#great tiger was there too but he fell off the car

[bazooka-overkill]

aran ryan's driver's license: a post

this was inspired by when i was fucking around in @wallet6464 's adopt and raise a punch out game. this all spawned from me in an aran ryan png morph driving around in a fuck ass car

aran ryan's license is currently suspended (and has been for seven months) until further notice. "but bazooka, why?" you may be asking. "why is aran ryan, the cleanest boxer ever, have a suspended license?"

well, dear reader, aran ryan is the shittest driver known to man-fucking-kind and i question every day how he has not died. today i will be sharing the events-- albeit in a tl;dr-- that led to his license being suspended.

REASONS WHY ARAN RYAN'S DRIVERS LICENSE IS SUSPENDED:

has 27 points on his license

tried to run over super macho man

mental conditions.

somehow ran seventeen red lights in under 30 minutes

carrying several people in a two-person jeep

had one (1) bottle of popinski's soda in the car

was caught doing donuts on the lawn of super macho man's mansion

flipped off a few cops while driving

had three crates full of beer in his trunk (no one knows where he got them from to this day)

left the scenes of crashes (11 crashes and counting. im one of these 11)

speeding (this is separate from points bc he was doing 171 mph in a school zone in a stolen van)

if anyone wants clarification on any of these i will gladly elaborate

sincerely,

-- bazooka b. overkill, super macho man's lawyer

[little-lily-w]

23 seconds

This can be triggering.

Caged. That’s how you felt and how you half-literally were. The luxurious living room of his mansion wasn’t as big when your freedom had been taken away and every door that would allow you to go into any other space had been shut and locked. Your feet were nervously walking from one side of the room to the other creating the same pattern over and over again as your mind raced. You had to escape. You had to reunite with your father before it was too late. The marquis had kidnapped you in order to extort your father’s favor for a job, one so dangerous that the big man couldn’t handle himself. And, in all honesty, he hadn’t been the one to get his hands dirty. No, his men did the job for him when snatching you and bringing you to this ‘palace’. You thought that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have the disgust of facing him but little you knew how well informed of a man he was. No detail escaped him. Pictures, personal data about yourself, every single ounce of your privacy had been delivered to his grip and this was just the beginning. Piquing his interest wasn’t in your plans and certainly not in your favor. When all you were was a tiger roaring for an escape route, you didn’t take into account that wild animals don’t really make the best decisions.

You heard the key on one of the doors in front of you and you stopped in your tracks, watchful. You expected more men with guns and black suits but instead, the rush of new air brought a tall figure dressed in an off white old fashioned suit, presumably as expensive as any ordinary car. Your chest raised and fell unwillingly as he walked into the room and his eyes observed you vaguely from the distance. You could tell he was doing a bit of effort not to scan you from head to toe. Yet. Instead, he went to the long table at his side where food had been seating for the time you’ve been there, most of them cakes and desserts.

“Didn’t touch anything”, he commented with that French accent, the low air in his voice gave you chills and the short dress you had on didn’t help at all “You think it’s poisoned?”. He gave you a side eye, a smirk appearing in the visible half of his face.

Your brain was trying to process the situation, hard to recognize it as a threat when the man in front of you was so composed.

“H-What is this? I demand to get back to my father, now!”, your loud voice made him furrow his brows as if he was trying to avoid a headache.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma petite”, the marquis slid his fingertip down the cream on top of a lemon pie and brought it to his mouth to taste it, humming to himself at the sweet taste before turning to face you fully, his back and hands resting against the table.

“Bullshit! You are the one behind this. You are extorting my father keeping me here. Let me go. Now!”

The marquis inhaled deeply and let the air out through his nose very slowly. You could tell his eyes were now more focused but not precisely on your own. He was looking right into the center of your chest, enough for you to hesitate if he was enjoying your cleavage or examining the vulnerable points in your neck.

“Your father just needs to finish the job he’s been asked to do. After that, you’ll be safe and sound back home. When? Well, it depends on how great his skills are. It could take days, weeks even months. So I suggest you…”, one of his hands moved sarcastically as if he was showing off the place, “...get comfortable.”

“You are sentencing my father to death and I won’t allow that. If you so want this task to be done, why don’t you do it yourself? Are you that much of a coward that you don’t dare take any risks?”

That was when the mocking hand went back to join the other one on the table to grip tightly. His knuckles tensed and by the time his eyes moved up from your throat to fix on yours, you realized it’d been a mistake. Truth of the matter was that you didn’t really know him and your anger and worry over your dad and being held hostage had sent you into a spiral of adrenaline, activating the fight mode. Now it was time for the flight one.

You made a step backwards and that seemed to do the trick for him because the marquis did another one towards you. Turning from tiger to prey was quite quicker than you’d have imagined and realizing that cold-blooded man kept advancing, you ended up walking backwards till your hips reached another large table with desserts. You threw a look at it as your eyes fought between examining your way out and keeping watch on the hunter. It wouldn’t take much to keep moving to another side of the room but with all doors locked, he could easily sprint and catch you.

“Stop…”, you told him, your voice now weaker. It was unnerving to have him closing the distance so slowly and at the same time, so silent. As you looked at the table once more, you found the handle of a cake knife resting next to a tray. You picked it up immediately, raising it in the air. It wasn’t too sharp but the blade was long enough to make you believe (or hope) that it was a good weapon – “Stop!”, you told him again, now raising your voice, using the knife extended forwards not to have him coming any closer.

The marquis paused two meters before you, watching your wrist shaking in the air. “You don’t know how to use that. Your father’s always kept you aside from this world. Lay the weapon down, ma petite.”

“Fuck you! Give me the keys! Let me go!”

“Even if I did so, how far do you think you’ll get before one of my men catches you? They won’t be… gentle”, he said, his tongue licking his bottom lip briefly as if he was talking about his intentions towards you. “Trust me, your best option is to drop the weapon, ma petite.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m nothing yours and I’m not petite!”

“You sure aren’t”, his smirk appeared again, this time going along with a soft chuckle.

You wanted to slap him in the face because using the knife was actually intimidating, especially when realizing you were in fact very small compared to him but that made you wonder why he didn’t close the distance and tried to snatch the weapon off of your hand. Instead, he turned around, walking to the center of the living room to take a sit on the couch, relaxing himself against the backrest but still with his eyes on you. You didn’t understand and your head started to feel heavy.

“Let me go”, you told him, this time sounding more as pleading and you pinched the space between your eyebrows, trying not to lose focus on his figure.

“You have three options, ma petite. One is staying there, the other one is trying to kill me and the third one is dropping the knife, coming here and sitting next to me to better discuss the terms of your stay and your disrespect.”

Your free hand went to the table to grip it as your busy arm weakened and lost the muscle strength to keep the weapon pointing forwards.

“All of them come with consequences. But of all three, I suggest you take the last one. And quickly.”, and those were the last words he let out before he turned his attention towards the pocket watch in his suit.

23 more seconds. It only took 23 more seconds for you to go limp and collapse hard against the floor. He observed you from the couch, letting time go by on purpose before standing up and walking towards you again. Using a white handkerchief from another pocket, he got a hold on the knife, removing it from your relaxed palm and setting it aside. He examined you coldly but deeply, tracing his bare fingertips over a red bruise on your arm that was born after the impact.

“Consequences, ma petite. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Standing straight again, he unlocked one of the doors and signed the men guarding outside with a snap of his fingers.

“Bedroom”, he ordered them as they lifted your body and carried you away.

[bucketspammer4life]

how i think the boxers would die (its crack dont worry)

just because its crack doesnt mean ill leave it at just crack, traumatizing post coming soon, tw for death i guess

Glass Joe - He was on a car ride and opened the window, he then flew out like a McDonald's napkin and fell out to sea and got his ass beaten by a fish for being french

von kaiser - went too far into the weed cave and died from too much bluntensmoken, stoned to death in the best way possible, cant even tell him to fly high

Disco Kid - had a dance off and lost so hard he died from embarrasment on the spot, you were groovy, just not enough, may you groove high

King Hippo - choked on a popeyes biscuit because he forgot his drink, truly painful

Piston Hondo - the bullet train makers ganged up on him since he kept outrunning them

Bear Hugger - his organs cant handle that much maple syrup so his soul just exit him the second he chugged another bottle of maple syrup

Great Tiger - his clones turned against him and overthrew him, get replaced idiot

Don Flamenco - got brain damage after the perfume & roses he snorted on the daily got to his brain

Aran Ryan - choked on his lucky charm + coffee + orange soup because the universe didnt let him pass that

Soda Popinski - his liver sued him for emotional abuse and it won and left him

Bald Bull - his mom told him he would live long enough to regret his career, jokes on her he died on the spot from spite just to prove her wrong that he would be alive to regret his actions

Super Macho Man - He got his sunglasses stolen and died from sadness, he likes those sunglasses

Mr Sandman - hes still alive actually

[powpowpunchout]

Worry About It Later

‘7 o'clock sharp.’ Aran’s voice echoed in Octave’s head while he leaned against the stadium’s back door, keeping it open while he waited for his friend. The metal had a subtle stickiness to it that clung to the skin of his bare back, and while that bothered him–along the strange, faded stains and bits of rust on it that his body was undoubtedly touching–Octave didn’t care right now.

7 o’clock had passed.

Octave’s been waiting here much longer than he wanted to, and had it been any other day? He would’ve walked off to anywhere else, but today he didn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was because the morning felt just a bit more pleasant than it usually did, or the fact he was too tired to put in the effort, but either way, here he stayed.

As he scratched at his stubble, trying to keep himself awake, he listened to the quiet sounds of the stadium. The low hums of fans, the distant steps of employees that roamed around the halls, and the occasional sound of car doors at the nearby lot slamming shut. There was something soothing about it all.

Octave’s arm fell down his side. His thumb latched onto his white belt and he leaned his head against the door. He stared out at the city, the morning’s careful breeze just barely enough to move a few strands of his hair. A thin layer of soft, gray clouds had covered the sky. Octave quite liked it. He certainly preferred it over the sun blinding him.

And the hint of humidity outside mixed with the coolness of the halls? It was great… It was also making him much more tired.

His eyes started to flutter close. His head started to drift down–

He quickly jerked it back up and clutched his chest.

At least he woke himself up a little.

He took a couple of breaths, letting in lungfuls of what smelled like a finished storm, mixed with the subtle scent of cinnamon from an employee’s breakfast that had passed by minutes ago. It was a bit of a strange combination, but one Octave welcomed more than the stadium’s usual chemical stench.

Octave felt himself starting to nod off again.

He stared at the tile floor and tried to keep his eyes open.

It had been a long night for him yesterday. He hardly got any sleep after that dinner, and when he finally started to drift off? Someone just had to call him.

Octave remembered how he woke up with his blanket tangled around his legs. He remembered nearly falling out of bed and cursing during the entire walk to his phone–kicking aside whatever laid in his path–and he remembered just how ready he was to cuss Aran out for calling him so late–

But when he picked up, it was Tiger.

He remembered standing in the middle of his dark living room with nothing but a pair of black shorts on as Tiger spoke to him.

“Ah, good evening, I didn’t think you would be awake at this hour.” Tiger said, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“I wasn’t.” Octave mumbled.

“Oh?” Tiger hummed. There was a pause before Tiger realized, “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry! I was going to leave a voicemail you see, but for some reason my blasted phone wouldn’t let me, so I was going to let the phone ring and wait until then, and… Well, here we are.”

“S’good.” Octave rubbed his eyes, “What’d ya need?”

“I was mostly going to talk about our next meetup… Along with what happened during dinner, again.”

Octave’s grip on his receiver tightened, “Yeah?”

“I’ve just been feeling terrible about what happened, that’s all.” Tiger sighed.

“Ya got no reason to.” Octave said as he sat on the armrest of his couch, which let out a quiet creak, “Not like ya did anythin’.”

“Yes, but–” Static garbled Tiger’s words for a moment, “You wanted to go, we were both looking forward to it, and… It didn’t go exactly as planned, did it?”

Octave kept his phone’s receiver close to his ear as he stayed quiet. Maybe it was because he got woken up in the middle of the night, or maybe it was the hint of disappointment in Tiger’s tone, but Octave’s chest tightened.  

He knew Tiger meant well, so why did hearing that make everything feel worse?   “Again, it’s whatever.” Octave finally said.

“Did you enjoy the food at least?”

“I didn’t get to try th’food.”

The sound of Tiger smacking his forehead could be heard, “Oh, that’s right! I can’t believe I forgot–I am so sorry–”

“Quit apologizin’.” Octave cut him off, “Ain’t nothin’ ya gotta apologize for. If anyone’s got anythin’ to be sorry for, it’s Donny. Guy owes me dinner after throwin’ a fit ‘n makin’ me leave.”

“I could get you take-out from the bar to make it up to you.” Tiger said, “I can buy whatever you’d like, it’s the least I can do.”

“Ya don’t gotta.” Octave said.

“I insist!”

“Yeah, well…” Octave brought his eyes up and stared into the darkness of his house. His chest tightened a bit more, “Just make sure ya take a couple’a bucks outta Don’s wallet and pay with that, huh? Don’t gotta go wastin’ ya cash like that.”

“Please.” Tiger huffed, “If I have to spend a grand after what happened tonight, so be it.”

Octave opened his mouth–

“Don’t even bother arguing with me, I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Alright, alright.” Octave let out a tired chuckle.

As Octave’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he turned his head towards his old TV. He focused on its screen, which was barely illuminated by the streetlights outside his window. The sound of cricket chirps and the distant revving of a car filled the silence in his house.

Octave stared at his fuzzy reflection on the screen.

His stupid, tired, fuzzy reflection.

He brought his head down and looked into the mouthpiece of his phone, “Don ‘n Pisty didn’t give ya a hard time after I left, did they?”

“They threw a bit of a fuss,” Tiger said, “but they’ll be fine. They’ll get over it.”

“ ‘N Bear Hugger?”

“He spent most of the evening telling us about his glassmaking and the other sorts of crafts he does.”

Octave could only let out a quiet ‘Mhm’ as he slouched.

“You didn’t ruin anything tonight, Overload.”

“No.” Octave replied a little too fast, “I don’t care bout that dumb dinner. I was just bout’a ask if Don threw a fit or somethin’ as soon as you came back. He seems like th’type.”

It was Tiger’s turn to chuckle, “Funny you should mention that…”

A sharp whistle suddenly pierced Octave’s ears. He jolted up–shoot, did he doze off?

Octave brushed his hair out of his eyes–only to immediately cover them back up when he saw Aran centimeters away from his face.

“Hadda good nap, Ov’rload?” Aran spoke through his teeth, yet Octave still managed to get a whiff of the beer that lingered in his breath.

“No, actually.” Octave said while he listened to Aran walk past him, “Hadda nightmare bout some ugly monster. Real ugly. Looked kinda like ya, now that I think bout it. It was even runnin’ late to somethin’--”

Aran scowled and let out another whistle, shutting Octave up.

“Close th’door.”

Octave rolled his eyes and got off the door. He moved the hair out of his face again and followed Aran, who was holding onto a tightly sealed, beaten up box.

“Saw Sandy’s car out there.” Aran said, “So we gotta be quick, yeah? Don’t know where th’freak is, but ain’t no way we’re gettin’ caught by th’likes of him.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Octave mumbled as they navigated through the poster-ridden halls.

Aran started to pick up the pace.

“Seriously Aran, what gives?” Octave asked as he caught up with Aran, “I go outta my way to meet ya here after ya go ‘n make a big deal bout it, and here ya are twenty minutes later. Did ya need all that extra time to find a clear pair of clothes or somethin’?”

This was probably one of the few times Octave’s actually seen Aran in something that wasn’t stained or ripped. Sleek purple shorts with yellow stripes running down their sides? Red tennis shoes that didn’t look like they were falling apart? A green, wrinkle-free shirt with a small four leaf clover embroidered on it? Not to mention his hair looked like it had gone through a couple strokes of a comb. Aran didn’t even put this much effort into their nights out.

Aran clicked his tongue, “Awh, poor t’ing havin’ t’wait an extra minute.”

Octave narrowed his eyes. Aran scoffed.

“If y’have t’know, m’sister wanted t’go to ‘er friend’s house, so I hadda walk ‘er.”

“How touchin’.” Octave rolled his eyes, “Next time why don’tcha gimme a heads up so I ain’t standin’ around like a dolt?”

“Calm down, ain’t like I left ye for dead. ‘Sides,” Aran gave the box a little shake, “stopped by th’store on m’way here.” A smirk spread across his face, “Got t’pick up a few extra t’ings for our good ol’ pal Bear Hugger.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“...It’s not like I mind wakin’ up early, but late night interviews ‘n all that are sorta my thing, you know?” Sandman spoke into his flip phone as he leaned against the drabby-green wall of the WVBA’s private halls.

There were a set of doors not even five feet away from him with the symbols: F1 painted on them. And outside those doors? Probably hundreds of people waiting for him to step out and answer their millions of questions. Millions of questions that Sandman didn’t have the energy for at this time of day.

“Yes,” Joe replied, “I guess whatever those journalists need to ask must be important. I can’t really think of any other reason why the higher ups would approve of such an early meeting time.”

“Yeah.” Sandman gripped onto his yellow boxer shorts, wrinkling them further. While dragging himself to the stadium at 6AM wasn’t the worst thing in the world, he’d still prefer to be in bed right now. “I think the new guy helped schedule the interviews.” He put a hand on his hips, “Would explain why they ain’t happenin’ at night.”

“New guy?” Joe repeated, “Does he wear glasses? Has a WVBA star always pinned onto him?”

Sandman thought to himself for a moment, “Sounds like him.”

“That explains it–and he isn’t that new. I think he’s been here for nearly half a year.”

“Still pretty new. You spoke to the guy before?”  

Joe sighed, “Yes, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but he is… A little bit too energetic for my taste.”

“Really?” Sandman raised his brows, but before he could get another word in, the doors opened. Hundreds of voices came rushing into the hall. A WVBA employee popped their head inside.

“Sir,” The employee said, their voice barely audible through the screams, “we need you out in five minutes.”

Sandman pulled away from his phone, “Right. I’ll be there in a sec. Havin’ an important call with someone right now.”

The employee nodded and slipped away. The door closed, and Sandman was left alone with the sound of muffled screams.

Sandman brought his phone back to his ear just in time to hear Joe snicker.

“Oh, look at me, I’m more important than Sandman’s interviews.”

Sandman chuckled, “Yeah you are.”

Sandman’s eyes traveled to the bottom of the doors. The flashes of cameras could be seen through the cracks.

“Any plans today?” Sandman asked.

“I’m thinking of buying another plant, and maybe some of those chocolates I like.”  

“Th’ones with the pink wrappers to ‘em? The expensive ones?”

“Yes, yes, I think I deserve a little something sweet after losing my poor tree.” Joe said.

“You mourning?”

“More than you can imagine.” Joe sniffled dramatically, “But what about you? After the interviews, of course.”

“Gonna go home ‘n eat somethin’. Probably a slice of that bread we made. Gettin’ hungry.”

“What did you have for breakfast?” Joe asked.

It was silent for a second.

“Sandman.”

“Nothin’.” He finally answered.

“Nothing?!” Joe exclaimed, his voice getting distorted through the phone, “Not even water?!”

“I couldn’t find my water bottle.” Sandman shrugged.

“You don’t need to drink water only through your water bottle! Don’t you have 50 cups in that fridge you can use?”

“Yeah, but those are for not water. Water doesn’t taste right if I don’t got it in my bottle.”

“It’s still the same water, Sandman!”

“Look, I just got more exquisite taste.” Sandman said. He smirked when he heard Joe sputter.

“Exquisite?!” Joe sputtered for another second, “Sandman, you–!”

“Oh snap, I gotta get to the interview.” Sandman drifted his phone away from his ear as Joe kept ranting, “I’ll talk to ya later. Have a good one.”

Joe let out a quiet huff and a ‘You too.’

Sandman hung up and went to put his phone in his pocket–but then he stopped.

He stared at his gym shorts.

Right.

No pockets.

He’ll just… Hold onto it then. Hide it with his hand and hope no crazy fan tries to take it from him.

Sandman rolled back his shoulders and cocked his head at a sharp angle. He heard a loud crack. A sting of pain jolted through him, waking him up a bit more.

He pressed his hand against the cold metal doors and pushed them open.

The moment he stepped out, the stadium lights blinded him.

He tried to shield his eyes with one hand, but the camera flashes weren’t making things any easier. He could hardly see a thing in front of him.

He peeked through the cracks of his fingers and was able to make out the silhouettes of security guards. Some were standing by the red, velvet ropes trying to hold back the crowd, while others were guiding him to where he needed to be.

Sandman tilted his head to the right, catching glimpses of journalists and photographers shoving each other just so they could be an inch closer to him. He watched as fans ran across the first floor and joined the rest of the crowd in hopes of seeing a sliver of him.

He could hear people screaming at security, demanding they be allowed past the ropes, some even threw a couple of hits at the guards in an attempt to pass, only to get immediately dragged out of the stadium kicking and screaming. Sandman cringed at it all. He wasn’t sure how much those guards were paid, but it probably wasn’t enough.

