton #michael s. hughes #oc: get to know jo #oc: build a bicycle #my stuff #far cry 5 oc

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wing-ed-thing · 4 years ago

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Fraternizing and Spineless (Kabuto x Reader, FINALE)

Synopsis: Kabuto has a fixation and you sometimes apologize to inanimate objects. Ever since one fateful day, you’ve been drawn to each other from opposite sides of the battlefield.

Word Count: 3,169

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Language Probably, Canon Divergence, Alcohol, Implied Torture, Espionage, Fem!Reader @tiktoktheclockisticking

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Finale

Notes: I can’t believe it’s over. Damn... okay.

Kabuto sat at the bar. He fiddled with the neck of his near-empty bottle.

You hadn’t been home for about three days.

Even in a village full of trained shinobi, no one seemed to notice him. But with all his years in espionage, Kabuto would be surprised if anyone did. The bartender came over, motioning to take the glassware, but Kabuto held up a hand with the shake of his head. The bottle stayed. He originally intended for the bottle to be more of a prop than an actual drink, but the more he asked about you and the more people didn’t seem to know, the less decorative the liquid became. No one seemed to know your name and if they did, they certainly didn’t acknowledge it. Kabuto only heard the same story and not much more: that a terror attack was carried out on the Leaf by the Sound. While Orochimaru did send men after you, Kabuto saw that crater with his own eyes. He knew two things for sure: your chakra signature and that the Leaf was trying to cover it up. Kabuto took a deep breath, assuring himself that he just hadn’t found the right person to talk to yet.

“That was a pretty deep sigh there.” Kabuto turned to his right. The man next to him leaned on his elbows, slightly hunched over the counter. A few wisps of hair fell from his high ponytail. He took a sip of his drink, nose scrunching at the strength. The scar across his face flexed with his red-tinted cheeks. The man met Kabuto’s gaze. He motioned to Kabuto’s, unknown to him, stolen vest. “Are they working you Jounin as hard as I’ve heard?” Kabuto faked a slight laugh.

“Oh yes they are,” he answered, bobbing his head a few times. Kabuto fully intended on leaving the conversation there, but he took a momentary pause and studied the man out of the corner of his eye. Kabuto bit the inside of his lip before turning fully on his stool to offer his hand to the stranger. “Asai Takehiko,” he lied. The man grabbed his hand without a moment of hesitation.

“Umino Iruka.” The Leaf ninja introduced himself before downing the rest of his drink before waving the bartender over for another. Iruka motioned towards Kabuto. “I’ve never seen you around.”

“I graduated to Jounin recently. You know how it is with new meat on the battlefield. I suppose being thrown in at the deep end is one way to gain experience.” Iruka chuckled.

“So you must not have been home for a while then. I’ll cheers to that.” He lifted his glass and Kabuto fingers wrapped around the neck of his own bottle. The glasses clinked together. Kabuto held his to his lips, pretending to take a sip as he studied the dwindling liquid of Iruka’s cup. After a few seconds, Iruka came up for air. “Not taking the Jounin exam is definitely something I don’t regret.” Kabuto quirked an eyebrow.

“What are they having you do?”

“I teach.” Kabuto’s eyes flickered in amusement. He restrained the corners of his lips from turning upward, covering his mouth with one hand in order to not give himself away.

“You teach? I’m assuming at the Academy?” Iruka nodded and Kabuto snorted, hitting Iruka playfully on the arm. “You work with kids and you’re day drinking on a weekday?” The mocking tone translated nicely into playfulness.

“It’s been that kind of week, my friend.” Iruka’s smile faltered, his gaze focused on blank space as he seemed to recall a particularly bitter memory. Kabuto’s expression narrowed. He had a hunch, but he wasn’t about to reveal his hand yet. Perhaps luck shone down on him after all. Kabuto took another swig from his drink with a casual shrug.