Sandman brought his eyes back to the front and saw what the stadium’s staff members had set up for him.

It wasn’t anything too fancy. A thin, dark blue carpet that had been rolled out with the WVBA’s logo on it, which was surrounded by light blue stars. On top of that was a black director’s chair, also with the logo on it, and then there was the light orange backdrop. Surprisingly, that didn’t have the stadium’s logo, but instead his name plastered everywhere in a deep orange, along with little hourglasses and stars. It was simple, just how Sandman liked it.

As he grew closer to the set up, he started to rehearse the answers he had planned in his head.

He wasn’t sure what this interview was going to be about, he was kinda left in the dark, honestly.

He was probably going to be asked about his latest fight–the one from a couple weeks ago where he knocked the guy out with one punch then left in a hurry.

He remembered how many journalists kept bombarding him with questions after that fight, demanding to know where he was going, or if something ‘serious’ had happened to him. He remembered giving them quick, one word answers because he didn’t wanna run late to his lunch with Joe, which probably left a lotta those people unsatisfied.

Sandman thought about the usual questions people asked him after fights.

‘What are your thoughts on all those insults your opponent said after the fight?’ That was definitely one he was going to hear.

‘Don’t care bout them.’ Was his answer to that.

‘How long were you training for that fight?’ Was another typical question.

‘Long enough.’ Was always Sandman’s go-to.

Sandman looked at the chair the staff had set up for him. He appreciated it, but he wasn’t going to sit on it. It was too small for a man his size, and honestly, sitting down during interviews was always awkward. He tends to slouch and pick at the skin of his fingers. Then he’d end up focusing too much on the skin that he’d forget to look back at the cameras. So he’d be better off standing.

Another question ran through his mind.

‘Why did you run off after the fight?’

His face scrunched. He hoped they didn’t ask that one.

The last thing he needed this morning was people trying to pry into his life again, and no way was he going to send a bunch of crazy fans in Joe’s direction.

Sandman clutched onto his phone just a bit tighter.

Worst case, if they do ask, he’ll probably just tell them: ‘I had somewhere important to be.’ And leave it at that.

One of the guards who was guiding him motioned for him to stay put and walked off.

Sandman’s eyes followed them. They stopped next to a shorter man who wore a violet suit that looked a little too big for him. Their hair was brown, curly–or maybe it was just real messy–and… That’s all Sandman could see. The man kept his back turned to Sandman as he kept talking to the guard.

His eyes lingered on the two as shouting filled his ears. He shouldn’t be staring, but he really didn’t want to look back at the crowd and get blinded by camera lights again.

The man in the suit turned. His skin was… Beige-ish? It wasn’t completely beige, it seemed a bit richer and warmer than that, but ‘beige’ was the best color Sandman could think of.

Then Sandman saw the golden star he had pinned onto him.

The new guy–

The guard next to the new guy locked eyes with him. Sandman stiffened. They gestured towards the crowd, who’s screaming had died down to a cluttered chatter.

Sandman faced the people. They were all waiting for him to say something–anything–so the interviews could kick off.

Sandman never knew what to say at the start of these things.

He gave them a wave.

They erupted into cheers.

People started to push and shove each other again just to have their mics closer to his face. They reached their hands out to him, they threw every and any question they had, and Sandman couldn’t hear one darn thing they were saying.  

“Mr. Sandman! Mr. Sandman!” He heard a lady’s high voice holler. He looked over.

“Have you heard any of those recent, nasty threats about being beaten and having your belt taken away? Do you have any thoughts about that?” She asked with a little too much zest in her tone.

“Don’t care bout ‘em.” He said with his head raised.

Cameras flashed.

“Mr. Sandman, sir!” A man shouted as he squeezed to the front of the crowd, “You look exhausted! Have you been staying up late to train for your next fight?!”

Sandman lowered his brows. That was… A nice observation.

“First of all,” Sandman motioned to his face, “I just look like this. And I don’t need some upcomin’ fight to motivate me to work out. I’m always trainin’.” Sandman flexed his biceps.

The crowd cheered again. More cameras flashed.

“How long have you been training for!?” Another person yelled over the ruckus.

“Shoot,” Sandman put his hands on his hips, “probably since I was a kid. Picked up a pair of boxin’ gloves and haven’t stopped since.”

He’s been asked that question at least a thousand times before, but he wasn’t complaining. If anything, he preferred these sorts of questions. He could knock them out quickly, and at this rate? He should be heading home in no time.

“Is it true you’re going to be meeting your next opponent soon?!” Someone asked.

Sandman stopped.

He scanned the crowd.

Who said that?

“Why haven’t you said anything back to the other champion?” Another person asked.

Sandman’s head darted over to where he heard the voice.

What other champion?

“Are you intimidated by him?! Is that why you’ve been so quiet?” Another person said at the very end of the crowd.  

Sandman narrowed his eyes. He saw a hand shoot up into the air clutching onto a week old newspaper. The same paper Joe had shown him and called ‘blasphemy’.

“Why haven’t you spoken about him yet? Do you think you’re better than him?” Someone shouted.  

Sandman couldn’t even get a good look at the champion’s face, as the person’s hand was covering most of it.

“How do you feel about him threatening to take your belt away?!”

His body tensed.

“Do you think you stand a chance against him?”

He clenched his teeth.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say to this other champion?!”

He finally opened his mouth.

“I…”

Everyone stared at him.

“I don’t even know who that guy is.”

That was a bad answer.

That was such a bad answer, but somehow, that made the people go wild.

Reporters started screaming out more questions, fans clawed through each other to get closer to him, and the constant clicking and flashing of cameras made the scene even more chaotic, but Sandman wasn’t paying attention to any of that.

He couldn’t.

His eyes were locked onto the newspaper still held high into the air, with the obscured face of man he didn’t even know the name of.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Open yer locker.” Was the first thing Aran said to Octave as soon as they stepped into the locker room.

Octave raised a brow, “Why?”

“Cause,” Aran scoffed, “yer locker’s th’closest t’Bear’s. If someone passes by, we can jus’ say we’re organizin’ yer stuff or somethin’.”

“Sounds like an excuse to shove whatever’s in that box into my locker.” Octave scowled. He watched as Aran carefully set the box down on a metal bench. He then pulled out a bent paperclip from his pocket and turned to Bear’s locker.

Octave stared at that beaten box while Aran fiddled with the lock. He reached his hand out and pulled a flap open, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was inside… But the only thing he saw was a neatly folded, black sheet of fabric.

What, were they planning on redecorating Bear’s locker or something?

As soon as Octave went to grab the fabric, Aran’s arm shot out and crushed his wrist.

Octave immediately pulled back, “Ya mind keepin’ ya grimy hands off’a me?” He hissed.

“Ye mind keepin’ yer grimy hands outta t’at box?” Aran growled.

“I wanna see what th’heck’s inside before I go openin’ my locker for ya!”

“I ain’t gon shove anyt’ing inside yer bloody locker! Jus’ gimme one blasted second!” Aran shouted.

“Alright, alright!” Octave huffed and stormed over to his locker. He quickly opened it and waited for Aran.

A loud click came from Bear’s locker. Aran’s face lit up. He swung it open, and the smell of crushed leaves and maple syrup came pouring out of it.  

“A’ight.” Aran said to himself as he turned back to the box. He grabbed the fabric by its edges and lifted it up, revealing way too many mouse traps for one man to have, along with two rolls of clear tape. He set the fabric on the bench.

Octave peered inside. The traps all varied in size and quality. Some looked like they just came fresh out of the package, others were chipped and rusted, and some looked far too big for mice.

“So I’m thinkin’ of tapin’ a bunch’a these t’ings to th’sides of Bear’s locker, yeah?,” Aran said as he grabbed the belongings in Bear’s lockers–his gym bag, small stuffed animals, his gloves–and dumped them onto the floor, “But as I was walkin’ here, I realized t’at if we jus’ threw these t’ings inside ‘n left it at t’at, it’d be way too obvious.”

“Uh-huh.” Octave said as Aran threw out Bear’s spare pair of shoes.

“So I stopped by th’store ‘n they had some fabric on sale, so I bought a long sheet’a one ‘n an extra t’ing of tape.” Once the locker was completely cleared out, Aran grabbed the fabric and held it up, “Th’plan is: After we add th’traps inside, I’m gonna cover th’front of th’locker with this.”

“What, so we’re settin’ up a li’l surprise for him or somethin’?” Octave scoffed. That was supposed to be a joke, but Aran snapped his fingers.

“Exactly. He’s gonna open his locker, probably get all confused why t’is dumb fabric’s here, then swat at it ‘n hopefully hit several of ‘em traps.” Aran tilted his head towards the box, “Worst case, his fingers get nipped. Best case? They break.”

Octave leaned against one of the gray lockers behind him, “So did ya just need me here to open my locker?”

Aran tossed the fabric back onto the bench and pulled out a mousetrap from the box, “Ye know how t’set one’o these up?”

“Been a while.”

“A’ight.” Aran placed the mousetrap onto the palm of his hand, “Jus’ pull this bar ov’r here down ‘n hold it there.” He said as he held the hammer-bar against the wood with his thumb, “Then this bar?” He used a finger to flick up the ‘arm’ bar of the trap, “Hook it up over ‘ere. Easy.” He put the finished trap onto the bench and folded his arms.

Aran then grabbed one of the tape rolls, “If any o’yer fingers go flyin’ off, don’t go cryin’ t’me.” He yanked at the tape’s end, creating a horrible ripping sound that made Octave cringe, “Jus’ set ‘em up while I put th’tape inside.”

Octave stared into the box. He reached inside and grabbed a mousetrap–it was larger than the one Aran used, stained as well–and followed Aran’s instructions. It only took several seconds to set it up, that wasn’t so bad. Maybe he’ll finish this sooner than he thought.

He put his finished trap next to Aran’s.  

He watched Aran for a moment. He was folding the pieces of torn tape and smacking them onto the walls. That’s one way to do it.  

Octave picked up another trap and prepared it.

Aran tore off another piece of tape and repeated the process. He didn’t seem to measure out the length of each strip or how far they’d be from each other, but measurements were probably the least of Aran’s concerns.

Octave picked up another trap and prepared it.

He wondered if Aran had anything prepared for Hondo. Hopefully he does, because the second Bear gets hurt, Eyebrows is gonna rush to his rescue and coddle the big guy like he always does.

Octave picked up another trap and prepared it.

Octave picked up his phone by the neck and took it off the end table. He brought it closer to him as he readjusted his position on the couch. He laid on his side while Tiger ranted to him.

“...The fact he got so–so snarky all because the cake Bear brought wasn’t up to his standards–on Bear’s birthday still baffles me to this day!”

Octave scoffed, “Yup, sounds like somethin’ Donny would do.” He rested his head on his arm, “Can’t imagine havin’ to constantly put up with a guy who throws a fit over that sorta stuff.”

“Oh, I prefer it much more than Hondo’s frustration.” Tiger said.

“Hondo? What, can’t stand th’way his brows move either?”

“No, it’s–oh, I don’t think you were in the Major Circuit yet but–I won’t go too much into it, but he used to get so, so vicious.”  

“Really?” Octave leaned closer to the phone, “Ya know, I think I might’ve seen a li’l bit of him gettin’ angry once when I was climbin’ my way through th’circuits.”   “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Don’t remember how far back, but I remember I was gettin’ lunch, ‘n it was kind of a busy day so I got somethin’ from the cafeteria, right?” He brought a knee up as he spoke, “I go to th’tables in th’back ‘n I saw Pisty sittin’ at one of ‘em. I go over there to sit next to him ‘n ya know what th’chump did? He got up and moved away! Some preschool stuff right there, lemme tell ya.”

“I’m sorry, he did what?” Tiger sputtered. He hesitated for a moment before he carried on, “But no, no. That sounds… Rude, but far different from the outbursts he used to have.”

“Really? What were they like then?”

“Oh, it’s behind us now, and besides, Hondo wouldn’t appreciate me talking about this.” Tiger said.

“Not like he’s here right now.”

“Regardless.”

A part of Octave still wanted to hear more, “Was he worse than Bull?”

“Worse than Bull–?!” Tiger sounded as if he were offended by that question, “Please, the only time I’ve seen Bull get angry is when the paparazzi follow him home. Outside of that, he’s wonderful to be around, truly.”

“Really.” Octave lowered his brows, “Bald Bull, th’guy who bangs his head against ring posts. Alright.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” The impatience in Tiger’s voice rose.

“I mean–c’mon, ya seen Bull in th’ring? Guy’s kind of a nutcase–”

“It’s called a character, Overload.”

“Even outside of th’ring!” Octave argued, “All those papers bout him yellin’ at everyone ‘n kickin’ up a storm, just cause he’s nice round y–”

“Oh, yes, the papers.” Tiger sneered, “The papers written by the same people who do nothing but follow Bull around all day, invade his privacy, and constantly bombard him with ridiculous questions. Truly such reliable sources.”

Octave pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look, all I’m sayin’ is even if people are exaggeratin’ his anger, pretty sure there’s some truth to it.”

“Have you even tried to talk to him?” Tiger asked.

“Nah, I value my life.”

Tiger didn’t even chuckle at Octave’s comment.

“Well, there’s your issue.” Tiger said, “I promise you, if you took the time out of your day to get to know him, you’d see he’s a very kind man. Far different from the way he presents himself in the ring.”

The corners of Octave’s mouth curled into a frown as Tiger kept talking.

“Do you believe Kaiser makes cuckoo-clock sounds when he’s outside of fights? Or that Bear constantly sticks his tongue out at people, and that maple leaves fall from him every time he’s knocked down? Or what about Aran-?”

Octave’s grip on the phone tightened.

“I might not think the best of Aran, but you’re friends with him. You seem to enjoy his company. Surely he acts differently outside of the ring as well, hm?”

Octave inhaled through his teeth, “He’s…”

He looked back at Aran, who was now taping the mouse traps inside the locker.

“He’s somethin’.”

“All I’m saying is to give Bull a chance, hm?” Tiger hummed, “I’m certain you don’t like it when people believe you’re–”

Octave cut Tiger off, “Alright, I get it. Ya made ya dang point.”

He didn’t care how snappy he sounded. He wanted to move past this stupid conversation. He wanted to keep talking about Don being overdramatic, or Hondo’s pettiness, not whatever this was.

“How’d we get so off topic from th’dang dinner?” He muttered to himself as he sat back up.

“Dinner?” Tiger mumbled, “Oh, the dinner! We really did get side tracked, didn’t we? I don’t know how we went from the bar, to Don, to–”

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s fine. How bout we do lunch?” Octave said. He didn’t want to risk their talk about Bull coming up again, “I’m free round th’middle of the week, you?”

Tiger thought to himself for a moment, “I should be as well.”

“We’re still gonna meet at th’control booth, yeah?”

“Yes! We can go to the one in the Major Circuit.” Tiger said, “Will you be alright meeting after 1:30? The lunch rush should be over by then.”

“Do I gotta dress all nice again for ya?” Octave asked. He brought his head up and looked at his TV screen again.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Tiger chuckled, “Don’t worry about that. As long as you arrive, that’s all that matters. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah,” Octave said as he stared at his reflection, “same here. See ya then.”

A sudden snap followed by a slew of curses ripped Octave out of his thoughts. He whipped his head over to Aran, who had his back pressed against the lockers and angrily glared down at a mousetrap on the floor.

It must’ve gone off while Aran was handling it. At least all his fingers were still intact.

Aran grumbled to himself as he picked the trap off the ground and set it back up. He then pressed it against a piece of tape on the far back wall of Bear’s locker.

Octave looked into the now empty box before he looked to the locker. He was admittedly a little impressed at how Aran managed to fit so many traps inside. Even though it was a little sloppy–and some traps were jutting out at odd angles–nearly every inch of the locker walls had been covered by them, save for its top and bottom.  

Aran then grabbed Bear’s belongings and carefully placed them back inside the lockers. After that, he turned to the bench where several more traps were.

“Wanna shove ‘em back in th’box?” Octave asked.

“Nah.” Aran picked up the traps and started slipping them into Bear’s gym bag and gloves, “Don’t wanna waste ‘em. Toss me th’fabric.”

Octave did so. Aran caught it then held it against the locker’s ceiling with one hand.

“Tape.”

“A ‘please’ ain’t gonna kill ya, Aran.” Octave rolled his eyes, but he grabbed the roll and ripped out a couple strips anyway. He handed them to Aran one by one. Aran pressed the tape along the edges of the fabric until he was satisfied.

Aran took a step back. The inside of the locker was now completely hidden behind the taut fabric. A smirk made its way across his face.  

“A’ight. We’re done ‘ere.” Aran closed Bear’s locker. Octave closed his.

Aran then flashed Octave a smile, “Thanks for th’help, bud.” He threw the tape rolls back into the box, “Couldn’t have done it without’cha.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Sandman stood in front of a wooden office door on the third floor. Sunlight poured in from the windows behind him and hit his back. He could feel beads of sweat starting to form.

He slouched slightly so he could get a better look through the door’s narrow window.

The new guy was in there. Sandman watched as he stood by his desk and sorted papers–alright, he wasn’t exactly ‘sorting’ them, more like tossing them into three separate piles, but the piles were getting so disorganized that they ended up looking like one big pile.

Sandman then glanced at the nameplate beside the door; ‘Recruiter’.

He straightened his posture.

He rehearsed what he was gonna tell the new guy in his head for the fiftieth time, ‘Hey sir, sorry for popping in like this, just wanted to ask if this other champion’s gonna be heading to the stadium anytime soon?’

That sounded good.

Quick, to the point, formal-ish. That works–

His phone let out a ping. He uncurled his hand and flipped it open.

‘Sandman, you will not believe what Bear Hugger just told me.’ Joe texted him, ‘Do you remember that dinner he said he was going to?’

Sandman huffed and silenced his phone. He felt kinda bad, but now wasn’t the time.

He knocked on the door.

“Come in!” A high, energetic voice called out.

Sandman opened the door, “Hey sir,” He stepped inside, “sorry for poppin’ in like this, but–”

The new guy let out a loud gasp.

Sandman watched the guy stumbled back into his desk, knocking over papers and a couple of official WVBA-themed cups.

“Hey, you uh–ya good? Need help pickin’ those up?” Sandman asked. The man just kept staring at him with wide eyes and an opened mouth.

“Mister… Mr. Sandman.” The man finally whispered.

Sandman’s eyes awkwardly darted around, “Yeah?”

“You’re–you’re actually here. Right now. In my office.” He clutched at his chest, his voice a quivering whisper, “I didn’t think I’d get to talk to you in person until–”

Before Sandman could ask if the guy was going to be alright, he suddenly scrambled back to his feet and frantically started to clean the papers and cups off the floor.

“Oh, I am so, so sorry for the mess! It usually isn’t this dirty here, I swear!” The guy said as he threw the fallen papers onto the desk, along with a couple other files that had been left on the ground for who knows how long, “Come in, come in!”

Sandman took another step in–

“No, wait! Don’t come in! It’s too messy here–could we have a do over?” He asked, hugging some papers close to his chest, “You could wait outside for five minutes, I can clean up and–oh, what am I saying?! I can’t just kick the champion out of my office!”

“Hey, it’s good. I don’t mind the mess.” Sandman said. It’s not like his bedroom was any better.

His eyes scanned around the place. This guy had… A lot of merchandise.

His dark brown, wooden desk had several types of WVBA cups–some ranging from tall, sleek glass to thick, short mugs–and inside some of those cups were pencils and pens with the WVBA’s logo on them. There were a couple of boxer bobbleheads placed beside a closed laptop–really wonky looking bobbleheads that Sandman wished he could forget about–heck, even the laptop had WVBA stickers slapped onto it.

“Still!” The man said as he started shoving a couple of files onto the white shelves that ran along the left wall, “I should always make sure this room looks presentable, especially when you’re here and–and oh!”

The guy hugged himself and started to bounce around, “I just can’t believe you’re really here right now!” He dashed back to his desk and grabbed a few more files for his shelves, “Have a seat! I’ll only be one more second, I swear!”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.” Sandman stared at the guy’s shelves. They were also filled with merchandise. Carefully folded shirts and hoodies, limited edition boxing gloves with the logo slapped in the middle of them, several different soda bottles that Popinski’s promoted, books about boxing, the guy even had cigarette boxes with boxers’ faces on them. How in the world did he get those? Last time Sandman saw them on the shelves was when he was a kid.

Sandman watched the man run around his office. His energy kinda reminded him of Disco Kid.

“I just wanted to ask if–”

The man suddenly shoved the back of a clipboard in Sandman’s face, “Could you sign my board please, sir?”

Sandman tilted his head away from the board and raised a brow. He looked at the permanent marker the man held out for him and hesitantly plucked it. He then looked back to the clipboard.

He saw Joe’s signature on there–in elegant cursive, as always–along with Kaiser and Disco Kid’s, who doodled some sparkles next to his name. Bear Hugger’s was there as well, he even included a little drawing of a maple leaf, and there was… A very sloppy scribble right under that. The only letter he could make out was a ‘P’, so that had to be Popinski’s, and…

“What’s with the bite mark?” Sandman pointed to the bottom right corner of the board that had been bitten off, “King Hippo do that?”

“Aran Ryan!” The man answered a little too happily.

“Right.” Sandman said. He signed the clipboard.

The man hugged it to his chest, “Thank you so much, sir! Really! Honestly!”

Sandman gave him a nod. He got a better look at the man’s appearance.

His violet suit was… Really vibrant. It kind of stung Sandman’s eyes, honestly. His square framed glasses were black, as were his pants and shoes, his hair kinda reminded Sandman of caramel? It was some shade of brown. Actually, it reminded him of the sort of coffee Joe liked to have.

Sandman brought his eyes to the man’s–but he quickly looked away when he saw how big and excited they were. There were probably sparkles in those eyes.

He looked back to the suit and saw that star pin Joe had mentioned earlier.

It was golden, though bits of its paint had chipped off, and the edges were dulled. In the center of the star were the letters “WVBA” chiseled into them. Nothing fancy, but Sandman couldn’t help but notice how old it looked. That dang pin was probably older than him.

Sandman then saw the nametag just below the pin.

“Hey, look…” Sandman narrowed his eyes to get a better look at the nametag, “Jerry?”

“It’s Terry, sir.” Terry said, “But if you like Jerry, I can be Jerry for you!”

“Please don’t be Jerry.”

“You got it, sir! Now what can I help you with?” Terry asked as he set his clipboard aside, “Did you want to discuss possible poster designs for your next fight? I already got a few ideas in mind–I know I still need to talk to the graphic design team about them, but if you wanna take a peek–”

Sandman put the marker on the desk, “I just wanted to talk about the interviews and–”

“The interviews!” Terry clasped his hands together, “Oh, sir, you did fantastic in those!”

Sandman raised a brow, “Felt like it could’ve gone better. Wish I knew what they were gonna be about beforehand.”

He felt like his answers could’ve been better.

“Are you crazy? You knocked it out of the park, the people loved what you had to say! I mean–” Terry started to pace back and forth on the blue carpet, “The Mr. Sandman calling another champion a nobody?! If I were that champion, I would’ve cried! I’m about to cry right now!”

“That’s–that’s great.” How the heck was Sandman even supposed to respond to that. He opened his mouth again, but Terry spun back around.

“And believe me, I really wanted to tell you about that other champion guy, but the higher ups told me to hold back because they wanted an authentic reaction from you and boy, am I sure glad they stopped me!”

“I didn’t even say that much.” Sandman shrugged.

“That’s alright!” Terry beamed, “That’s more than alright. Less is more, as they say! And with all those nasty looks you gave throughout the interview? You made it loud and clear how you feel about that champion.”

Sandman blinked. ‘Nasty’? He didn’t mean to look nasty. He was just confused.

“Plus, now you know what to look forward to for the next interviews. Now you can get ready for some more trash talking, building up more excitement for your next match, and–!” Terry swung his fists around as if he were a boxer, “Oh, it’s just going to be so exciting when that champion finally comes over!”

“Yeah, hey, speaking of which. Is that champion gonna be comin’ here any time soon?” Sandman asked.

“Hopefully!” Terry smiled, “I know some of the higher ups are talking to the other stadium’s representatives, so I can’t say for certain…” He stroked his chin, “But rest assured sir, when that guy comes over here, you’ll be the first to know!”

Terry walked over to the right side of the room. There was a corkboard slapped in the middle of the wall with a calendar pinned onto it. Surrounding that calendar were a bunch of keychains and pins. And surrounding that corkboard? Hundreds of boxing posters.

Terry started to flip through the calendar, “I mean, even when he does come here, we’ll still have to talk to the other boxers and schedule their fights with him–but we’ll get there when we get there.”

Hearing that sent a wave of reassurance through Sandman.

His shoulders relaxed. The tightness of his chest faded away. He took a deep breath.

Terry’s right.

That champion’s gonna have to fight his way through the other circuits first. That gives Sandman plenty of time to prepare for him–and that’s if the champion can make it past the other boxers.

“Was I able to answer all your questions for you?” Terry asked, looking away from his calendar.

Sandman was pretty sure he only got to ask one, but he nodded, “Yup. Heard what I needed to hear. Thank ya for your time, sir.”

Terry gasped again, “...Called me ‘sir’...” Was all Sandman could hear from him.

Sandman waved, “You have a good day.”

“Bye! You too!” Terry waved back frantically, “Thanks so much for stopping by again! Looking forward to your next fight! Goodbye!”

Sandman clicked the door shut, muffling Terry’s goodbyes.

He leaned against the wall and sighed.

He uncurled his fist and flipped his phone open. He grinned when he saw Joe was still sending him essays about what Bear Hugger told him.

He pushed himself off the wall and started walking down the hall, eyes glazing over the texts. He found his mind still lingering on the champion. On the interviews. Just thinking about what the next weeks had in store for him was starting to make his heart race, and he didn’t know why.

He was probably gonna get asked millions of questions, put up with a bunch of crazy fans, and deal with that other champion trash talking him–the same thing he puts up with for every other opponent he’s faced, yet just thinking about it all made his stomach turn.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

He had no reason to.

Maybe he was just hungry.

Maybe once he eats something, he’ll feel much better. Then he can carry on with his day, talk to his friends, work out, maybe take a few naps, and everything will be just fine.

[halfmoon-ie]

Under a blackened night sky, the city lights were too abundant for the stars to shine. I raced the streets on a motorcycle up a steep and busy street. Once I reached the top, I smiled because I knew the thrill of going down hill would be worth the climb. But as I rode down the hill, I lost control of my motorbike and maneuvered in and out of cars, trying to dodge death. On either side of the street stretched with woods, in which I clash into and fall off my bike. I remember tumbling down before knocking out and becoming blanketed with darkness. When I awaken, the silhouette of a person stands near me. I blink a few times and become aware of the pain that shoots through my entire body. The shadow in front of me comes into view, a handsome man, perhaps in his mid twenties. He is well-built, a quiver strapped over his shoulder with a bow in his left hand. I can make out that he has long hair that spills over his shoulders. He leans in closer and heaves me up. 

“Are you alright?” He asks. Dazed, I nod and look at my arms. They’re bruised and bloodied as I had guessed from the thunderous throbbing I felt from head to toe. I guess I must have kissed the darkened earth a little too hard. I get up onto my feet and see that the stranger has started to walk away. “Follow me. If you want to survive.” I do as suggested and see that we’re on a dirt path, curving upwards, on a hill. Here, the stars are like crystals lighting up the forest. The moon lays ahead, very close to the hill where we’re beginning to climb. I see a string of houses with light illuminating through their windows carefully dotting the hillside. 

“Where am I?” I look out to both sides of me and don’t see the lights of the street I fell from, nor did I hear the existence of cars driving by. I examine what I can make out of the draping moonlight, and see that the stranger kept his hair quite long and wore strange clothing. I struggle to keep up with him, limping with pain shooting up and down my leg and back.. The night is still and the only noise that is being echoed is the earth and fallen leaves underneath our footsteps as well as the hard breathing exhuming from myself. He does not answer my question and continues on. 

After what it felt like an eternity of walking, we reached a fairly large hut with a medium sized shed on the outside. It started to lightly drizzle as we had been walking and became soaked. My wounds screamed underneath the icy coldness and from the way my damp clothes clung to my skin. The man turns to me, a slight smirk on his lips while pointing to the woodshed beside the hut. 

“Woman. Sleep in there tonight, if you want to stay alive.” He lets out a soft chuckle before opening his hut and walks in without a second glance at me. I was out of breath and opened my mouth to oppose his instructions. I wanted a warm place to stay, so I followed him into his home. I am met with a loud growl that sends me toppling to the ground. A white tiger sat beside the man, who was sitting in his enormous bed, now shirtless. He laughs heartily and extends a hand to pet the white tiger. “This is why I told you to sleep in the shed, woman. He might think I’ve brought him a snack...” Startled, I began scooting backwards and bumping into something. I turn to look up at what had stopped me, and find myself gazing upward at this new stranger. This one much younger than the man that led me here; but the resemblance between the two were uncanny. They were most likely brothers.

“What is this creature you’ve brought back?” The man bends down and gets close to me, his breath hot against my face. I moved away, surprised by his curiosity and poor knowledge of personal space. 

“This is a woman.” The younger one smiles and reaches a hand out to touch my hair, seemingly intrigued. 

“A woman? Like the ones we’ve heard about in the stories?” 

And this is where I wake up. It was quite an odd dream, but a very interesting one. If I could continue it, that would be great. But the chances of that ever happening is quite slim, as my mind has not been able to produce a good coherent dream in a while.

signed, moon 🌙

** drawing credits go back to original artists.

[cherrycheridarling]

happier | t.h.

tom holland x singer!reader

warnings: swearing and sad. fluff if you squint

summary: you wish tom the best with his new relationship in your new song. {listen to happier by olivia rodrigo (if you want)}

wc: 3.6k

'We broke up a month ago,'

"I've been thinking," your heart sunk at his words, "I'm always working." he grabbed both of your hands.

You locked your gaze in his. Sat in the living room of his shared flat. Inches apart yet you could already feel the separation between the two of you growing.

He avoided your eye contact, "I-I can't be in a relationship unless I can give one hundred percent of myself to the other person. A-and I know I haven't been doing that to you, which is c-completely unfair." he wiped away a tear from your cheek that you didn't know had fell, "You've been so, so good to me. I'm sorry I wasn't better, but I can't keep putting you through this." his voice was barely audible.

You finally tore your eyes away from his face. His tear soaked face. Choosing to stare at a spot over his shoulder instead. You took three deep breaths. In and out. Something about his words made you confused, but your pain overpowered it.

"Please say something. Anything." he whispered against your knuckles. Holding your hands to his lips.

You gently removed your hands from his grip, "Thank you for being mature and honest with me." you started with a sniffle, "Thank you for all of our memories and for showing me what love is," you cupped his face, "Thank you for everything, loser." your light laugh lacked any humour, but it still brought a slight smile to his face.

He held your hand that was resting on his jaw, "I love you more than life itself, darling." he kissed your palm and you felt your heart shatter. "Never hesitate to call, dummy."

You nodded with a sad smile. "I love you, too." You stood up and made your way out of the door. A year and a half down the drain within ten minutes.

'Your friends are mine, you know I know you moved on. Found someone new.'

"Do you guys wanna do something on Saturday? I don't have work. Maybe karaoke?" you asked the group without looking up from your phone.

Harrison made a confused noise, "Did you forget? We have Nadia's birthday par—" you heard a loud smack, "—Ow! What? Oh, shit."

You looked up to see Zendaya, Jacob, Harry, Sam and Tuwaine all glaring at Harrison.

"Absolute div." Tuwaine muttered.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "Who's Nadia?" you looked at all of them as they avoided eye contact. "Daya?"

She let out a long sigh before clearing her throat, "Um, Nadia is- Well she's kind of- you know, um—"

"—Tom's new girlfriend." Sam finished for her.

Your mouth formed an 'o' shape as you processed the information. His new girlfriend. It'd been a month and four days since he ended your relationship. And he had a new girlfriend.

It took him a month to move on. A month to be able to give a hundred percent of himself to someone.

You couldn't tell if you were more angry or sad. Maybe a mixture of both. Angry that your friends were hiding information from you, but at the same time you understood their intentions. Sad and upset because the boy who told you he wasn't ready to give a hundred percent of himself was already with someone new.

You slowly nodded, "Oh, okay. Well, I hope you guys have fun." you gave a tight lipped smile before looking back at your phone.

Everyone glanced at each other worriedly before allowing their gazes to fall on you again.

"How do you feel?" Jacob asked cautiously.

You locked your phone and set it on your lap, "I'm fine." you faked a smile, "I think I'm gonna head home, though. It's getting late and I have an early studio session. Bye." you quickly grabbed your purse and left with a small wave.

"Y/N! Wait—" the slamming of the front door cut Tuwaine off.

It was three p.m. and you weren't supposed to be in the studio until noon.

'One more girl who brings out the better in you,'

"Y/N/N. You need to talk about it sooner or later." Zendaya reminded you as she sat at the end of your bed with Harrison beside her.

You removed the covers from your face, revealing your tear stained cheeks, "Does she make him happy?"

There was silence from your two friends before they hesitantly nodded. Both weren't completely sure, but they assumed she did.

"Does she bring out the best version of him? Does she stroke his hair while they cuddle? Does she cook with him? Does she walk Tessa with him?"

Harrison sighed, "Y/N/N, we—"

"—Because that's what I did. I brought out the best side of him. I stroked his hair while we cuddled. I cooked with him. I walked Tessa with him. I did it all. Every single thing." your voice broke towards the end as you let the sobs rack through your body.

Harrison and Zendaya went to either side of you and held you. They just held you. Because even they didn't know what to do.

'And I thought my heart was detached from all the sunlight of our past,'

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Zendaya asked as you walked towards Tom's front door.

You nodded and smoothed down your sundress, "Yeah. We ended on good terms. It's been two months or so. We're friends. Plus, I miss hanging out with all of us." you assured her.

She sighed before knocking on the door, "Alright."

A few moments later the door swung open revealing Tom. Dressed in black jeans and a white button-up. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Curls dangling over his forehead. A sweet smile on his lips.

You felt your stomach lurch. Air leaving your lungs involuntarily. Heart rate quickening. You could smell his cologne and every single memory with him clouded your mind.

"Hey! It's great to see you guys—"

"—Sorry. I-I think I left something in the car. One second." you rushed out the words before turning on your heel.

Zendaya let out a long sigh, "Fuck."

Tom frowned, "Did I do something wrong?"

'But she's so sweet, she's so pretty. Does she mean you forgot about me?'

"Y/N!" an unfamiliar voice called out to you from somewhere in the boys' backyard.

It was Harrison's annual barbecue get together. Nearly three months since your break up with Tom.

You turned towards the source of the noise and found a girl walking towards you. Brunette. Tight black dress with black heels. Body and face of a model.

"I've been dying to meet you! I'm such a huge fan. I basically live off of your music." she giggled as she hugged you.

You smiled, "Aw! Thank you! That means so much to me. You look amazing, by the way."

She laughed, "Thank you! But you're absolutely gorgeous! Sorry, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I'm Nadia, Tom's girlfriend."

Of fucking course.

You raised your eyebrows, but managed to keep a smile on your face, "Oh! I've heard so much about you! Well, Tom's one lucky guy," you chuckled, "I'd love to chat some more, but I need to use the washroom. Excuse me. It was a pleasure meeting you." you gave her a hoaxed smile before quickly walking away.

You were two feet away from the washroom when Zendaya grabbed your arm, "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

Your breaths were coming out in short puffs, "I just met Nadia?"

Her eyes widened before she dragged you towards Tuwaine's room, "Okay. Let's sit down."

'Oh, I hope you're happy, but not like how you were with me. I'm selfish, I know. I can't let you go,'

"You should move in here." Tom mumbled against your shirt.

You let out a small laugh, "You already have four roommates, love. One more might turn this into a barn."

He lifted his head off of your chest, "I'm serious. Driving from Manchester to Kingston all the time is such a hassle for you. We have recording studios here and it would make me the happiest man in the world if I could wake up to your gorgeousness everyday." he planted kisses on your forehead, nose and lips.

You chuckled at his boyish grin, "It's only a three hour drive and I'm sure the boys don't want me imposing on your time with them."

He quickly shook his head, "I already talked to them about it and they want you here, too."

You raised your eyebrows, "Well, if you're sure it'll make you the happiest man in the world, I'll think about it."

"You already make me the happiest man in the world, but I needed something to convince you." he rested his head on your chest again as you laughed.

'So find someone great, but don't find no one better. I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.'

"Are we ordering pizza?" Harrison yawned from beside you on the couch.

"Sushi?" you grinned hopefully.

Tuwaine shook his head, "We had sushi last night."

"Tom and I are making dinner for you guys!" Nadia reminded you from the kitchen.

Her arms wrapped around Tom's waist as he stirred whatever was in the pan he had on the stove.

You really hated their open floor layout at that moment since there wasn't a wall to block them from your view.

"Oh, yeah. What're you making?" Sam asked.

"Salmon with rice and steamed veggies." Tom answered without looking up from the pan.

Everyone made noises of realization as you turned to Harry, "Aliens or a tiger. Which do you think you could beat in a fight?" he asked.

You laughed before replying, "Hmm, depends. Are the aliens small or—"

"Tommy!" you heard a girly giggle and turned to see Tom with Nadia over his shoulder as they laughed and ran around the kitchen.

You quickly diverted your gaze to the coffee table. Forgetting about Harry's absurd question. All eyes were on you.

"What?" you asked when you finally looked up at your friends.

"Are you okay?" Harrison frowned from beside you before resting his head on your shoulder.

You let out a dry, quiet laugh, "Of course. As long as he's happy."

The looks of pity you received were almost as painful as the scene you witnessed moments ago.

'And do you tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen? An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean,'

"Premiere day!" Zendaya walked into your shared hotel room with a bright smile, Nadia following behind her.

You faked a smile as you applied another coat of mascara, "You girls look gorgeous."

Zendaya was in a red and black sequin gown. Hair down and heels on. Nadia was dressed in a maroon silk dress with a slit on the side. Black heels dawning her feet. Both had makeup and accessories on matching their attire.

You were in an emerald green gown with a slit running down your left leg. Silver heels and silver jewellery to match.

"So do you!" Nadia exclaimed as she sat on Zendaya's bed.

"Are the boys coming soo—" Zendaya got cut off by three loud knocks on the door.

"I'll get it!" Nadia jumped up and opened the door.

Tom was stood before her in a maroon suit. Matching her dress. Black dress shoes. Matching her heels. Glasses on and a bright smile.

You watched as Tom ran his eyes down Nadia's outfit, "Well, aren't you just the most beautiful girl in the world?" he planted a kiss on her lips as you witnessed with envy.

"Aw, Tommy. I love you."

"I love you more, darling." he grinned before looking behind her.

Heart wrenching pain struck you again.

You watched as his mouth fell open by the slightest bit. Eyes growing wider.

He quickly snapped out of his daze, placing a pearly white smile on, "You two look absolutely stunning."

You acknowledged his compliment with a curt nod.

Zendaya let out a laugh, "Yup. About to out do you at your own premiere."

'Remember when I believed you meant it when you said it first to me?'

"Green or white?" you held up both dresses against your body.

Tom looked up from his phone, "Both of them will look amazing on you, love."

You sighed, "I appreciate the compliment, but I am meeting Sebastian Stan tonight. Now is not the time for indecisiveness. One of them will make me look bad and I need to know which one."

The Infinity War premiere was in two hours and your anxiety was growing by the minute.

"C'mere." he motioned you towards him with a 'come hither' gesture as he sat on the edge of the hotel bed. You made your way towards him. Standing in between his legs as he wrapped his arms around your waist, "You are the most beautiful girl in the world. Absolutely gorgeous. You could make the ugliest dress look like something from a fairytale."

Your smile grew as he kissed your stomach, "Thank you, mi amor." you bent down and placed a peck on his forehead, leaning your head against his, you whispered, "Now, green or white?"

He chuckled and pecked your lips, "White."

You smiled before making your way to put on the white dress, "I love you."

"I love you more, darling."

'And now I'm picking her apart. Like cutting her down will make you miss my wretched heart. But she's beautiful, she looks kind. She probably gives you butterflies.'

"I don't like her." you murmured.

Zendaya chuckled, "Nadia? You barely know the girl."

You nodded, "And I don't like her. I don't like her giggles and her nickname for him. I don't like her hair."

You knew you were looking for things to dislike, but there weren't any. She was a fan of your music, she complimented you all the time. She was genuinely a great person.

She sighed, "No, you don't like the fact that she's dating Tom. If she wasn't, you wouldn't be saying any of this."

You rolled your eyes and glared at her, "Can you let me be angry?"

She laid herself down on your mattress, "Nope. If you wanna be angry, be angry at Tom. Nadia hasn't done anything to you. You're better than this."

"God, I hate your optimistic side sometimes." you threw a pillow at her.

She laughed, "One of us needs to be the optimist."

You sighed, "Do you think he misses me?"

"Yes." she replied without hesitation.

You sat up and furrowed your eyebrows, "What makes you say that?"

She let out a long breath, "You need to talk to him about that."

'I hope you're happy. I wish you all the best, really. Say you love her, baby. Just not like you loved me. And think of me fondly when your hands are on her. I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.'

"And you're dead." you dropped the controller on your lap as you defeated Harrison in Super Smash Bros again.

He huffed like a child, "Unfair. I taught you how to play, how'd you get better than me?"

"Actually, I taught her how to play. And I am ten times better than you." Tuwaine corrected him.

Harrison scoffed, "Whatever. Sweaty nerds, the both of you."

Nadia spoke up from Tom's lap, "Can I try?"

You nodded, "Who do you wanna go against?"

She chuckled, "I think I'll verse Harrison. Seeing as how Y/N just kicked your ass, I wanna at least have a chance."