“I think everyone’s been kinda on edge. You know, with what happened. An attack in the middle of the village is some real scary stuff.” Iruka pursed his lips, a subtle display of body language that was not lost on Kabuto. He went on. “You know, just being a new rank in this line of work. I have family around where it happened. I’m afraid that I won’t be there to protect them if something like this happens again.” Iruka shook his head.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said with a fair amount of hesitation. He gulped, running a palm across his face. “With all the precautions being taken by the Hokage I’m sure that it won’t happen again any time soon.” Kabuto crossed his legs and tilted his head.

“You seem to have more information than I do. And you seem pretty upset.” Iruka let out a bitter huff.

“Yeah, I think that’s an understatement.” Kabuto paused, giving time for his victim to marinate in his thoughts before he probed further. Iruka’s chest puffed out as he filled his lungs with air. Another heavy huff. “It’s all just… very confusing and conflicting and I haven’t been able to get proper sleep for a while because for some weird reason I feel responsible.” Iruka didn’t bat an eye at his own confession or at the fact that he was venting to a stranger. Kabuto’s interest, however, was piqued.

“Responsible, huh?” He put a hand on Iruka’s shoulder and pointed a finger at his chest with the other. “You sound like you’re being way too hard on yourself.”

“I wish I was.” Yet another sigh from Iruka. “I really do…” Kabuto frowned, faux confusion washing over his features.

“It was the Sound Village, my man. I think you’ve had one too many to be thinking that kinda stuff.” Iruka hesitated as he looked around wildly. The bar had, for the most part, cleared out to leave Kabuto, Iruka, and a single stranger at the very end of the bar. The bartender had stepped out at some point during their conversation. Iruka leaned in a bit closer.

“Okay, you promise that this stays between you and me?” Kabuto inwardly celebrated his victory but kept his expression concerned and humble. Demeanor sympathetic, he nodded. Iruka looked around again before whispering, “The Hidden Sound didn’t attack the Leaf. At least not directly.” Kabuto blinked, mouth agape in faux surprise.

“What does that mean?” He started to grow just the slightest bit impatient, but Kabuto reminded himself that after days of information gathering, he had struck gold. He was going to find you, no matter what it took.

“It means that the Hokage is investigating one of our own for conspiracy and treason.” Kabuto covered his mouth before letting his wrist fall back onto his lap.

“No. Conspiracy against the village?” Kabuto couldn’t help the slightest bit of guilt gnaw at him. Maybe he hadn’t been as careful visiting you as he thought he had been, but for the moment he pushed those thoughts from his mind. He tilted his head towards the ceiling, eyes moving back and forth in pretend thought. “This wouldn’t be a friend of yours would it?” Kabuto met Iruka’s surprised eyes.

“How did you know?” Iruka’s guard was officially down. Kabuto offered a friendly smile.

“Well because you’re so distraught! Anyone could take a guess. Have you at least gotten a chance to talk to her?” Iruka recognized something off about his new friend’s statement, but he couldn’t pinpoint it in his intoxication. He nodded, describing the journey to your cell and your painful conversation.

But Kabuto didn’t care much for the bit about your conversation. Rather, he sat in quiet, victorious awe as the building you were in and the floor number slipped from Iruka’s lips. In the end, that’s all he would need. Iruka, at least at the moment, didn’t suspect a thing.

***

The blood remained smeared across your skin despite your injuries healing hours before. The Leaf had gotten creative.

You were certain that Iruka didn’t believe your story, so you were confident that the Torture and Interrigation Force didn’t either. Even if it was the truth. You steadied yourself and slowly leaned back to lay down on your cot. In spite of your closed wounds, your muscles stretched in soreness. You shifted to one side, spine cracking along your back. The taste of your own blood lingered in your mouth.

The moon shone through the sliver of a window near the ceiling of your cell. Looking up, you couldn’t help but wonder what Kabuto was doing. You wondered if he was looking for you. You cringed at the memory of your last conversation. The night where you practically threw yourself at him in desperation, spouting feelings that perhaps should have gone unspoken. Maybe Iruka was right. Maybe you really weren’t making any sense. You sighed aloud to yourself. Yeah, you sure scared him off alright.

You let your eyes flutter shut. You hadn’t been allowed to enjoy a full night of sleep and you knew that it would only be a matter of time before someone came to drag you away again. You didn’t suppose that many fraternized with Sound ninja just for the companionship. The Leaf expected a grander plot. Part of you considered making up a lie, that maybe you’d be let go if you told them what they wanted to hear, but you knew no matter what you said you’d be stuck. Your breathing slowed quickly and for once since you had been locked up, a semblance of peace overcame you.

By the time you heard the door open, you didn’t even know whether or not you had actually had any time to rest. You were still exhausted, but the moment you heard the tinkering of keys at your cell door you bolted straight up. Out of it, you didn’t even register standing until after the fact. Two shinobi entered your confines. You could hardly muster a coherent thought and you certainly couldn’t process the body of the unconscious guard that fell at your feet.

“You weren’t away that long that you forgot about me, were you, dear?”

You dragged your eyes up, heart beating faster and faster. Kabuto stood before you. He still held his kunai. The Konoha Jounin uniform fit him nicely, a vision of what might have been in another world. He grinned ear to ear, smug smirk plastered onto his lips. Your eyes widened. Without a moment's hesitation, you went to him and he accepted you with open arms. His weapon clattered to the floor. Your lips crashed into one another’s like waves on the shore. Kabuto held you close. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your fingers tangled in his hair. Kabuto’s stolen hitai-ate fell down around his eyes. He pushed it back up and you both parted. He was there, right there under your fingertips. You couldn’t stop shaking. You buried your face in his shoulder and he caressed the back of your head. Hot tears ran down your cheeks and down his vest. You didn’t even realize that you were crying.

“I wasn’t that bad, was I? I know this wasn’t really my style, but they’re really stingy with the keys around here.” And Kabuto laughed, blinking back the drops that threatened to spill over his own waterline. He wasn’t ever one to cry and he’d be damned if he looked like anything less than a hero during your rescue. You snickered with him and clenched your eyes shut, further staining your cheeks. The side of your face melted into his palm and Kabuto leaned his forehead against yours.

“You came back for me,” You breathed, inhaling his familiar scent. He smelled like the village, something akin to mornings in the forest. “H-h-how, how did you? What did, did you?” You could hardly find the words. Kabuto grasped your hand.

“Doesn’t matter.” He breathed in. He wasn’t too late.

***

Konoha, despite its strength, was in many ways a dated nation. The alarm bells didn’t even begin to ring until you and Kabuto were half way across town. You had to hurry. Leaf shinobi acted quickly and every second a new set of peering eyes were being awakened from their beds.

You followed Kabuto closely. You didn’t get to ask any questions, you didn’t have time. All that you knew for sure is that Kabuto, once again, came to your rescue. What that meant, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t about to question it.

Kabuto stopped in front of you and knelt down.

“You go ahead.” You became very aware of the bags under your eyes and the bolt of adrenaline in your veins. He began to unpack a few items from his equipment, attaching paper bombs to kunai and preparing traps that you couldn’t process properly in your tired haze.

“What are you going to do?” The corners of Kabuto’s lips tugged into a sly grin. He took a bit too much pleasure in moments like these. Nimble fingers pulled knots tightly. By the time he rose back up again, he could’ve easily been mistaken for a walking arsonal.

“Buy us a little more time… and little insurance,” he said, not even bothering to hide the glee in his eyes, “It’s a straight shot from here. You know where to meet me. Wait for me there.” As he turned away you grasped onto his sleeve.

“Wait,” You gulped, casting your eyes downward with hot cheeks. Kabuto let out an amused scoff before leaning to plant a quick kiss on your lips.

“As much as I appreciate the concern, we’re getting low on time, dear.” He dragged a finger across the outline of your ear, tucking a few strands on hair back. “I’ve got this handled. Go, I’ll be there before you even know I’m gone.”

And with one last squeeze of his wrist, he went. You let out a shaky breath before facing the opposite direction. You had started to build up some nerve a while ago. It was recent, but nonetheless you’ve started… so you supposed you shouldn’t stop now. Jumping from your place, you began running across the rooftops. Your eyes locked onto the forest. You sped to your top speed, darting into the woods. Free. The branches and leaves blurred together as you continued on. You took a sharp inhale. You knew that you wouldn’t be back here anytime soon.