Her comment made you laugh as you handed her the controller and watched them pick their characters. You watched as Tom set his phone down and focused on the screen where his girlfriend chose Pichu.

"Choose Kirby." Tom told her.

She furrowed her eyebrows, "Why? Pichu is so cute."

"Y/N always plays as Kirby and she always wins. With that stupid power absorbing ability." he chuckled as his eyes landed on you.

You felt your heart skip a beat at the small detail he remembered before you played it off with a light laugh, "Not my fault you thought Luigi could beat Kirby everytime we played."

'Ooo-ooo, ooo-ooo, ooo-ooo,'

You pressed on the keys of the piano in the boys' home. Singing your heart out. You still had your spare key and Harrison told you no one was home.

You were waiting for them to return from golfing so you could have your Sunday night dinners. It's been nearly four months since your breakup with Tom. Your album was due to be released on May twenty-first and you were letting the still evident pain fuel your lyrics.

"I hope you're happy, just not like how you were with me. I'm selfish, I know. I can't let you go. So find someone great, but don't find no one better. I hope you're happy, but don't be happier." you faded out the piano and pressed stop on the recording on your phone.

Writing down small notes about the song and things to tweak, your thoughts were quickly interrupted.

"I'm not."

Your head snapped up. Tom was leaning against the doorframe behind you. Tears escaping his eyes.

"T-Tom. I'm sorry. Haz told me the house was empty and I just started playing and- Wait. What did you say?" realization dawned on you.

He stepped closer and sat beside you on the piano bench, "I'm not happier. Hell, I'm not even happy." he gave a pathetic attempt at a laugh, staring straight at the black and white keys.

Your mind was trying to catch up with everything happening, trying to register his words, the state he was in. Grey sweats, black tee. Messy hair and red eyes.

"Why?"

He released a heavy sigh, "There's so many things you could be asking 'why' about. Why did I break up with you? Why am I with Nadia? Why am I not happy? Why the hell am I crying? Which one is it, Y/L/N?"

You blinked a few times, "All of them."

He sniffled and rubbed his face, "I felt like I was holding you back." he started, catching a glimpse of your confused expression, he continued, "You hadn't released any music in over year. There were so many articles saying that I was the reason that the biggest pop star in the world was quitting music. I didn't want to be the reason for that."

"You weren't and you aren't." you assured him.

He shrugged, "I just felt like you would do a lot better without me. And you are. Look at you, your fifth album is coming out next month." he nudged you with his shoulder, "I'm proud of you," he smiled.

"T-thank you."

He nodded, "Anyways, why am I with Nadia? Um, a few days after we broke up, I went to a friend's place to distract myself, as one does. She was there. She was a distraction. I never meant for it to get this far. You know, she actually asked me to be her boyfriend." he chuckled dryly to himself as you listened intently. "I guess, I thought it'd be easier to move on if I had something else to pour my love into?"

You nodded slowly, "Okay, I somewhat get that. So you really do love her?"

He quickly shook his head, "No, no, I don't. I mean, I can't. No one can truly love two people at once. And I think that answers the question of why I'm not happy." he paused and faced you completely, "I'm crying because hearing that song and hearing how evident your pain in it is, that will make anyone cry. I'm crying because I miss you and I miss us. I-I miss what we had and what we were. I miss your kisses and your stupid jokes that only you laugh at. I miss going on walks with you and Tess. I just miss you."

There was a long period of silence after his confession. You were trying to process all the information he was giving. He was cursing himself for being so straightforward. The longer it went without a response from you, the more anxious he got. He grabbed your hands, holding them to his lips.

"Please say something. Anything."

Déjà vu.

You swallowed, "You want honesty?" he nodded, "Okay, I was so mad at you. I-I was infuriated. Y-you told me you weren't ready to give a hundred percent of yourself and that you couldn't be in a relationship until you could give all of yourself to that person. Then a month later, you're with her. Making me feel like you just couldn't give yourself to me." you paused and shook your head, "You could've told me the truth. You should've told me the truth. We could've talked about it. We could've avoided months of awkward run ins and no communication." he nodded, still holding your hands in his, "I'm not gonna lie and say I don't miss you because I do, I miss you more than anything, but we shouldn't be doing this or saying these things while you're with her." you removed your hands from his.

He spent a moment looking down at his fingers. Releasing short breaths. "I don't want to be with her."

"But you are. And I don't want you to break up with her for me. Because that's not how things work, Tom. But you shouldn't stay with her either. Especially if this is how you're feeling. That's just unfair to her." you shook your head and felt your mind clear.

He nodded and met your gaze, "This is the end of us, huh?"

You shook your head, "I don't think there will ever be an end to us." you laughed dryly.

He agreed with a smile, "For forever and a day, remember?"

You nodded, "For forever and a day."

[bonny-kookoo]

Make Me | 🔞 | JJK x Reader

Pairing:Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Romance, Lowkey kinda crack, Smut, slight angst

Wordcount: 3.4k (its pretty short since I plan on giving you guys random smut-shots for this, so a lot of the scenes didn't make it into this one.)

Tags/warnings: Playful teasing, swearing, name calling, slight hair pulling, smut, usage of toys (remote controlled), slight angst, they be fighting a lil, it's a pretty low-carb meal really, very lightweight, okay I don't think there's anything else to say

Summary: Jungkook and you; a couple that's not only connected under the name of lovers- but best friends and enemies as well.

  Jungkook is absolutely in love with you.

That may be hard to believe, considering the two of you currently fighting on the couch over the last bite of your burger. You're not play-fighting like cutesy couples either, no; you're both acting as if starvation was the only alternative.

Its really not; there's plenty other takeout still on the table.

"I paid for this shit you ungrateful bitch!" He laughs out as you stuff the bite into your mouth, hands high in triumph. "I can't believe you sometimes." He mumbles, watching you chew and swallow before he attacks again. He's careful with you, although it might not seem that way. Jungkook wouldn't dare to injure you in any way, always getting apologetic every time he accidentally bruises your skin. He pins your arms on the couch, predatory eyes staring at you as you raise your eyebrows.

"What'cha gonna do about it?" You challenge, and he groans out as he lets you go.

"Fuck you!" He says, and you laugh out loud. "Don't make me fucking pop a boner- I don't wanna eat cold french fries!" He whines while reaching for said food item, and you shrug as you reach for the pack of chicken nuggets, opening a tiny tub of sauce. "I can't believe you." He chuckles, unable to hold up his facade of being upset about all of it.

He really isn't.

Everyone of his friends thinks its weird- the relationship you two had. He himself however always felt like he had won the jackpot with you; he had a hot girlfriend he didn't have to change anything for. There was no need to be all romantic and cheesy and make himself into someone he wasn't. Being gentle was no requirement with you; you were his absolute best friend, and also lover at the same time.

He had it all with you.

Hard to believe, but Jungkook had been very realistic about it with you. Of course it had been exciting when you two had hooked up for the first time- but the more he got to know you, the more he fell in love with your honest nature and loving personality. You were passionate about your art, never let someone talk down on you, always spoke your mind. You were a challenge, a tiger waiting to be tamed, and Jungkook was as ready as he had ever been to try and do just that. Because right now you were young, you were wild, and one day, you'll have lived all of your dreams. Somewhere deep down, he already imagines it. Sometimes. The way he'll buy a house for you two, how he'll marry you and knock you up to make his family complete.

But for now, you were simply two young lovers in the moment.

Theres a drop of sauce on the top of your breast, and you don't even notice the way Jungkook stares as you wipe it off with your finger, licking it clean like second nature. He's furrowing his brows as he throws his head back, pure agony in his voice as he growls out. "God what is it now?" You playfully complain, last bite of your food gone in your mouth as you look at him with amusement. "Don't tell me you're still hard." You say.

"Fuck off, it's your fault!" He laughs out, unable to quite conceal how funny the entire situation seems to him as well. "Can't you sit on my dick while I finish my food?" He whines, pouting expression thrown your way as you give him a look that says more than you could with words. "Okay yeah saying that out loud makes it sound weird." He mumbles, speeding up his speed as he finishes his food. He swallows after a moment, leaning back on the couch as he gives himself a moment to settle. Maybe he'll come down on his own.

But then again, as he looks at you, he has to remember what his mother always told him.

'don't let the food get cold'

And its your laughter in his ears that makes him smile as he crawls over you, pulling your shirt over your head as he decides no; he doesn't want to wait.

"Jungkookie, LOOK!" You exclaim as he walks inside your studio, watching as you were petting a massive dog. Maybe a great dane? Mastiff? It didn't matter at all- because you were so happy his attention wasn't on the animal next to you at all. "He's so cute, aren't you?" You say, squishing the dogs head a little. Jungkook laughs.

"Please don't tell me you want a dog now." He says, and you look at him with large eyes. "No, please, we can barely take care of ourselves right now!" He laughs. "Bring it up again when you can walk stairs without stumbling." He teases, and you stare daggers at him.

"At least I'm not scared of the fucking microwave." You mumble, as you stand up, the customer absolutely entertained by the two of you. Jungkook slaps your butt as an answer to your teasing, making you squeal scandalized. "Jungkook! That's public indecency!" You exclaim, and Jungkook laughs as he sits down on a chair in the waiting lounge you're standing in.

"If that's true I gladly get arrested." He says, and you roll your eyes as you say your goodbyes to the customer and his very lovable pet, getting your stuff to walk over to him. "Good to go?" He asks, and you nod, walking out next to him as you spot his car outside- or rather, the small van his company provided him. You have had your suspicions already as he was still wearing his work attire- this sight now spoke out clearly what you were fearing.

"Jungkook no-" You whine, and he sighs, silently telling you were right. "You promised no more overtime!" You said. "We were supposed to have a nice weekend!" You say, genuinely upset, and he can see it; the look in your eyes is pure disappointment, brows scrunched up as your shoulder slump down. "You promised." You mumble, as he opens the passenger door for you, letting you get inside the car.

"I'm sorry, but Tae called in sick and they asked who could take his shift." He explained as he drove home, well knowing that this was no excuse for you. But instead of voicing that out like you usually did, you were silent.

He did not like that.

"I'm really sorry." He says again, but you're still not answering him. "Baby?" He tries, but you're looking out the window, not sparing him even a glance. He knows he fucks up sometimes, but this is entirely new territory for him. Never had he had to deal with you genuinely upset with him, at least not to this extend- because at the moment it seemed as if you were ready to open that door at the next red light and walk right away from him.

The thought alone made him shudder- and not in a good way.

He tries again, but this time you speak; voice quiet, serious, and way too formal for him to feel comfortable with. "Just bring me home Jungkook." The way you say his name makes him bite the inside of his cheek. He's now upset at himself as well. He knew how much you had been looking forward to a shared weekend together. He should've not said anything when they asked who could take over the shift.

And as he came to a stop in front of your shared apartment, it only got worse. Because for the first time, you just got out of his car, closing the door, and went into the apartment complex.

You didn't give him his kiss to the cheek like you did every time- even when you were mad.

You didn't say goodbye.

You didn't even look back.

"I don't want you gone all the time." You whine out as you hold onto him, his hands on your back as he helps you stay where you are on his lap, your head in his neck as you breath heavily. "I need you." You say, and its one of the rare moments you're open like that. He's eating it up, drinking it in, as he holds you, palms all over your bare skin while you move lazily.

"I know, I'm sorry, I really am." He breathes out, placing kisses to your shoulder, helping you rock on his cock so you won't have to do all the work. "I need you too, I really do, I'm sorry." He mumbles, slipping out of you for a moment before he lays you flat on the bed, guiding his length back inside you as he looms over your body, kissing your skin as if he's worshipping you, as if he can't get close enough to you, his hands holding onto your middle as he keeps you stable while he pushes into you slowly.

"Faster-" You beg him, but he shakes his head, not picking up his pace at all as you whine. "Kookie please-" You say, and he shakes his head again.

"No, we got time." He argues back, and you open your eyes at that, looking to the side. "What is it?" He asks.

"We don't." You say. "You have to get up early tomorrow." You say, and Jungkook shakes his head, making you roll your eyes for a moment as you want to continue- but he shuts you up with a well practiced hand on your clit, your body reacting instantly as your toes curl up. "Jungkook-"

"I don't." He says, gritting his teeth as he finally picks up his pace. "I took time off." He breathes out. "Told them I need the weekend." His hand is eager to have you come undone underneath him as your legs move, heels digging into the small of his back as you snake them around his body the best you can considering the size difference. "Told them I got my girlfriend at home, and guess what?" He asks, and you mewl at his antics. "No one's gonna call me up. Phone's on airplane mode." You're suddenly frantic, hands gripping the bedsheets underneath you as he doesn't let up, smiles into your neck as he bites and sucks his marks. "They can fuck off while I fuck you." He whispers, and you suddenly snap, back arching as you come, his violent thrusting making you sob dryly, fingers reaching for his arms as you dig them into his inked skin.

That's your art underneath his skin, safely tucked away to be guarded from time. That's your ink on his body, your way of making him yours. And this, the way he mouths and nibbles and bites and kisses- that's his way of making you his.

He slips out, desperately rutting into his own hand as he cums onto your lower belly, his release staining the sheets below.

But it doesn't matter in that moment.

He gladly cleans up afterwards.

"Would you ever wanna live in New Zealand?" You ask him, as he makes sure not to burn any of the food on the grill.

It's your yearly holiday trip, this time in the cold of new Zealand, a camping van your home for the two weeks you'd decided to travel the country. "I mean, why not?" He tells you, turning a piece of meat over, before he looks at you sitting next to him, all bundled up in his way too large puffer jacket. It's already large on him- so it almost swallows you whole. But it also awakens something inside him, seeing you wear his clothes like that. He feels protective, weirdly so.

"Hmhm." You say. "The people seem nice here." You say, and then you rest your head against his shoulder, making him smile as his arm wraps around you- a movement almost instinctual at this point. "But I don't know, won't we miss home?" You wonder, and Jungkook shrugs.

"I don't really need a home as long as you're with me." He says, speaking it out loud without thinking as you suddenly detach from him. He looks at you, worried he might've said something too much, but you look at him so.. he can't describe it. Your lips are on his in the next second, before you go to the van to retrieve some paper plates.

"Oh my god, that was-" You say, balancing cutlery in your arm. "-The most romantic fucking thing you've ever said!" You say, putting everything onto the camping table as he chuckles. "No, I mean it. That was so movie-worthy!" You say. "I feel like I'm in a K-Drama!" You exclaim, and he laughs.

"They don't swear that much in K-Dramas." He corrects you playfully, but still smiles. "But yeah I get you. Sometimes I feel like this isn't real too. Too good to be true and all that." He says, and you suddenly squeal, making him look at you.

"Stop!" You say, before you hug him tightly.

You're looking through clothing items when you suddenly feel it.

The sudden buzzing right inside you, making your foot studder in its step as you try to conceil your reaction as best as you can. You can feel your thighs clenching, muscles contracting as the feeling of the bullet vibrator. And one look towards Jungkook sitting on a chair in front of the dressing stalls makes you want to punch him right in his pretty face.

He's got his hand inside his sweater pocket, smirking slightly at your struggle as he doesn't seem to care who's sitting next to him- or who could see you and connect the dots. He likes things like that; the slight thrill of getting caught and the literall proof that you had given him all control making him feel absolute bliss.

You're more concerned about the fact that you're about to cum.

Right inside this fucking store.

You shoot him daggers, and he simply has the audacity to smile, shrugging his arms as if he's got no idea what you mean. He tones it down a little, turning it off for now when he felt like he'd tortured you enough; stripping you of your orgasm as well. You want to whine out, complain, but you simply but the clothes back where they belong, walking up to him. "Oh? Nothing caught your eye baby?" He asks innocently, and you simply smile, shaking your head. "Alright." He says, getting up to walk out with you.

And its inside the car after he had parked in a secluded spot on a scarcely lit parking lot that he turns the device on again. "I have to say.." He starts, watching you squirm in the passenger seat, hands instantly clenching into fists as your legs squeeze together. "I'm not mad anymore I almost paid a hundred bucks for this thing." He tells you. "Feels good baby?" He asks, and you nod- but its not enough for Jungkook. "I can't hear you." He tells you, and you have to cut yourself off to not moan out loud.

"I-t.. ah- feels good.." You somehow get out, squirming and slowly growing desperate as he keeps the setting low- too low for you to actually cum. He's enjoying the show for a moment, until he reaches underneath his drivers' seat, fumbling around before the seat rolls back, making more room. You know what's going to happen next. "Can I-?" You start, and he nods, helping you safely onto his lap.

"You look so pretty like this." He praises, hands underneath your clothing as he gently fondles your breasts- enjoying the fact you've decided to skip the bra today. "Hm?" He humms against your skin, before he leans back, switching onto the highest setting. He doesn't even need to touch himself to get off, he knows that already; the sight in front of you enough to get him going. You're erratic at this point, Hips rutting into nothing as you hold your hands awkwardly in front of your mouth. Jungkook reaches out, letting you hold onto him, and he feels weirdly loving at the sight of you holding onto him so desperately. "Oh?" He suddenly asks, noticing you stutter. "Cum baby. Come on." He urges, and you want to tell him its too much, too much, but then you suddenly cum, and he tones it down a little, letting you ride it out as you clumsily fondle him over his jeans- only a few movements enough for him however to come undone inside his pants. "Shh, you're good, good job, good girl." He humms out, letting you rest against his chest for a moment, closing his eyes as he enjoys the moment with you.

He's really not mad about the hundred bucks anymore.

One thing Jungkook had come to live with was the fact that you loved everything cute.

You collected anything pink and soft and cute, plushies being his go-to present because he knew that would always be a bullseye-shot with you. They're all over the place, but Jungkook doesn't mind. Even though he can't understand the appeal of some of them, he himself understands the appeal of collecting things. And he's also not one to judge- having accepted you with every piece and habit you have.

That doesn't mean he doesn't tease you for it.

"Why's the rat wearing old granny clothes?"jungkook snorts, jumping over the back of the couch to sit next to you, who is currently trying to sew a hole on your melody plush toy shut.

"Shut up, Melody isn't a rat!" You mumble, making Jungkook chuckle as he eats his popsicle, watching you work. He really likes how delicate your hands are; they fit nicely in his hands whenever he holds them. Yours get cold a lot- and he likes giving you some warmth whenever he can.

Anything for you.

"I think its a rat." He tells you, giggling boyishly when you throw your head back, groaning. He gets up to walk into the kitchen to throw the wooden stick of his treat away, as he hears you.

"Well detective melody thinks you're a little bitch." You retort. And only seconds later, jungkook is behind you, looking over your shoulder to check if its clear- he doesn't want you to hurt yourself with the needle. Once he's made sure, he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling it back so you're looking at him upside down.

"You wanna say that again sweetheart?" He growls out, and your sparkling eyes shout mischievously at him from below.

He loves the powerplay.

But this time you decide to ge cute, holding the stuffed toy into his face as you giggle. "Its melodys words, not mine!" You argue, and he laughs, before he pushes the toy aside, pressing a kiss to your nose before he walks back into the kitchen again. "Although I can't argue with whats been said-" you start, and Jungkook shouts from the kitchen as you laugh.

"I wasn't a little bitch last night when I was balls deep in-" he starts, and you scream over his words, scandalized.

"Jungkook, not when melody is listening!"

"So.." Jimin started, looking at your hand. "You wanna explain that expensive ass thing?" He asks, before he slaps the table. "Don't tell me its real!" He asks, eyes wide as you laugh.

"Why, you wanna steal n' sell?" You challenge, and he shakes his head, now a little more serious.

"No, I just wondered. He popped the question or not?" He asks, and you can't help the grin that spreads onto your cheeks. But before any of you can answer, the man in question walks inside, having heard the conversation.

"I did, and that means you can fuck off Park." He challenges, roughly pushing the elder away with a hand on his head, making everyone laugh at their antics. "How's my fiance doing?" He asks. "Still walking like a newborn babydeer?" He teases, and you smack his head with a printout you had rolled up. "Ow, you literally told me to go hard, don't be mad now!" He says, before running away from your red-faced form, chasing him with the printouts around the studio.

Yeah, some things never change.

And that's ok.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. Don't try reposting on AO3 or your mom's facebook. I got eyes everywhere.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!!  (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names ,  @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling​ 

1. 

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up. 

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew. 

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture. 

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love. 

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames. 

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in. 

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him. 

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though. 

“That would be nice,” He said softly. 

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24. 

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.” 

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces. 

2. 

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway. 

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower. 

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights. 

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it. 

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about. 

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around. 

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though. 

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head. 

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

3. 

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers. 

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive. 

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death. 

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be. 

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep. 

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.  

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

 “What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants. 

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask. 

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.” 

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape. 

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away. 

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--” 

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins. 

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid. 

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away. 

 “Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed. 

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that? 

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top. 

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside. 

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.” 

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made. 

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.” 

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

4.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it. 

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun. 

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology. 

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet. 

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.  

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways. 

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it. 

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine. 

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back. 

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad. 

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet. 

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear. 

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

“So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do. 

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist. 

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

5.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him. 

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face. 

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime. 

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

[littlemisslipbalm]

Little Border Town

Summary: It begins with a man and a woman, as it always seems to. One lives in France and the other lives in Italy, technically, but they’re also neighbors. Various issues arise between these two and they can’t ever seem to see eye to eye on anything. Will they ever move past their petty fighting or is the little town they live in doomed to only gossip about what Harry and Y/N are fighting about today?

AKA: Harry and Y/N are neighbors that fight all the time, the whole town wants to know when they’ll just fuck. 

Featuring italrry as well as mustachrry! and running italrry... I hope y’all like! this is just part one, so much more is in store so pls let me know what you think :) lots of love - first fic that’s not named from a quote said in the story I’m shook!! the growth, the range...she has it apparently! side note: i had to change the gif from italrry/mustachrry bc something is whack with the formatting and either the keep reading or the title keeps disappearing so i tried some stuff to resolve it *sobbing*

Word Count: 8.5k | Warnings: swearing, mentions of relatives death, bickering, otherwise tame for now?

Pt. 2

-

There’s a little town that straddles the border between Italy and France. It’s just a little ways from Nice on the French side and Ventimiglia on the Italian side. The population is rather small and the tourists who come are usually either returners or are very very lost. One street you’re in France and the next you’re in Italy. It can be confusing to newcomers, but the locals love it -- for the most part. These streets are easily delineating as French or Italian by the little country flags that hang above all the shops or in the windows.

It’s a coastal town with cobblestone everywhere and bright painted buildings. The water is a soft blue and the wind barely ever brings any waves greater than a foot high. There’s a shop for everything and it seems to be frozen in the past from the outside, thankfully if you step into the tiny bed and breakfast there is wifi. The sun almost always shines down on this sweet piece of paradise, the winter does however bring gusting winds and thunderstorms. Those storms rattle the little town and afterwards you’ll find the residents picking up the pieces that have fallen off the shops.

Now, this little border town, with its streets separated by French and Italian customs, well almost all of them, it seems imperative to mention. There, in the exact middle of the little town, is one street that is split down the middle, half in France and half in Italy. The locals from the French and the Italian sides love that street the most because it has this certain dynamic spark of change that brings them together, makes them unique. Except for two locals that seemingly hate this street. These two locals aren’t actually true locals either. They both moved there a couple years ago.

Harry, from the Italian side, owns the shoemaker and repair shop. He hailed from England and moved to the little town when his great uncle, Joe, had sent him a letter pleading for him to take over his shop so that he could retire. Harry, ever the traveler, hopped on the next flight out to Italy and then traversed by train and bus until he reached his Joe’s home. Like most of the shops, there was a living space above the shop area. Harry lived there with Joe until he passed away a few years back leaving Harry to tend the store alone. He didn’t mind too much, being left there alone. He had always loved Italy and to get to live in the countryside in a little cobblestone town and own a shop was a dream come true. After living there for two years, he had bought a sailboat that he would take out when the shop was closed. He also had bought himself a motorcycle that he would ride to the next greatest city if he was ever in dire need of more of a nightlife as a 26 year old. He loved it, his own slice of paradise… except for his thorn in his side.

Y/N, from the French side, owns the bookstore, which carries lots of vintage books and records. She had moved there after college. In school, she had studied French and taken a year abroad in Paris and had traveled down to Nice for a month. While in Nice she had made a few friends and one of them had come from the little border town. They had insisted they all go there for a weekend. When Y/N stepped foot onto the street she now lived on a few years before, she fell in love. Seeing the little Italian and French flags in the windows and potted plants with a view of the sea had been so endearing to her.

She was drawn to the bookshop and had chatted up the old French woman who ran it. The woman had reminded Y/N of someone but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it. It was strange for her because she often found these connections with older people, she felt like she had known this woman her whole life. Y/N went back into the store the next two days she was there to talk to the woman again, Marie, she had learned. Before she left the little town she left her number with Marie and kept in some contact with her. After about a year though, their communication fell off. Y/N was sad but understood that life can be busy for people and that she obviously wasn’t the most important woman in the little border town bookkeeper’s life. Or so she thought. In the middle of the summer after she graduated college, Y/N was backpacking through Iceland and got a call from who she assumed was Marie. She was ecstatic and answered the call immediately. Sadly, it wasn’t Marie, instead a friend who had been given her will to execute. In her will she had left Y/N the bookshop. Her reasoning was similar to why Y/N had liked Marie so much, she said that Y/N had reminded her of her sister who had died unexpectedly in her teenage years. Being so far from home at the time and completely consumed with love and loss, Y/N had agreed to take over the shop without any hesitation.

She got home and informed her parents of her choice and moved to the little border town as soon as she could. She lived in the little area above the shop that Marie had also gifted to her and she tended the shop downstairs. The living area hadn’t really been cleaned out and Y/N had found an old collection of vinyls in the corner of the bedroom. As much as she wanted to keep them to herself, she thought it would be a good addition to the shop and had made a section for records in memory of Marie. She loved France and the coast, she bought a little car and would drive to Nice every so often or to the more sandy beaches along the French coast. It was quiet and different from the life she had maybe expected, but taking over a bookshop because a kind stranger had gifted it to you as one of their dying wishes wasn’t something Y/N could ever turn down. Her soul was too sweet. At least it was for most people, not for her neighbor though.

Her neighbor was the shoemaker, Harry. Their shops lived against one another even though he was on the Italian side and she was on the French. They were located exactly at the split between France and Italy. With less than a foot between the buildings, they saw a lot of each other. On their first interaction, Y/N had seen too much of her neighbor, meaning she had seen all of him. Their shops were similar to track homes, meaning they were built completely the same only mirrored. This meant that the windows of their bedrooms matched up exactly, she wondered who had thought that was a good idea after her first night. When Y/N had first moved in it was August, she left her window open and without the shade down to let as much fresh cool air in as possible. With her jet lag, she had found herself wide awake at about three am. Pacing around her room in the pink silk tank dress she had decided to sleep in, her eyes froze on her window - or rather, who she saw through her window. The light from her room and the moon were strong enough to illuminate the tanned and tattooed skin of the naked man in the room next to her. He held a bowl in his large hands that he seemed to be spooning cereal into his mouth from.

His half-lidded eyes flickered to the light coming from the place next door. The bookshop had been closed all summer and no one had been living in the upper area for a little longer than that so he had gotten into the habit of leaving his window open. He was half drunk after stumbling his way home from the tiny bar down the street. He had decided a naked cereal run would be a good idea to tide over his cravings. But upon seeing the girl wearing lingerie a mere two feet away from him, separated by the screens on their open windows, he realized that wasn’t actually true. His eyes widened only slightly as he saw her, his drunkenness allowing him to keep his blushing to a minimum. His drunken confidence kept him from covering himself as he lifted a single brow and made a salute with his spoon hand before going back to his bed.

She stayed at the window for a moment after the naked man disappeared and then quickly ran back to her bed. She shut off her light and tried not to think about everything she had seen. She tried to not think about his toned arms that flexed as he moved around his food, or the tattoos that lined every part of his body (the tiger and ferns seared into her mind specifically), or his tousled chestnut hair, or his searing green eyes, or the full mustache that held a little milk from his cereal. She tried, she really did. But how was she supposed to face her neighbor ever again after that. Maybe he wasn’t her neighbor, she reasoned, maybe he was an acquaintance her neighbor had just spent the night with. That wouldn’t be better! Her hands grabbed her other pillow and shoved it over her face trying to force herself to go to bed.

The next day, she had been working out front of the bookshop, beginning to repaint the windowsills of the shop with some navy paint she had found in the back to give it an updated look. It was early and she hadn’t expected to see anyone at all. Her jet lag still ailed her and caused her to be up bright and early. This was her second run in with the shoemaker, this time though, both to her dismay and joy, he was fully clothed. He wasn’t watching where he was going and almost toppled the both of them over as he left his store front, locked the door behind him, and then set off down the street. His large body, covered in short black running shorts and a mesh grey tank top, bumped into her almost immediately. He was still fiddling with his music on his phone as he began his run. She jumped back and dropped the paintbrush from her hand. She yelped as his body collided with hers and he stopped in his tracks. His eyes scanned her and took in the light wash cuffed jeans and moss ribbed tank top she was wearing. They widened when he recognized her face, the expression of shock similar to that of last night when she had seen him in his bedroom. He smirked and took out one of his earbuds. She grabbed her paintbrush from the ground as he extended his hand to her.

“I’m Harry,” his hand is greeted with hers. He speaks to her in English and she decides it’s probably best to follow along with whatever someone else began with. She worried that she’d run into a lot of Italians who didn’t know French or English and she’d have some trouble. His eyes flicker to the bits of blue already littered on her hands and in her hair.

“Y/N.” She nods, avoiding eye contact with the man she had already seen too much of. At least he’s not your neighbor’s lover, he’s just your neighbor. She also notices how he doesn’t apologize for running into her.

“You were spying on me last night,” his hand returns to his side and his smile quirks up again as he watches her face flush. His nicely groomed mustache twitches, trying to contain his laughter.

“I was not!” She finally looks up at the taller man and takes in his tanned face that is even more attractive in the morning light and up so close. The hat he wears is funny, a blue trucker’s hat that read “If you ain’t a fisherman, you ain’t shit!”, and she would laugh if she couldn’t already tell he was going to be extremely annoying.

His smirk continues and he barks out a laugh. He removes his sunglasses to really look at her now. “It’s alright, I work hard for this,” he gestures to his body, “glad someone appreciates it. Just means I’ll need to be installing a shade now, I guess.”

“You don’t have a shade and you walk around your room naked?” She ignores his first bit of conversation. She can’t think about his body or how it had looked last night. She sets down her paintbrush and folds her arms across her chest, trying to figure the man in front of her out.

“No… but it’s not all my fault. You had your shade open too! Who’s willingly up at that time of night anyway? I was just fixing myself a snack after the pub.” He raises his brows triumphantly at her, feeling confident that he has gotten the upperhand in the conversation.

She narrows her eyes at him as she finally registers that his accent isn’t Italian or French. He’s British and she wonders what he’s done to get himself in this little border town. He also seems to own the shop beside her since he locked the door behind him. He was peculiar, but she couldn’t dwell on what she thought about him since he had just accused her of being a peeping tom.

“Someone is up at that hour because she just moved and has terrible jet lag and can’t sleep. The place has been completely closed up for months and I needed to get as much cool air in as possible before the hot day. That’s why I was up and that’s why my shade wasn’t down.” She stands up straighter and rolls her eyes at him, muttering something in French to herself about annoying men. She smiles to herself when Harry doesn’t seem to understand. He obviously can tell she said something, but he doesn’t know exactly what. He could understand a good bit of French and he could speak some, but if someone spoke quickly and quietly, like she had just done, he wouldn’t be able to make it out. He figured it was something rude, though, with the way she sounds and begins to turn from him.

“Are you here to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Well, welcome to the best place in the world. It was so nice, two countries couldn’t decide who got to keep it and decided to split it.”

His arm sweeps out around him, gesturing to the street around him. She smiles up at him before following his arms movement. His arm had more tattoos than she had realized from her eyeful last night. She noticed the intricacies of all the black ink and again she had a million questions that she had to keep to herself. He was arrogant, conceited, impatient and a little bit odd and she knew all of this after barely one conversation. At least they could agree on one thing, they loved this town.

He looked back at her after scanning the street and saw her smiling in wonderment at everything around her. This brought a fleeting genuine smile to his face, knowing she was happy to be there. He had known Marie and was sad to see her go less than a year after his great uncle. He had always thought that Marie and Joe were both secretly pining over each other. Constantly stopping into each other’s shops and waving from their windows at each other, but Joe had always shaken his head at Harry when he mentioned it.

His smile faded when her eyes came back to his fac face face. Her smile disappeared as well. “Right, so, see you around…?” He said, already forgetting her name. She scoffs when she realizes what happened and then repeats her name. He nods curtly before replacing his sunglasses and single airpod and starts running again. She calls after him, “Thanks for the apology!” and then mutters to herself, “le con” knowing she shouldn’t shout that down the street where other people speak French. He doesn’t hear any part of it, his music up high enough to drown out the sounds of the world.

-

Y/N settled into the bookshop fairly easily, but she never failed to mention how unhelpful Harry had been:

“Yes, well, it’s been going pretty good...except for this one man. Well, I’d hardly call him a man -  a boy. My neighbor, actually, he owns the shoe shop...no, nevermind that, he practically made it his mission to make my move the hardest thing in the world...Harry -- yes, that’s his name, Mama… well I don’t know, It’s just Harry. - it doesn’t matter! He’s been in my way at every turn… yes, both physically and metaphorically...I’m not kidding! And I’m not being dramatic… Well, It was nice talking to you. Love you, talk soon.”

That was her first telephone conversation with her mother since arriving in the little town. Maybe ten days after she arrived. Naturally, she had it in the downstairs area of her home, the bookstore. And naturally, Harry had wandered in, to discuss one of their shared planters, and overheard her entire side of the conversation and gathered the rest from his own imagination. When she had laid eyes on him after setting down her phone, she rolled her eyes at the smirking Chesire cat look on his face.

“You would be the kind of man to eavesdrop, hm?” She restacked a group of books that were already in order.

“Thought I was a boy?” his smirk remained on his face. He strided closer to the counter she stood behind.

“Like I said...What can I help you with?” Her voice drips with venom as she finally turns her eyes to look at Harry. His smirk still remains on his face now that she is making eye contact with him. He’s clad in a t-shirt that has some baseball team on it with burgundy corduroy flared jeans. She notices the strain of the shirt over his chest and biceps and avoids the scoff of how vain he must be to keep himself in that good of shape for tending a shoe store in the South of France, or rather Northern Italy…

“Right, Thought I’d pop in and tell you that one of our planters is shared. So you’ll have to talk to me before replanting anything. I noticed you coming in with tulips the other day.”

“The ones on the front of the street?” He nods as her head turns to glance out the front window. “Why the hell do we share a planter?”

“Because, my late great Uncle Joe and Marie fancied each other.” Her eyes went wide at his words, trying to think of Marie having a crush on someone. “They were never together, never admitted the fancying, but they always did the planters together. They each had one of their own and then bought the third together, said it made sense to make the shops look nice...I know it was just so they had more to tend to - together.”

She hums, taking in everything that he said and how his eyes shine slightly just at the mention of his uncle. His voice had perked at the story he had just spun for her and she smiles thinking about the idea of love and loving someone so much that you’re content with simply planting flowers together. It seemed really old-fashioned to her, but it also brought even more charm to the town she now called home. Romance was still alive here, or so she hoped.

“Okay, I’ll make sure to let you know when I’ve decided what flowers I want to put in there.” She turns around, assuming the end of the conversation and getting back to work. She doesn’t really find a reason to entertain Harry anymore than necessary. Like she told her mother, he was constantly in her way or being naked in his room, something she had chosen to leave out of her conversation with her mom.

“You’ve misunderstood me. Maybe my English is getting rusty, I rarely speak it since everyone else knows Italian.” She flips around at his rude comment, eyes alight with fire once again. “If you want to replant anything, which I don’t understand why you would, the flowers I put are wonderful, we’ll have to discuss it. It’s not you just telling me you’ll be doing it. We own it equally and I won’t let you bulldoze my hard work.”

“On a planter?!”

She sticks on a sickly sweet smile as she tries to refrain from laughing. “I guess the countryside really can make some people enjoy the simpler things in life…” With that she walks to the back of the shop, leaving the stunned Harry to see himself out of it. When the little bell rings, her stifled laughter can be heard among the books.

-

It doesn’t matter what it is, Harry and Y/N are able to make a fuss about anything and the whole street, if not the whole town, had quickly figured that out. No one had a problem with Y/N, they welcomed her with open arms. Marie had told the entire French side and a good amount of the Italian side how wonderful and tenacious she was. How Y/N reminded Marie of her sister and upon meeting her, many agreed. But the first time Harry and Y/N had a public row, at the bakery in the center of town, on the French side, everyone was quick to realize that there was bound to be trouble between the two. It was a stark contrast to the loving comments and endearing looks the previous owners had always engaged in when they were still alive. This fight was maybe a few days after the planter business and Y/N had tried in the following days to get him to change the planters to no avail so she was in an especially pissed off mood towards Harry.

“Could you be taking any longer?” Y/N rolled her eyes as she stood behind her tall neighbor, her foot impatiently tapping a beat against the stone floor.

Harry stood hunched in front of the display case, scanning for exactly what he wanted and desperately trying to remember what he had come here for. He was a bit more dressed up that day, his mother had been coming to visit him for the first time in a while and he wanted to look nice and have a special treat for her when she arrived. His trousers were a deep navy that matched the navy of the stripes on his sweater vest, the blue pinstripes of the button down underneath was a slightly lighter shade, but blue nonetheless. He had rolled up his sleeves past his elbows, showing off his various tattoos and sinewy arms. As his eyes scanned over the case again, he ran through his mental list and bit at his lip, knowing he was forgetting something. He barely even heard her drawl out her insult, the tapping of her foot eventually getting his attention due to its faltering.

She straightened upright from her hip jutted position when he didn’t even bite at her unkind words. Her foot stopping its melody. As she was about to give another go, Harry turned around and she gave him her full look of displeasure.

“Country life requires a bit of patience. I doubt you’ve ever had to wait your turn in your life, but you’ll have to get used to it here.”

Her eyes roll instinctively. She noticed that they seemed to do it just at the mention of his name or the sound of his voice. She had always thought herself a lover of the British accent, citing Downton Abbey and various famous musicians - Freddie Mercury, George Harrison, Elton John, etc. - as members of that little island who were formative to her identity, loving them for their talents as well as their accent. Yet with Harry’s deep meandering British voice, she found herself wishing to be anywhere but in its presence. She found that he took so long to ever get out an actual full thought and when he did it was barely coherent. He also never failed to let his sarcasm or smugness drip into his tone, causing her to audibly be aware of the smirk on his face even if she couldn’t see it. The image flashing across her mind no matter what.

“You’ll have to let me know when you’ll be here again…” His eyebrows quirk at her odd response and it’s her turn to smirk up at him. She’s already satisfied with her quip even though she’s only gotten half of it out. His mouth opens to question her, but she finishes her thought. “That is, so I can plan around you. If I have to alot a whole day to the boulangerie just waiting for you… I’ll never get settled.”  

Harry scoffs and a fleeting expression of actual offense flashes across his features before turning around to finish his order. The others in line and the worker are all equally wide eyed and she hears some hushed whispering behind her, but it’s in Italian so she can’t make it out. The worker eyes Y/N as she rings up the rest of Harry’s chosen items. The worker smiles softly at Harry, feeling for the man she had known long enough to know that he wasn’t as rude as he was being with Y/N. She was also taken aback at Y/N’s response, but hadn’t seen her be rude otherwise so she had to assume it simply had something to do with the man.

When Harry is all set, he turns to leave and pass Y/N again. His eyes narrow and his words once again are turned nasty. “I wouldn’t mind if you never got settled,” he said before muttering something in Italian under his breath and leaving the store. She assumed it to be nasty as she eyed the couple behind her giggling, before walking to talk with the worker.

She shook her head trying to rid herself of her cold exterior that she kept having to conjure up for Harry. Now smiling, she asks for her items in French, happy to be speaking the language that brought her so much joy rather than English which seemed to be reserved only for Harry now. She hadn’t gone to the Italian side very much yet and the people she had met over there so far had spoken French to her once she had introduced herself.

As the worker finished with Y/N’s order, she asked in a hushed tone, in French, “How do you know Mr. Styles?”

“Harry?” Y/N guessed, not actually knowing Harry’s last name until now. The girl behind the counter smiles quickly before nodding. “Mon voison” she sighs and contains the accompanying eye roll when she sees the girl blush at the idea of being neighbors with Harry. “He’s a brat,” she continues and the girl laughs lightly before saying, “I think he’s rather sweet… not bad to look at either.” She looks out the window of the shop wistfully, like Harry’s still there and Y/N whips her head around, afraid he knew that she was talking about him. Thankfully, he was gone and Y/N laughs to herself when she feels the anxiety that had gripped her for a moment dissipates. Shaking her head at the girl, she grabs her items and change from her before making a break for the door.

It was soon after that incident that Harry and Y/N’s squabbles became notorious throughout the little town. Drama wasn’t common there and any sort of excitement was the talk of the town. It made sense that this was snapped up by the gossipers from the French and Italian sides alike.

Anne, Harry’s mother, was stopped the next day, when she was out for coffee and Harry was still at the shop, and was asked why her son was so angry at the new bookshop owner. She thought it made sense for her to drop into the bookshop next to her son’s shop after hearing that. Walking into the shop, she was greeted with the smell of lavender and the sweet melody of a love song. She immediately smiled at the charm of the bookstore, feeling like there was a bit more life in it then there had been the last time she had come in. Harry had told her that Marie had passed, but not that someone new had taken over and she was eager to meet them, especially now that she had been told about the town gossip.