You ran until the exhaustion caught up with you. Your back felt drenched with sweat, you stopped at a small clearing among the trees. Leaning up against the bark, you forced air into your lungs in an attempt to sate the burning within them. Your head pounded as fatigue gripped your muscles. The meeting spot wasn’t too far ahead. An often overlooked piece of the forest, you were sure that no one would find you here.

A rustling came from nearby.

“You know, when you said that you’d be back before I knew you were gone I didn’t think you’d be back that…” You trailed off. The man that stood in front of you was not Kabuto, but Iruka. He wore half civilian clothes. The scar on his face and his hitai-ate were the only articles that could have truly signified that he was a shinobi. His determined eyes met yours unyieldingly as he panted from his travel. You were in no shape to fight him. “How did you find me?”

“You’re leaving,” he noted, exasperated. His eyes were opened slightly wider than usual. Perhaps even he didn’t know what he was seeing. The trees rustled above you. Quiet overtook the landscape. It was only you and Iruka. “This was the only direction you could have taken and not have gotten caught. Direct path from the compound...”

“Yeah,” You answered, heart beating rapidly in your chest. “I…” Your features softened. Your shoulders slumped and you let out a heavy sigh. Iruka remained silent. “You know I can’t stay here. I-I can’t just stay locked up like that.” He hung his head, arms coming to cross in front of his chest. He nodded, bobbing his head a few times. Iruka’s hand came to run through his hair.

“I… I know.” He pursed his lips, stammering over his words. “You didn’t, uh…”

“I didn’t kill anyone.” You defended yourself quickly. A shiver worked its way down your spine. “Anyone else I should say.” You mirrored him and crossed your arms.

A pause. Iruka could have taken you in, but something told you that he wasn’t going to.

“I’m sorry for not having more faith in you. I’m sorry if I could have done something to prevent all of this.” The honesty in his admission shot straight to your heart. You weren’t leaving behind a lot that you would miss in the Leaf, but Iruka was most definitely one of them.

“This was inevitable. You… thought what anyone would think. I can’t blame you for that.” You gestured to yourself. “I’m sorry for what I said and I just want you to know that I’ve always appreciated our friendship.”

“No,” Iruka waved a hand before it returned back to the crook of his elbow. “I—”

“Why don’t you tell me next time?” Iruka’s gaze snapped up to meet yours. You shrugged with a smile. “There’s a lot to talk about. A lot to apologize for. Let’s just… save it for the next time we see each other. Because you’re not losing me for good. We’ll just… catch up a lot later than we meant to.” Iruka’s expression melted into something resembling sentiment.

“Yeah. For sure. We’ll catch up later.” You approached him and you enveloped each other in a sweaty hug. You took him in, the last of your life in Konohagakure. He rested his chin on your head. “He better treat you right.”

“He will. He does. You don’t have to worry about that.” You parted, Iruka’s hands remained on your shoulders. A rustling came from behind you and both of you turned to look as Kabuto appeared at the other end of the small clearing. He had two bags slung over his shoulders. He gave a respectful nod towards Iruka who gave a small wave back.

“Umino Iruka, nice seeing you again.” Iruka pointed a finger towards the rogue ninja with playfulness in his voice.

“You, sir, are a menace to spies everywhere.” Kabuto cracked a smile with a snort.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

And with one last contrite look, you and Iruka parted ways. He jumped out into the wilderness and you turned to Kabuto. Leaflitter crunched under your feet as you made your way over. You wrapped your arms around him. He murmured a few sweet words into your ear and your lips brushed against his cheek.

“So where are we going?” You asked as you took one of the bags with the assumption that it was for you.

“Wherever you’d like to go.” Kabuto’s fingers laced between yours. “I don’t know. I don’t have a plan from here if you’d believe that, my dear.” You gave his hand a squeeze.

“Perfect.”

Notes: Does anyone else smell a sequel series ‘cause, uh, I left things very open for a reason? Like any finale I’d love to hear what you have to say!

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

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