A messy haired, but bright eyed Y/N came trotting out of the bookshelves at the sound of the door opening. A smile beamed on her face when she saw the mature brunette woman standing just inside the doorway. “Bonjour! Bienvenue!” She greets as she smooths some of her unkempt hair. Y/N had been digging around the back shelves of the store searching for a specific book one of her other customers had asked about yesterday. And much to her dismay, she wasn’t being very successful. When the woman only says “Bonjour” and makes no inclination that she plans to speak more French, Y/N believes it’s safe to assume she’s a tourist and switches to English. “Can I help you?”

Anne laughs happily to hear English and walks over to the counter that Y/N had walked behind. “Yes, Hi! My son lives here and I’ve just come to visit him. He didn’t tell me someone had taken over Marie’s shop.” Y/N perks at the name of Marie and she smiles sincerely at the woman now. Not quite a tourist, yet not quite a local, she noted for herself.

“Yeah, I’m Y/N. I was a friend of Marie’s, so to say, and she left me the place.” Pausing, Y/N turns over the vinyl that had just finished side A, and then returns to her place at the counter. “I’m still really new, but it’s a small town. I don’t know of many other people who weren’t born here who live here, though, who’s your son?” She rests her elbows on the counter and leans on them while staring at the kind woman. She had noticed the British accent, but hadn’t connected the dots yet. It wasn’t uncommon for people to have a British accent when they spoke English so it didn’t necessarily mean she was from England. But maybe Y/N should have noticed the light eyes and brown hair, maybe that should have been an indicator as well. Or the way she had said ‘my son’ and nodded in the way of the shoe shop. But no matter what, it came as a shock when the woman with the coffee in hand said what she said next.

“My son is your neighbor! He runs the shoe repair shop. His great uncle, my ex-husband’s uncle, left it to him a couple years ago.”  Y/N’s eyes widen so much so that she has to blink a few times to assure herself they haven’t popped out of her head.

“Harry...is your son?” She speaks slowly and Anne smiles at the girl. She nods and Y/N nods back, taking the news in. He has a mother...she guessed she should have expected that. It had been unlikely that her theory of him being sent straight from hell to make her life just like it was accurate.

“Here you are mum! What are you doin’ in here?” Harry rushes through the door when he sees his mother inside from the window. Y/N rolls her eyes on cue, but still notices the soft adoring look on his face while he gazes at his mother. She supposes she can concede that he isn’t the spawn of satan now. His look hardens when he turns to Y/N, who has straightened up to her full height upon his arrival.

“I was just meeting the new bookshop owner, Y/N!” She looks between Harry and Y/N. “What’s this about you being angry with her?” She asks more to Harry, but Y/N hears easily. Harry’s eyes flash at Y/N and her eyes widen once again, but shrugs to Harry, having no idea where his mother had gotten that idea.

“What did you say-”

“I didn’t say anything! I’d just realized she was your mother right before you walked in!”

“It’s true. Someone said something about it to me at the coffee shop. Of course, I didn’t even know the book shop even had a new owner, so I decided to come by.”

“It’s nothing, mum,” Harry insists.

“Harry and I...we just don’t exactly see eye to eye. But, I’m sure we’ll warm up to each other eventually,” she easily lies through her teeth, knowing she really couldn’t see herself ever being friends with this prick. “Feel free to look around the shop, it’s not exactly to my liking yet, but then again, I am just getting settled. Otherwise, you two should enjoy your time together. I’m sure it’s not often you can make the time to journey all the way out here.” She smiles sweetly at Anne, choosing to ignore Harry completely.

“Thank you, Y/N. Harry can be an acquired taste for some, but just below that exterior of his, he’s a giant softy.” Harry groans at his words, Y/N’s smile only grew.

“Au revoir! Good Day!” She calls when they leave the shop rather swiftly. It seemed to her that Harry was desperate to get his mother out of the shop as soon as possible, while Anne was happy to browse and look at what had been changed in the shop.  

-

Their early unhappy encounters were now months ago. But encounters of a similar caliber happened at least once a week. It’s hard to avoid a neighbor who you seem to find anything they do to be an annoyance, even their existence. They saw each other around town and at their shops and in their bedrooms. Even though they didn’t particularly like each other, hated was actually the correct word, the drawing of the shades was a near impossible task with the heat that plagued the little town between August and Mid-October.

They had fought over who could leave their shade open and who couldn’t because Harry believed only one of them had to close it to maintain privacy but then he wouldn’t settle on an agreement on taking turns closing shades. Y/N argued that they could both leave them open if he would agree to stop walking around his room naked all the time, but he refused that as well, at first. He conceded after a week of having his shade drawn that he would wear boxers. Therefore, practically every night, Y/N and Harry would see each other before bed since they actually seemed to have the same sleep habits. Sometimes she would have to yell at him to close his window if he came home with a guest and he would yell at her to turn off her light if she was reading or watching television in bed too late.

Thankfully, it was approaching the end of October and the weather would begin to change. There wouldn’t be a reason to have the window or shade open and they at least wouldn’t have to see each other right before bed.

This morning, Y/N is up early, she found it amazing to wake up early here, something she had never done before this little border town. It was teaching her new things about herself and changing her, but she liked it. In deep forest green flared pants and a long sleeved rainbow striped shirt, Y/N is watering the planters in front of her shop as well as the little ones attached below the windows. It was always a little cool in the mornings, but she had checked her weather app and seen that it was actually going to be the first cold day of the season. The first cold day since she had arrived actually. As much as she liked the sun, she also loved fall and winter, so she was excited to experience them for the first time in the little border town.

She smiles to herself as she moves around gracefully. In her back pocket, her music plays softly, Paul Simon sings lovingly to her. She hums along and moves to deal with the planter at the edge of the sidewalk. But she’s foiled by a man she seems to think about far too much for how much she says she dislikes him. Harry jogs back a half step upon realizing he has run into her yet again. One would assume that one of them would either change their routine or know to step out of the way or really just be a little bit more aware of their surroundings with how many times this has happened since Y/N’s arrival. Of course, their stubborn personalities actually require them to be unrelenting in this area of their lives as well. Much like the shade debate, the who was in the way of who debate is still majorly undecided.

“Oi!” He looks down at his shirt and it has a substantial wet spot on it. She had spilled some of the watering can’s contents.

“Excuse you!” She says simultaneously, not realizing she’d gotten water on him.

“I’m not the one who just threw water on someone.”

“Neither am I. You ran into me, it’s not my fault you never look where you’re going.”

“You’re just always in my way. This has been my route for ages, I’m not going to change it just because you moved in next door.” His hands fly around in annoyance and anger.

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Well! I can’t stand you!

“Clearly!” “Cleary.” They’re both huffing out insults that don’t seem to really be going anywhere. Harry has straightened his posture for once and she actually finds his true height slightly intimidating. They both breath for a moment, finding no other words to fill the tranquil morning silence that they had just disturbed.

“Are we ever going to have a conversation where we’re not at each other’s throats?” She sighs, feeling upset that the nice Fall day was suddenly ruined for the rest of time just because of this.The bickering with Harry was tedious and she couldn’t keep going like this. Being in a completely new place and running a small business was hard enough as it is. Something snapped in her just then, hoping to squash a part of her life that is causing her stress and exhaustion.

Harry’s expression falters, his eyes losing that glint of angered passion for a moment, he wasn’t expecting that response. It wasn’t necessarily mean, it was more like she was resigned. Simply done with the conversation. He felt his anger and annoyance slip away rather quickly at her question. She sees his mustache twitch, which she realized happened when he was either amused or confused. She didn’t think what she said was funny so she presumed he wasn’t sure what to make of what she had just said. Her head tilts to the side and waits for his response. Her watering can falls to her side now, making herself a little more comfortable and leaving only a small amount of air between her and Harry.

“Tired out already? Thought you were more of a competitor than that.” He mirrors her by tilting his head as well.

“I didn’t realize we were in any sort of competition.” She stepped forward and straightened her posture a little, feeling challenged by the tone he had taken. She may have a kind and soft exterior for most, but she was nothing if not fierce in her core. She was an Aries afterall. She wondered what Harry might be, she wasn’t super into astrology, but she was sure that he wasn’t an Aries. Aries were fiery and passionate and were very unwilling to admit defeat, so he had just hit the exact right note to keep her from squashing their now long-standing quarrel.

“We’re not. I just thought I had met my match, guess I was wrong.”

He looks off in the distance to be nonchalant, like he wasn’t trying to bait her even if that’s exactly what he was going for. Sure, he found her annoying, for whatever reason. But he had realized when she had posed the question, that he hadn’t had this much excitement in a while. Nothing and no one really challenged him in the little border town, his work was easy enough, money wasn’t tight, friends were easily made, and partners for the night were easy to find. He didn’t dislike any of those facts, truly, he counted himself lucky and was overjoyed that he lived there. But the verbal sparring he engaged in with Y/N fulfilled a need he hadn’t realized was going unsatisfied. He would never admit it, but she was often a highlight of his day. Getting into a little quarrel with her brought a smile to his face when he recalled it later. The bird she had started to flip him before bed made him genuinely laugh. He liked it, so when she seemed to want it to end, he did what he knew would make her change her mind. Tease her.

“I see...bonne journée, cul.” She decided to bid him farewell, knowing he didn’t plan on apologizing any time soon. She turned her body from him and Harry understood enough French that she had ended the conversation with a “good day”. He also knew that she had called him an “ass” as well. His brows raised for a moment at the insult before giving a flicked salute in her direction and jogging off for his morning run.

For some reason, after a moment of knowing Harry had gone she glanced up in his direction and watched his retreating figure. And for some reason she found herself looking back down at the flowers and smiling to herself. Somewhere inside her she was glad Harry hadn’t given into her veiled request to stop fighting. It was a strange sensation because as tiring it was to bicker with him, she feared if they stopped then they would stop talking at all and her heart panged at the thought. She didn’t know why and she didn’t care to know why either.

-

The bell of the book shop chimes and Y/N pops up from behind the counter. She had been crouched out of sight trying to organize the books of notes on customers Marie had left that Y/N had only just found. She hadn’t realized the cabinet existed in the counter so when she accidentally slid it open she was a little taken aback. Still, she was quickly distracted by the new customer. Her cream collared shirt was unbuttoned to where her collarbone and decalotage were on display, some gold medallions hanging around her neck today. Her worn light wash blue jeans were barely visible behind the counter due to her height. In her hair was a classic red bandana, pulling back her hair out of her face save for the strands that worked themselves free on their own accord.

Her smile was wide, happy to see the first customer of the day as she pinched at her shirt to make sure it was in place. Her posture slumped immediately when she realized that her first customer wasn’t a likely customer at all, instead who else but Harry. A mischievous glint in his eyes as he strolled in and right up to the counter. He leaned his large body down to rest his head in his hands and look up at her. He crossed one ankle over his other, getting comfortable as he stared wickedly up at her.

She wet her lips and took a step back. It was her first look at him today, apparently missing him on his morning run. Maybe she should have thought something of that after their encounter yesterday, but she didn’t. Like most days, his trousers were high waisted, Gucci likely - how he afforded them, she had no clue - and his usual shirt had now been accompanied with a striped red, black, and yellow open cardigan. His hair looked wet like he had just taken a shower, most of it was pushed up but a few strands fell over his large forehead. His mustache looked freshly trimmed and the rest of his facial hair had yet to leave any shadow after his obvious shave.

“Harry.” She says definitively, regarding him with even contempt.

“Ice Queen.” He levels, eyes narrowing.

She scoffs immediately. “At least give me something original...or accurate maybe. I may not like you, but ice queen? Hardly.”

He genuinely chuckles at her quick response and nods, agreeing easily with her for once. “You’re right. It was weak, I’ll admit. Feel like you need a nickname though, thought something really rude might upset you.” He smirks cheekily. His agreement doesn’t make her feel like she’s won at all, unsurprisingly.

She rolls her eyes at his comment. “Care to let me know why you’re gracing me with your presence today, Mr. Styles?” Moving around the counter, she begins to walk to the back of the shop, assuming Harry would follow her if he needed to. He apparently did and walked after her after realizing she wasn’t coming back.

He gives a half-laugh, “Yeah, I came in for a new record. I saw you decided to restock them...thought I’d pop in. It’s easier to get them here than order online...Curtain-hater.” He adds the name as an afterthought.

She glances at him from the bookcase she’s standing at, her eyes shifting to meet his. A smile fades into her features as she can’t contain the giggle at his new attempt at a nickname. She then wrinkles her nose, “That isn’t good either, but proficient try, I guess.” She gives him points for actually relating the name to her in some way, but it still doesn’t incite any anger in her which she knows is what he is going for. She probably should question herself why she’s helping Harry to nickname her something rude, but alas, she doesn’t. He nods solemnly, knowing she’s right again. He needs to find a nickname for her and he doesn’t know why, but he’s glad she seems alright with him giving her one, so long as it is fitting.

Her body shifts from the bookcase over to the boxes she had gotten to hold the vinyls. She had a small collection since the place was small overall, but Marie’s old collection had sold successfully so she had restocked afterwards, this time choosing some of her personal favorites.

“I’m not sure of your taste...I know you bought Marie’s Ella Fitzgerald album last time.” She sifts through the records, trying to find something she thought he might want. Like she said, she didn’t know what he liked, but she prided herself on knowing music and as an owner helping a customer, she wanted to please Harry. She knew he liked Ella from his previous purchase and she knew he liked Marvin Gaye in the evenings when he had guests - how very cliche she would add. “I mostly got in 70’s/80’s rock...Elton, Queen -”

“Got any Paul Simon?” Harry cuts her off and she looks at him surprised. Her fingers stopped when she looked up at him, their tips placed on the peaks of the albums covers. “Thought I heard it here the other day?”  

Her face perks up at the mention, she loved Paul Simon. “That was on my phone, but I do actually. Well, it’s Simon & Garkunkel. I can order something from just Paul Simon whenever I have to order again if you want?” Their gazes are holding each other’s, her fingers still rubbing over the pointed edges of the two albums she had between her hands. Harry’s watching her and leaning against the table the boxes sit on.

He nods after a moment. “That’d be great.”

“You’ll have to tell me which records of his you already have so I can order something new for you.” She grabs the Simon & Garfunkel album and flips it to Harry so he can look it over.

He regards the Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme cover reading over the fine print with all the tracks listed on the bottom right. “Thanks,” he mutters out after another moment of silence. It was rarely this quiet between these two, so it was different. “I’ll take it, Shrimp.”

“Oh my god!” She gasps before bursting into a fit of laughter. He had actually made her laugh and his eyes widen at the sound, almost confused that she hadn’t scoffed. Her laughter was far louder now then the half-hearted chuckle she had given earlier, which really was probably just another scoff. This laugh was loud and unbridled, but melodic and fun. In the back of Harry’s mind, he noted that he liked it. The first bullet point on a list that was likely to grow.  “That works, just the perfect amount of rude. I love and hate it at the same time.” She finishes before walking back to the front. Harry saunters after her, pleased with himself.  

“I’d like to say I wasn’t looking for your approval, but I guess I sorta was,” he ponders out loud as she takes the record back from him to type in the correct spelling into her relatively new computerized system. She twists her mouth to the side of her face to refrain from smiling anymore and then hums. Her eyes flit back up to Harry’s triumphant smile and for once she doesn’t want to slap it off of him.

“People-pleaser…” She prods him easily. His smile falters only slightly, not out of unhappiness, but of borderline jealousy.

“How do you come up with that so easily? It just rolls off the tongue,” He asks seriously, confused by the woman before him. This time she laughs as she hands him back the record and a copy of his receipt.

“I’m well read, that usually helps, but maybe it’s just my intrinsic wit that gives me an edge,” she raises her brows slightly, before beginning to walk off now that their exchange is done. She’s surprised she doesn’t want to rip her hair out after that encounter, but she figures she should simply count her blessings. “Au revoir, trouser-boy!”

He rolls his eyes as he turns on his heel and exits the shop, amused rather than annoyed with the bookkeeper.

-

enjoy! lmk what you thought :) part 2

[20moonchild21]

𝗦𝗲𝗵𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵𝘁 [𝗯𝘁𝘀]

⇉ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 15

[pairings]

JK x female!oc, Bunny!JK x human!female!oc, Jin x female!oc, Leopard!Jin x human!female!oc, Jimin x female!oc, white Tiger!Jimin x human!female!oc, Taehyung x female!oc, black Tiger!Taehyung x human!female!oc, Hobi x female!oc, Fox!Hobi x human!female!oc, JK x Jin x Jimin x Taehyung x Hobi x female!oc

[warnings]

none, just a lot of fluffy fluff

[words]

4.4K

[author]

I hope you all are doing fine! Finally, it’s moving forward in the story and I am so excited what you think about it.

Important information:

For the next few weeks, I will only upload new chapters each Sunday, because I will take my final exams in two weeks, and it would be too much to learn and write at the same time. I am sorry for that, it’s just for about 3 or 4 weeks💜I hope you can understand

If you need more and can’t wait for next updates, you will definitely have to check out Inferiority complex written by @starlightauroras-writes. Her story is super cute and inspiring. Plus, she puts a lot passion and effort into her story, so please, leave likes and messages under her chapters!

Make sure to also leave under this chapter a like or comment! It would make my day!

Stay healthy and safe!

Mꨄ

[chapter 14 ||| chapter 16]

“Are you excited for the day, Kookie?” Hope asked happily, as she walked around the car.

A few days ago, she had promised Jungkook that they would spend a day on their own, because with all the boys home it could get really hectical sometimes. Together, they wanted to go to the park, walking around and maybe making a picknick somewhere. Luckily, Jin had prepared them a few sandwiches this morning.

“Yes, I am.” The bunny stepped out of the car and stretched his arms in the air.

The weather was actually really beautiful, because it was a little bit sunny and warm, but not too warm for wearing a beanie. Like this, Jungkook could hide his ears with no one noticing. When he opened his eyes again, he looked happily at the girl, before he reached for her smaller hand and both of them began to walk towards the park.

As they were walking, Hope noticed for the first time how other people would see them. Since they were holding hands, the people passing by would probably think that the two of them were together in a relationship. Her cheeks went red when she thought about that.

Her gaze fell onto the boy next to her. Jungkook had his eyes closed, as the sun fell right onto his face, letting his skin glow. He looked so healthy and happy, nothing left from the shy, skinny boy she had found in the alley several month ago. She caught herself watching the shape of his nose and lips closely, bringing up the memory of that night where they had almost kissed into her head.

But still, there was one thing missing in the picture of his beautiful face. The poor boy still had to hide his long floppy ear that the girl loved so much. She loved to driver her fingers through the soft, grey fur, all the way up from the base towards the white tip and that back towards his dark hair. In that moment, she wanted to pull his beanie form his head so bad, showing all the people the true boy, but she knew that Jungkook would feel uncomfortable.

“Are you enjoying this?” He suddenly asked and turned his head down towards her, catching Hope completely off guards. “Just walking around, I mean.”

If it was possible, her face became now even more red when she realized that he didn’t meant her staring. She quickly cleared her throat and ripped her gaze away from his face.

“Y – Yes, I do enjoy it.” She said, trying to steady her voice. “It has been a long time since I have found the time to do something like that. But it is nice to actually clear my head like this.”

The boy just nodded, before he squeezed her hand a little bit tighter.

“Me too.” He eventually said after a few seconds of silence. “Especially with you. Doing something simple like this is anything I have ever wished for. Even though I have to hide my ears, I don’t care.”

Hope gripped his hand tighter when he spoke, pulling herself closer to press her face against the soft fabric of his jacket. Even though she had no extra senses to fully smell the boy’s scent, she caught catch at least the slightest hint of his masculine smell. Immediately, her heart began to beat faster.

Together, they kept walking a little while longer, talking about anything that came into their minds, until Hope spotted an empty bank. Both of them agreed to take a seat and take their picknick there. Jungkook placed the backpack he had insisted to carry, because it would be ‘heavy’, in between them, and both began to eat their sandwiches.

“Did I actually tell you that I have a job interview soon?” She swallowed the last piece of bread down and cleaned her mouth with a tissue.

She had told Jin a few days ago, that she applied to that lawyer firm in New York that were standing up for Hybrid rights in front of the judge. Jungkook’s eyes went wide, before a large smile formed on his beautiful lips.

“Are you serious?” He breath out, reaching over and grabbing her hand carefully. “That is great. I am so happy and proud at you.”

Hearing him saying that he was proud of her was making her cheeks blush again. She tried to hide it with a few giggles, making the boy giggling as well. But suddenly, Jungkook stopped and looked pretty serious into her eyes.

“But will you still have time for us once you will have started working?” He asked in a small voice.

“Of course, I will.” The girl slide a little bit closer towards him, giving attention to not let their hands go of each other. “I will always have time for you, Kookie. You guys are my number one priority.”

Jungkook was still not looking up into her eyes. He kept his head down and carefully slide his thump over the soft skin of the back her hand.

“But what if you will find a boyfriend.” He almost whispered. “Will there be space for us anymore?”

Hope chuckled slightly. It was cute how worried and protective the bunny was about his brothers, but inside in, she had known for a long time now, that there would not be a stranger boyfriend in her life. It were the simple things that would make her heart beat faster, like Jin hugging her from behind while she was cooking, or Jungkook holding her hand and sliding his thumb in small circles over her skin.

Lately, she even had taken Jimin and Taehyung into her heart, even though they hadn’t know each other for long. Those boys had made their way into her life and straight into her heart, making it difficult for her to organize her emotions. Could it be possible that she was developing feelings for all 4 of them at the same time?

“I don’t think I will find myself a boyfriend so quick.” She tried to overplay her awkwardness. “But what is about you? Should we find you a cute bunny girl?”

Immediately, Jungkook’s head shot up, and sharp eyes were looking into hers. He squeezed her hand even tighter, before he shook his head wildly.

“I don’t want a cute bunny girl.” He stated with a steady voice, making Hope think that she might had overstepped the border. “Besides, I already have a mate.”

The last part he mumbled more to himself, but Hope could clearly understand the word ‘mate’ from which she didn’t know what it meant. She wanted to ask the boy, but she decided against it, not wanting to upset Jungkook more. It should be a happy day for both of them.

She leant her head against Jungkook’s shoulder an closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun that was shining into her face. Both stayed like that for another few minutes, before Hope felt Jungkook’s nose nuzzling into her hair. She opened her eyes again and looked upwards.

It was just now that they found themselves once again int the same position like they had been a few days ago in her bedroom. Their faces just inches apart, noses almost nuzzling against each other, but this time, there was nothing that could interrupt them.

Slow-motion-like, Jungkook face came closer, until she could feel his hot breath on her lips. Hope could swear that her heart would spring out of her chest any second. Never in her life had she been that close to someone, but in that moment, there was no one she would rather be in that situation as with Jungkook.

Time seemed to stop when their lips met properly for the very first time. Carefully, Hope started moving them after a few seconds, exploring Jungkook’s mouth while steading herself by pressing her free hand against his chest.

A million questions were racing through her head, as Jungkook started to move his lips more passionately against hers. What would happen after this kiss? Would their relationship change now? Would they be together? What would be about the other boys that had a place in her heart?

All those thoughts faded away and her mouth escaped a small gasp when they both pulled away, facies staying close. Both were now looking into each other’s eyes, cheeks red and not knowing what to say.

“Look at those two.” They suddenly heard an older lady say towards her husband, as they were passing by. “Isn’t young love beautiful?”

Jungkook and Hope were looking back at each other, breaking out in small laughers. The boy wrapped his arms around Hope, pulling her closer and leaning his head against her hair. Both of them stayed like this the rest of the day.

“Out of the kitchen, woman!” Jin pretended to scare the girl away with his wood spoon, before she fake-whined and quickly walked out of the kitchen. “I have to concentrate in here!”

She turned her head back and stuck out her tongue, before she looked around for something else to do while Jin was preparing the dinner. She spotted Taehyung, Hobi and Jungkook sitting on the sofa with their fingers sliding over the controllers wildly, while they screamed some comments from time to time.

It was amazing how fast the boys had accepted Hobi in their circle. Just after a few days, they were already joking along with the older boy, laughing and playing together like they had known each other for years. It made her happy. Hobi was a great person, always funny hand happy.

When her gaze fell onto Jungkook, her cheeks redden. The memory of earlier came into her mind, but she had to remind herself that drooling now wouldn’t be suitable. She sighed and was about to sat down next to them, when she noticed that there was one boy missing.

Jimin was nowhere to be found in the living room or in the kitchen, which was quiet strange, because normally, he loved to hang out with his brother and Jungkook, and if he wasn’t with them, he usually would be with Jin.

She walked down the hallway when she already heard a soft humming coming from the two tiger’s room. Hope slowly pushed the door open a small gap, peeking her head into the room. Jimin was laying back down on the bed, his eyes were closed the small ear buds she had given him a few days ago in his ears.

He must have smelled the girl coming inside, because he suddenly opened his eyes and looked towards the doorway. When he spotted the small human, he pulled out the ear buds and smiled wildly at her.

“Hello, Hope.” He sat up straight, as she walked closer towards the bed. “Come and sit down with me.”

Jimin was always a warm and welcoming person. Every time she saw him, he had his wide, beautiful smile on his face, making his eyes from into half-moons and her knees weaken. When she sat down on the bed next to him, he laid himself back onto his back and with his head into her lap.

“Why aren’t you with the others?” She carefully asked him, before she began to slide her hands through his thick hair.

Jimin hummed a little bit, before he closed his eyes again and pushed his hands further into her hands.

“I wanted to listen to some music.” He simply said. “Thank you again for the MP3 player, Hope. I love it.”

They stayed in that position for a little while longer, just enjoying the moment together. She had grown attached to Jimin really quick. His sweet and lovely personality made it hard for someone to not love him.

“Did you had a great time with Jungkook today.” He suddenly whispered into the dimmed room, not trying to hide the smile in his tone.

Hope was glad that the room was a little bit darker, because for the thousandths time that day, her face went red as a tomato. She awkwardly laughed and shifted around the mattress before she could find her voice again.

“I – “ She stuttered, not knowing if she should tell him or not, but it wanted to come out of her. “We – ehm – we kissed.”

She was giggling like a little school girl while talking, trying to cover her embarrassment. Jimin was now chuckling as well.

“I know.” He confessed, and she could practically see the smirk on his face. “You smelled more intensive like him when you came home earlier. I could tell straight away that something happened.”

A gasp escaped her mouth when he told her about that. If he smelled it, the there was no doubt that the rest of the boys had smelled it too. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her away forever.

Before she had the chance to think about it further, Jimin had already pushed himself up from her lap, and was now wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close towards his chest. Instinctive, she placed her head onto his shoulder while he snuggled his head into the creak of her neck, moving it carefully around. This gesture didn’t stay unnoticed by Hope, because she knew this gesture form Jungkook.

“Jimin?” She slightly chuckled as his breath tickled her sensitive skin. “Are you scenting me?”

The white tiger hummed a little bit, causing a wave of shover over her spine, before he pulled away. For a moment, they were just looking into each other’s eyes, before Jimin moved his hands to screech his neck.

“I am sorry.” He quietly whispered, pressing his ears flatly against his head. “It’s just – you smell so strongly like Jungkook and that just triggered my – my instincts. I am sorry.”

Hope chuckled at his cute stuttering. Though they had known each other for a few weeks now, Jimin would still get shy over the simplest things sometimes.

“It’s okay, Jimin.” She said, before he laid his head back into her lap.

As she drove her hands through his thick hair, she sunk back into her thoughts. She had never thought about the boys actually having animal-like instincts. Of course, she knew that their ears and noses were really sensitive, but she had also heard about other – needs – that Hybrids would develop while living together with a girl. Her cheeks blushed immediately when she thought about that.

“What are you thinking about?” The boy in her lap suddenly asked, looking up at her.

With redden cheeks, she quickly tried to find an answer when suddenly that one question popped up in her mind.

“How – how do I smell actually?” That question had been burning in her head ever since she had met the boys. “Do I smell – okay? I mean, do I smell like sweat or something, because if I did it – “

“Do you smell okay?” Jimin had abruptly pushed himself up from her lap and was now facing her directly. “Your scent is absolutely….amazing. You can’t imagine it, but a scent isn’t comparable to – sweat. I don’t know how to describe it, but every time you enter the apartment your scent is flashing me and the other boys. It smells so sweet and clear but also natural at the same time. Just amazing.”

With every word Jimin was using to describe her scent, her cheeks would blush more and more. She would have ever guessed that the boys enjoyed smelling her. Not knowing what to do, she began to twirl a strand of her hair around her finger while starting to laugh awkwardly.

“O – okay.” She eventually stuttered between her giggles. “Thanks, I guess?”

Though it was an uncommon way to compliment someone, she somehow felt proud to hear those words from the male. Never in her life had some boy made a compliment to her. Only her mother had told her often that she was a beautiful, but that was different.

Since she had been living with the boys, she had got a lot of compliments. Jin would often tell her that she was beautiful or that she would be cute when she couldn’t reach the top shelf, because she was tiny. Jimin had told her that he liked her scent, but he had often told her that he liked to hug her, because he felt comfortable around her. Taehyung was another thing. Though their relationship had made much process, he was still more reluctant when it came to compliments. Jungkook on the other hand made a lot of compliments. What she loved that most was that they all really meant what they said, not just like telling a phrase.

When she thought about Jungkook, her thoughts drifted back towards the scene where both of them had been sitting on the bank in the park together. Jungkook had seemed to be pretty upset when she had joked about finding him a bunny girl, before he had said something about ‘finding his mate’.

“Jimin.” It was just now that he realized that she had said his name pretty often today. “What is a mate? I heard Jungkook talking about it, but I didn’t know what he meant by that.”

Jimin cocked an eyebrow up, his ears standing up high in attention.

“He told you about it?” He asked, his voice was holding a hint of surprise and confusion.

“He just told me that he already has a mate.” She quickly answered. “Whatever that means.”

The white tigers chuckled slightly, before he sighed and scratched his neck, obviously looking for the right words.

“A mate is something like – what do you call it – marrying someone?” He began, before he sat up straight across from her. “Or more like a soulmate! You met a special person you love and with whom you want to spend your whole life together. You have no influence on the time you will meet your mate, under which circumstances or who he or she is.”

Jungkook had a mate? Someone he loved? Somehow, that hurt her more than she thought. It was not like she was not happy for him, because everything she wanted was that her boys could feel happy in their lives.

“But – but –“ Her mind was suddenly filled with thousands of questions. “ – what do you mean by who he or she is?”

“It means that there are no rules for finding one’s mate.” While he was talking, a small smile was forming on his face. “Age, gender, religion, race, breed – it doesn’t matter, everyone is just equal. Boys mate with boys, girls mate with girls, Christians mate with Muslims, Hybrids mate with human. Love has no definition in that point. There are even cases where Hybrids have more than one mate.”

Her heat shot up at that statement and her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest. On the one hand, it should make her happy that it was possible for Hybrids to find their mates in a human – like her – because in her heart she had known for a long time that she like her boys very much, but on the other hand, was there actually a chance all of them would feel the same for her too?

“What if one partner doesn’t want to be the mate of the other?” Her voice got quieter and quieter.

“Usually, mates are destined for each other, but of course, there are cases where one partner doesn’t accept his mate.” Jimin began to talk again, and Hope could tell that he was pretty serious about that topic. “It’s one of the worse cases ever. Losing our mate is like someone rips out a part of your heart. It’s very hard to get over the pain.”

Hope gasped slightly. She knew how much it hurt to loose someone you love deeply, but she didn’t know if that was comparably with losing your mate.

“How do you know who your mate is?” She almost didn’t dared to ask more question, not wanting to step on Jimin’s nerves, but somehow she got more and more interested with every new detail about that topic.

“I don’t know about you humans.” Jimin lifted his hand to scratch his neck, a slight tone of red was somehow covering his cheeks now. “But we Hybrids, we can smell it. It is the best feeling ever when you find your mate. It feels like you have thousands of butterflies in your stomach every time you see her – or him! Yeah – ehm – and you just want to be with your mate all the time, hugging him, marking him and just be together. It’s great.”

“Marking?” Hope had the feeling that with every word she got more and more confused.

“Hmm.” Jimin hummed. “It means that you bite your mate somewhere on his neck or shoulder to leave a mark there. When you mark your mate, it means that you will be together forever.”

Every word Jimin was using, she could hear the passion and love he put behind it, just like he had already felt all of that. She wanted to feel that too.

“Did – did you already find your mate?” Actually, she didn’t want to hear his answer, knowing that it would probably hurt her.

Jimin hesitated for a while, before he bent his head to the side, smiling almost unnoticed by her.

“I would say that Tae is my mate in some way.” His eyes sparkled slightly when he talked about his brother. “We are just clicking with each other and I love to hug or to cuddle with him, but yes, I – I think I also have another mate somewhere.”

When he showed her his perfect smile, Hope just couldn’t destroy his happiness by showing him that it hurt her. She just leant forward and hugged the boy tightly, burring her head into his neck.

“I am so happy for you, Jimin.” She whispered.

“Okay, gentlemen.” Jin looked at the 4 boys in front of him, who were sitting on the sofa in a row. “You all know that Hope has her job interview today, which is pretty exhausting for her. Therefore, we will make this evening as relaxing as possible for her. I – “

The leopard was interrupted by Hobi, who was carefully holding up his hand in the air, gesturing that he wanted to say something. He patiently waited for the older boy to give him a nod so he could start talking.

“What is a job interview?” The younger boy asked innocently.

Before Jin could answer his question, Jimin had already bent forward from the other side of the couch to look at Hobi.

“People are asking her a lot questions to see if she is suitable to work in their company.” He simply answered.

The fox cocked an eyebrow up, but eventually, he nodded after a few seconds and turned his attention back towards the oldest boy.

“Exactly, Jimin.” He showed Jimin a smile, before he was about to start talking again, when suddenly Taehyung was interrupting him. “That’s why –“

“Why are you even talking like that.” The black tiger asked with a smirk on his face. “Are we some kind of soldiers now?”

Jin just rolled his eyes. Though Taehyung had laid off his bratty attitude some days ago, he still loved to teas and provoke the people around him.

“Because –“ He locked eyes with every one of them, before he continued. “ – I want you to understand the importance of the situation. Hope is doing everything for us. It would only be fair from us to support her whenever we can. She will be pretty exhausted when she is coming home, and that’s why we will cheer her up with the apartment already cleaned, the laundry washed and a prepared meal. Do you understand? Okay, then let’s go!”

Without any protest, all the boys stood up from the sofa and began to do their job. While Jin and Jimin went towards the kitchen to prepare dinner, Jungkook and Hoseok went towards the storage to get the vacuum cleaner and cleaning stuff, and Taehyung began to collect all the used clothes into a basket to sort and wash them.

When two hours had passed by, all the boys met up in the living room again.

“It looks pretty good.” Jungkook stated, as they were all staring at the set up table. “I think she will like it.”

The other 4 boys agreed with the youngest. They had really put all their effort in preparing a nice evening for them and especially the girl. They didn’t even had to wait long, because all of them were still standing in the middle of the living room when they heard the front door being pushed open.

“I am ba – “ The girl stopped in her mid-sentence when she saw all 5 boys turning around at the same time. “What are you guys doing? Oh no, did you break –“

“Hope!” Jungkook was the first one to break out of his staring.

He almost ran over towards the small girl and threw his arms around her, quickly followed by Jimin who pressed himself between the bunny and the girl. Jin on the other hand waited patiently for the younger ones to let go of Hope, before he pulled her into a tight hug himself.

Hobi and Taehyung watched the scene in front of them in very different ways. While the fox Hybrid stood a little awkward and dumb folded there, not knowing what to do or how to behave, Taehyung held his typical smirk on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hello, human girl.” He smirked, before he stretched out his hand towards her.

“Hello, Tae.” The girl just rolled playfully her eyes but eventually, she shook the taller boy’s hand slightly. “Hello there, Hobi.”

She happily waved at the older boy, before she placed her purse and coat onto the sofa. She took a deep breath and turned back towards the boys.

“Hope, you look sad.” Jimin carefully took a step forwards, while he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Did you not get the job?”

Hope didn’t answer for a moment. She took another deep breath, before she looked up with her big eyes, making the boys believe that Jimin guessed right.

“I – ehm – “ She cleared her throat, before her face suddenly changed and a scream left her mouth. “I got the job! I did it!”

[inspirations ||| recommendations]

@starlightauroras-writes

@wishesunderthestars

@agustdakasuga

@ditttiii

@angelicyoongie

[beewolfwrites]

An Iron Box - A Cure for Treachery

@cheshiya @tenseoyong @szallejhscorner @something-more-original-please @ofsunsetsandpoetries @nek0dzuken @allozaur @serenzippity @hiqhkey

Hello again! Just a little update here :) 

Here’s the AO3 link. 

Enjoy!!

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

Hatter’s meeting confirmed everything I’d already expected. The new boy, Arisu, had passed his executive test with flying colours, gaining the Four of Diamonds, and having brought the Seven of Hearts with him on arrival. This left only the elusive Ten of Hearts as our ticket out of here. And to top it off, Hatter would almost certainly die in his next game. 

Things were coming together quite nicely. 

When Hatter revealed that he had just one day left on his visa, Aguni and Niragi shared a subtle glance over the table. Well, not quite subtle enough. It didn’t make too much of a difference to our plan though. Knowing the militants, they would use force to take over soon, placing Aguni as their new king. It only meant we would have to act fast while the authority of the Beach was still in confusion. 

As everyone got up to leave, Niragi smirked at me. Either he was trying to make their plan as blatantly obvious as possible, or he was gloating about whatever happened in his game with (name). I just ignored it. He was only going this far to try and provoke me. 

Give it another hour or two… we’ll see if you’re still smiling then.  

As I walked down to Kuina’s room, I mulled over Arisu. All throughout the meeting, he’d looked distinctly uncomfortable, like a child lingering on the sidelines as he tried to figure out the dynamics in front of him. I had given him a little wave as he walked in, and lucky me, he must’ve remembered me from the Tag game. He’d make a wonderful scapegoat. 

And as for the climber, Usagi, she’ll make a great ‘accomplice’. 

I didn’t bother knocking on Kuina’s door. Nor did she seem surprised that I hadn’t. She was far too busy passing tissues to the crying girl sitting on the bed. (Name) somehow looked worse in the light. She’d taken off her socks, so as to not dirty Kuina’s sheets, yet her clothes were speckled with soil. 

Pulling up a chair, I talked them thorough the executive meeting, how it was almost time, and that there was just the one card left. And, of course, the fact that Hatter was already a dead man walking. I finished, assuming that it would be a nice distraction from what must’ve been a difficult game. However, given Kuina’s unimpressed scowl, it perhaps wasn’t the right time. 

‘Your game,’ I gave in. ‘What happened?’ 

She was hesitant at first, recounting the rather unsavoury car journey. I admit, my mood soured at the thought of Niragi’s wandering hands. The game apparently took place in a joint zoo and theme park of all places, and she explained how she’d run away from a tiger, climbed up a Helter Skelter, and hidden inside an Alice in Wonderland themed castle before taking on a genetically modified bear in a madhouse ride. The whole game sounded like fun. It was almost a shame that my visa still had several days.  But then she told me how Niragi had chased her through a hall of mirrors before firing his unloaded gun at her head. 

Really, she should’ve known it was simply a scare. Niragi can’t just kill Beach members without Hatter or Aguni's say-so. And someone like Niragi, despite being so trigger happy, was inherently obedient. 

Still, I suppose it would’ve been frightening… 

However, there was something else that bothered me. 

‘I gave you that taser for Niragi, and you go and waste it on a bear.’

Her mouth fell open a little. ‘I didn’t waste it. The bear would’ve killed me.’ 

A fair point. The bear was technically a bigger threat than Niragi. ‘Actually, from the sounds of it, Niragi saved your life. I’m not sure what there is to cry about.’ 

‘I’m crying because I thought I was going to die,’ she insisted. 'Maybe not you, but most people would cry in that situation.’ 

Most people? Most people have what I lack. 

She cradled the taser in her hands, running her fingers over the old Walkman buttons. ‘I’m sorry, I might have broken this though.’ 

I took it from her and gave it a once-over. The casing was blackened, and the wires had overheated, but it was otherwise undamaged. ‘I’ll fix it.’ 

Kuina, who had been quiet this whole time, muttered, ‘We should do something to get back at him.’ She shot me a pointed look. ‘This all started because of your feud with him. It’s up to you to fix this.’ 

Ah, yes it did. But there was no fixing this; it would only escalate, worsening as the Beach came under militant control. And besides, the matter was already taken care of. Or at least, it would be once Niragi tried to do some bedside reading. 

In which case, it may be never. 

'Forget about that for now,’ I said. ‘We’re running out of time and we need to focus on the plan.’  

I explained that Arisu had been promoted to executive level after bringing in the Seven of Hearts, and how I intended to recruit him into our plan. With a silent glance at Kuina, I swiftly avoided mentioning the real nature of his role, just that we needed enough people on our side, and Arisu happened to be good-hearted enough to want out of the Beach. 

I could’ve told (name) what I really intended for Arisu, but there was every chance she would change her mind about leaving. It would only re-confirm every suspicion she had about me, every reason she had to hate me. 

It would be understandable. 

And then there was the Ten of Hearts. If Hatter was to die in his next game tomorrow, we couldn’t afford to wait around for the Ten of Hearts to appear. At some point, I noticed that (name) was stifling her third yawn of the evening. Her eyes were glazed over as she tried to stay awake. 

‘We can leave it there for tonight.’ I stood up, and glancing at (name), added, ‘You should probably go to bed too. Tomorrow we’ll start planning properly.’ 

Too tired to argue, she slid off the bed, and murmuring a thank you to Kuina, followed me out into the hall. Who knows what possessed me to walk all the way to her room with her, but I did. 

I’m just like all those other idiots. 

As she walked, the arm of her hoodie revealed a raised lump from the bandages beneath. It felt like a long time since we had crossed paths again in the Tag game, but in reality, it couldn’t have been more than a few weeks. Her injury must’ve healed significantly by now, even if it was still prone to infection. 

‘You can take those off, you know.’ I gestured to her bandages beneath her sleeve. ‘But you’ll still need the gauze.’

She gently patted the area. ‘I know. It’s a lot better than it was.’ 

Neither of us spoke much after that, and I had already said everything I needed to. Niragi’s behaviour tonight had clearly shaken her, but once Aguni took over, this scare would be nothing in comparison. When we came to her door she touched the handle, but lingered outside. 

‘Maybe Kuina was right… we should do something about Niragi.’

Ch… you have no idea. 

It was rather disappointing. She assumed I’d been placidly doing nothing this entire time, blissfully unaware of the lengths I’d gone to. But surely, after all this time, she’d come to understand that I enjoyed playing games as much as the next person.

‘I’m surprised,’ I said, pulling out my headphones. ‘I thought you knew me well by now.’ 

I slid the earbuds in and let the music fill up the ever-growing divide between us. The further I walked away, the more the emptiness creeped in, digging its hooks. For a little while I had been able to forget, but every step that took me further from her was a fresh reminder. 

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

That night, I barely slept. Not because anything was troubling me in particular, but because there was an awful lot of commotion going on. On the floor above, footsteps paced back and forth, and the hotel was active as militants and executives came and went. I lay in bed, one hand tucked snugly under my head as I listened to the muffled shouts in the distance. A smile made its way onto my lips. I knew that voice. 

Not long after, a knock sounded on my door. I got up, and opened it a crack. An was outside looking tired and resentful. She was wearing latex gloves. We both knew what was going on, but I waited for her to speak anyway. 

‘I’ll cut to the chase,’ she said. ‘Both of Niragi’s bedside lamps set on fire.’ 

I raised a brow, unable to keep from smiling. ‘Both of them? How very strange.’ 

‘It is strange.’ She folded her arms. ‘Especially because both of the plugs were tampered with.’ 

‘And I take it Niragi thinks it was me.’ 

‘Is he wrong?’ 

I didn’t bother answering. There was no point. 

An silently shook her head. ‘You two… this was a waste of time.’

She stalked off, muttering under her breath. I knew she had no intention of telling Niragi as it would only set him off on a rampage, and none of the executives wanted that. In other words, it was our secret. Smiling to myself, I shut the door. 

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

There were few places within the Beach that I actually liked, my room being one. Then there was the roof. And finally, the patio near the back of the hotel, where none of the other members ventured near. 

Sitting alone on a stone bench, I let my old iPod shuffle through music as I watched the surface of the river glimmering under the sun. The sounds of laughter and chatter were almost inaudible from here, and it was easy to forget that I was stuck in a parallel Japan. 

That was, until the blue of Kuina’s bikini appeared in the corner of my eye. She sat down on the bench, looking out at the water. ‘What’s going on?’ 

I turned my music up. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ 

‘Don’t lie.’ Her fingernails drummed on the stone in a series of annoying little clicks. ‘We both know you built that taser for yourself, and now she has it.’

‘I gave it to her as a gift.’ 

‘As if,’ Kuina scoffed. ‘You don’t give gifts.’ 

‘Maybe not to you.’ 

‘And now Niragi’s room spontaneously burst into flames,’ she continued. ‘That’s what they’re saying, but it’s not what really happened.’ 

I gave up and turned off my iPod. Even with the volume up, it wasn’t enough to drown her out. ‘That was a coincidence—-’

‘I told you, don’t lie.’ She jabbed my shoulder with her finger. ‘Tell me what’s actually going on. You didn’t actually swap her out because she’s suspicious.’ 

I watched the water's surface, imagining the pressure, the darkness down by the river bed. ‘No,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t because she’s suspicious.’ 

Kuina’s eyes widened a little. She inched closer, just as several gunshots resounded from the back of the hotel. Neither of us flinched, but Kuina got to her feet and wandered in the direction of the noise, stopping when she overlooked a set of stone steps.

‘Your new guinea pig is snooping around.’ 

I stood and joined her, looking down towards the back of the hotel. Arisu was hesitantly approaching one of the skips where the militants liked to dump the bodies of ‘traitors’. He was slowly stepping closer, as if he knew exactly what was in there, but needed to witness it to believe it.

Go ahead, take a look. 

One hand lifted the tarpaulin. He froze, mouth open in horror, then stumbled back and gagged at the acrid stench. 

Like what you see?

It was almost too convenient that Arisu should discover the Beach’s dirty secrets now. It would only make it easier to manipulate him. I started to descend the steps, keeping my eyes trained on the naive boy below. ‘This is the real drop in paradise.’ 

Arisu looked up at the sound of my voice, confused and disgusted. 

As you should be. 

‘The Beach’s rule,’ I said. ‘Death to the traitors.’ 

Arisu eyed the tarpaulin. ‘These people are all traitors?’ 

Kuina stepped down behind me. ‘Some of them. Most of them were injured or sick though. It doesn’t matter how many doctors we’ve got, if you get messed up in a game, you’re as good as gone.’ 

‘Once you’re a member of the Beach,’ I explained, ‘you don’t leave until you die. Traitors are chased no matter where they go. Those people are made an example of. There aren’t too many cases. For most people, the fear is enough to make them obedient.’ 

I remembered a couple of times when militants had encountered traitors during their games. They’d make sure they survived, then tie them up and publicly drag them back in. Who knows what kind of torture they had to endure before the end. 

Kuina eyed the tarp with bitterness. ‘The executives only show people what they want to see so they just keep collecting cards.’ 

‘What a fucked up system,’ Arisu whispered. He looked as if all the hope had deflated right out of him. Perfect. Now it was time to fill him back up again.

‘You know, you’re not the only one who wants out,’ I told him. ‘Meet us on the roof in an hour. Kuina will come and find you.’ 

We both headed back up the stone steps, leaving Arisu standing there looking more perplexed than ever before. Once we were out of sight, Kuina gave me a hard pinch on the arm. ‘Oi, don’t volunteer me like that again.’ 

‘Whatever.’ I shrugged away, the cogs already turning as the real plan started to come into play. 

See you soon, Arisu. 

[jordanstrophe]

A Cinnonmon Bun to Pure for this World, 8

Maslterlist

CW: recovering conditioned whumpee, PTSD,  stabbing, physical fight, manhandling, soooome medical whump at the end

“Mister Richard!” Cin ran into the kitchen.  “Hey! Good morni-”

“How do I make money!?” He cried, jumping into his lap and grabbing his coat collar. 

“Woah woah woah, slow down there, tiger...” Richard chuckled, lifting him back onto his feet. “What on earth do you need money for? If you want something, you can always ask. You know I take care of you here.”

“Of course you do, Mister Richard! And I am very appreciative. I owe you my entire life, work, blood, dedication and soul!” He chirped. 

“Uhhhh.”

“Anyway! I need money for that nice man I met in the alleyway.”

“Cin... Cin no.”

“Cin yes!”

“Cin we don’t give money to... People we meet in alleyways. Especially when they have knives and threaten to hurt you.”

“But Mister Richard! He was so kind about it!” He swayed around on his feet.

Richard tilted his chin up to make sure he had his attention. “Just because someone is charming, doesn’t mean they're good. Sometimes the bad people are the good-looking ones.”  

Cin’s head tilted in bewilderment, then his eyes narrowed as they darted left to right. 

‘Oh what I would give to know what was going on in that head of his," Richard thought.

“Why don’t we go for a walk today? There’s a dock not far from here I think you’ll like.” He smiled. Cin’s face halfway disappeared underneath his sweater, but he reluctantly nodded. 

-

Richard purposely took the route that had elegant stores. Cin stared at every window he passed with wide twinkling eyes, muttering a tiny ‘woah’ under his breath after passing each one. 

“Let me know if you want to go in anything.” He said, but only silence answered.

 He felt a presence missing from his side.

“Cin?” He turned around to find him frozen, staring blankly at a window. “Cin!” Richard called, walking towards him. He noticed his hand twitching violently, the closer he got the more he could see his trembling. 

‘Oh dear…’ 

He gently took Cin’s arm to pull him away from whatever was triggering him. The window he was standing in front of was an appliance store, the display covered in knives and tools. 

“Oh Cin…” Richard took his shoulders and steered him away. He crouched down till they were face to face. “Look at me, you’re alright.” 

He still didn’t move. His face was blank, but his eyes were wide with horror. Richard reached to touch his hand, his fingertips just grazing as Cin flinched back and cried out like he had been struck. 

“Hey hey hey! It’s okay. You’re okay.” He turned on his calm coaxing voice. “No one is hurting you, you’re safe.” His hand hovered just inches from his shoulder, but he didn’t dare touch him. A high pitch sound was coming from Cin’s throat, a whining, maybe crying. He didn’t know, it was almost inaudible.

“Hey, come walk with me.” Cin twitched slightly in his direction, his eyes unblinking, but he obediently gave his hand. “There you go, that’s it.” He encouraged. 

He walked him to the next window, a toy store with a display of colorful stuffed animals. Cin didn’t seem to see them as he stared dead ahead. Richard turned his hand until his body turned with it, the only thing in front of him now was the colorful display.

“My mother took me here when I was a child. Told me I could pick one thing of whatever I wanted.” He gently wrapped his arms around him from behind. “But she was a cruel woman who wouldn’t let me buy the 500$ lego ferris wheel.” He chuckled. 

He could see Cin give off a small smile in the reflection of the glass. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… Do you want to pick something? I know it’s a bit childish, but you can never be too old to have fun, eh?” He rested his chin in Cin’s hair. He felt a tiny nod. 

Before he could take his hand, Cin was the one who took his, and led him into the store. Richard was surprised, but went along with it.

They silently walked the isles, Cin’s eyes darting to study every single thing he passed. He still clutched Richard’s hand behind him, pulling him along. His eyes locked on to something as he stopped.

It was a stuffed octopus with a happy smile. Cin pushed his hand into its soft head as it sunk in. “Oh! I think that’s the reversible ones.” said Richard. Cin looked down at his hand to try and figure out how to do it without letting go of him. He ended up locking his elbow around his arm so he could use both hands. 

He flipped it inside out, the color changing from dark purple, to red with a tiny mischievous face. Cin started to laugh, flipping it back out.

“Is that your pick?” Richard chuckled.  “...Yeah.” Cin murmured with a smile. 

-

Cin held the octopus close to his chest as they walked the dock. “You like your octopus?” Richard asked. “I love it! Thank you, Mister Richard! Its name is Fishsticks.’’ He smiled proudly.

Richard didn’t question it, he just hummed in acknowledgement. A wave underneath them passed as Cin cringed and pressed his body against his side. Richard wrapped an arm around him for support. 

“Mm… M-Mister Richard, may I please go ahead to the car?” Cin whined. 

“We’re almost there, stay with me.” He soothed. “Bu-but it’s right there! I’ll go straight to the car, plleease?” He begged. Richard really, really did not want Cin on his own again.

“I’m sorry, hon. But I would really be more comfortable if-” Cin turned Fishsticks to the angry face, cranking it’s mischievous eyes to stare at him. Richard started to regret letting him have that thing.

“Cin, I-” He peeled his eyes off the octopus's face to see Cin’s sad devastated one staring up at him.

“Ugh! Okay fine! But straight to the car, young man. Got it?”

“Got it, Mister Richard!” He cheered, running off down the dock. 

“How on earth am I going to keep this man alive…” He muttered, burying his face in his hands.

Cin made it to the end of the dock, hopping off with a relieved sigh. 

“Wait… Cin?!” A voice called. He froze as he glanced around. “CIN!” The voice shouted angrily. He spotted a white vehicle parked nearby, the window rolled down with… 

Nathen.

The door slammed open as he crawled out of it, burling towards him with his hands extended with confusion.

“..N-Nathen?” Cin took a step back. Nathen’s face twisted even more when he saw his defiance.

“Where have you been!? I’ve been looking all over for you!” He hissed. He grabbed his arm and yanked him forwards as he grunted. “Please don’t tell me you got into any trouble out here. I swear if you talked to any cops.” He jerked him up by his arm so he could growl in his ear.

“You were… looking for me?” He looked up at him with gleaming eyes.

“Of course I was, you idiot! You wouldn't last five minutes out here by yourself! ...Unless you got adopted by some pack of wolves of course. Now into the car, let's go.” He nudged.

“But! But Mister Richard!” Cin pointed in his direction. 

“Who the-.. Whatever, just get in the car.” He roughly started dragging him by his arm. 

“W-wait! Nathen! I can’t go!” He cried, weakly struggling against his grasp. His cries and pleas were ignored as frustration built in his chest.

“I... Said… NO!” He shouted, twisting his arm as he broke free. “Wha-?”

“I-.. I don’t want t-to go with you an-anymore!” Cin squeezed his eyes shut, crossed his arms and stood up straight. His posture died a little when he peaked an eye open to see murder written on Nathen’s face.

“I erm, I mean… No... P-please?” Cin returned to his self conscious posture, shying away. 

-

Richard had caught up, coming to a stop when he found Cin talking with a stranger. Great… What did he get himself involved with now?

That... That was no stranger.

“CIN! Come here now!” Richard commanded, his pace increasing. He could see Cin glancing fearfully between the two men, taking a step back. 

Nathen’s eyes shot to Richard, finally piecing together what had happened. His face turned soft into a charming smile. “Sweetheart, it’s me! You know me, I’m family! Come home, little one, I missed you.” He gently reached a hand out. “If you come home with me now, you won’t be in any trouble, mmkay? Everything will go back to the way it was. Don’t you miss me? I’m the only one who can take care of you, remember?” He smiled.

Cin whimpered as he his arms hugged himself, visibly trembling. 

I should go home.... I wanted to go home so badly this whole time! 

He wants me.. Still.. After all the trouble I caused.

Trouble follows me everywhere, he’s… He’s the only one who can put up with me.

“Cin, please! Don’t listen to him! I know what he’s saying is temping, I do! But do you remember what I said this morning?” He begged.

Cin wiped his tears away, his eyes falling to the ground. 

“Just because something is charming, doesn’t mean it’s good…” 

Richard smiled with a proud sigh at his words. Cin took another step away from Nathen, but not before a hand snagged his hair. “Aah-!” he cried.  

“You! What have you done to him!? After everything I did, everything I taught him, you unravel it!? Do you know how hard it was to get him that way?! Nathen barked. 

“You didn’t teach him anything! You conditioned and abused someone who depended on you!” Richard grabbed Cin’s arm, ripping him from Nathen’s gasp as he fell backwards into the grass. 

“You don’t own him, Nathen! Not anymore…” He growled, stepping between him and Cin. Nathen raised a brow.

“So he still talks about me, hmm?” He crossed his arms. “He must miss home so, so much. I’ll tell you one thing, work has been soooo much harder without him being the lil distraction. So I’d really like my baby back.” He shrugged.

“Oh, over my dead body!” Richard yelled. “Round two then.” He smirked, pulling a knife from his belt. 

-

Cin struggled to sit up, finding the two fighting over a knife against the car. Nathen was shorter and less built compared to Richard, who had his wrist pinned to the window. He took his hand and slammed it against the glass, shattering it as Nathen let out a grunt. The knife fell from his grasp, causing Richard to ease up a bit, forgetting he hadn’t quite won. Nathen used his free hand to grab his hair, slamming his head against the car. 

He hit the ground, dazed, but surprised Nathen wasn’t immediately on top of him after his fall. He blinked up to find Cin on his feet, Nathen behind him with the knife to his throat.

“M-... Mister Richard?..” Cin whimpered, tears silently falling down his cheek. 

“N-no! Nathen please, do-don’t do this! Don’t hurt him!” He begged. 

“Ehh, it’s a little late for that.” He shrugged. “Looks like I won again, ‘Mister Richard’.” He chuckled. 

“Oh yeah?” He huffed, twisting his body till his back was against the car. “You-.. You forgot something this time.” Richard grinned, the hand behind his back revealing a phone that had been dialed. 

“...No.” Nathen gasped, as approaching sirens blared in the distance. “D-dammit…” He scoffed, his grip loosening. 

“I’m not letting you leave here, ‘Mister Nathen’. You lost.” 

Nathen’s eyes fell, his brain wracking as he weighed his options. His face slowly turned into a deathly smile. 

“We’ll see.” 

Cin let out a gasping choke as the knife was plunged into his chest. 

“NO!” Richard cried. 

Cin crumbled on his knees at Nathen’s feet. His hand dug into his hair to push him over on his side as he stepped over him. 

“No no no no no no no!” Richard crawling over to him, pressing the palm of his hands into the wound. Nathen had climbed into his car, hitting the gas to fade down the road.

“Cin! Stay with me! Keep breathing… Please! Keep breathing! Hey!” Richard sobbed. 

His every breath was a light wheeze, but at least it was a breath... 

Fishsticks laid nearby, its blood-spattered mischievous face blankly staring at the blue sky.

(CIN IS NOT DEAD, I REPEAT, CIN IS NOT DEAD.)

@milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101  @happy-whumper @as-a-matter-of-whump @alien-octopus @unicornscotty  @yesthisiswhump @flower-whump @whitebluebell @shokuhoemisaki

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ  Thank you for reading!

Special thanks to @milk-carton-whump​ and @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ for helping me pick one  ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

[sunfloweroranges]

𝕄𝕪 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥 ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕟 𝕊𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕜𝕖

𝙰/𝙽

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎!!

𝙱𝚎𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜!

𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚋 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕 @ryosmne​ 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 -> 𝕊𝕒𝕗𝕖 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖

𝙼𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗!

·

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸.𝟻𝚔

·

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜,  𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎/𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜, 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝚢𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚣𝚊/𝚖𝚊𝚏𝚒𝚊, 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏??

·

·

𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥  

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕟 𝕤𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕜𝕖 (𝕃𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕦𝕤 𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕤)

is a large songbird species in the shrike family (Laniidae) native to North America and Siberia. Long considered a subspecies of the great grey shrike, it was classified as a distinct species in 2017. Six subspecies are recognised.

Also known as butcherbirds, loggerhead and northern shrikes leave a culinary horror show in their wake. Both species regularly impale prey — often still alive — on spikes, thorns, or barbed wire, and leave them there for days or weeks...

· · · · · ·

Soft rumble of an engine died down, a click then a creak, car belts were taken off and doors opened. The wet concrete crunched as two pairs of feet got out of the vehicle.. The air was crisp and bone shatteringly cold, but it didn’t stop the figures from wearing inappropriately thin clothing, definitely unsuited for this weather, just after a heavy rainfall at 2am. Their breaths left their lips and noses in small huffs of steam, the car lights blinked when a blonde haired male locked it. The outside of this motel was.. shitty, like all motels in this ditched area, the slums as most locals would call it, somehow close and yet on the outskirts of the big city. Illuminated by a few half working lamps, all had a different colored light bulb in it, one more yellow other looked almost green, a definite eyesore..

The blond offered his hand, and the h/c haired figure accepted hooking their arms together, their strides synchronized as they made their way to the only different door, which had windows installed in the top half, that were half covered by frilly covers anyway, this was different as other doors were full wood and the only window was on the left side of each one, which were barred over with metal rods with chipped paint and rust over their surface. The smaller figure waited as the blond opened the door causing some ridiculous old beaver plushy to play an off note tune on its dying batteries, while shaking from side to side, on the small table, covered in newspapers and magazines from 2 decades ago..

With a huff the two figures walked beside the building, a balcony corridor of the 2nd floor provided a roof for the bottom one, the pillars supporting it were just as shitty as the rest of the motel, the paint cracked, some were even cracked from the inside, the concrete crumbling from the sides, weeds grew from the cracks near the ground or between the old, dirty and in some places even missing tiles, in front of every door was a different garden bench, the plastic ones were overrun by spiders, lost their colorful vibrance and some were cracked, missing armrests or back supporting ribs.

· · · ·

The two figures entered the lit up room, all cluttered and mismatched, with wooden panels going 3/4ths up the wall in a disgusting, over glossed orange, the rest of the wall was a faded gray green, and the ceiling yellowed over white, most probably because of the countless cigarettes the clerk seemed to smoke without a care in the world. With a soft thud the blond set down a bag he was carrying and looked to the woman which just then lazily looked up from her newspaper from today, between her manicured fingers of her left hand rested a crooked half smoked cigarette, on the top of the counter rested an ashtray shaped like a seagull sitting on top of the bowl, which was overfilled with cigarette butts.

“A single room for two, single bed” The blonde spoke, his tone dry but not hostile, just, neutral, his sharp eyes gazed to the clerk, who sighed and motioned to one of the few signs, hung up on the mismatched wall, ironically there was a sign forbidding smoking in the rooms, but the one the clerk meant was one that in big red and black letters said ‘This is a MOTEL not a SEX hotel’. “We came to have a one night’s rest.” The e/c eyed figure spoke up from beside the blonde “Name?” The old woman croaked, her lips were covered in some shitty, pink, glitter lipstick, that cracked with each letter that left her mouth.

“Nanami.” As this name fell from the blondes mouth the clerk looked up, her body definitely stiffened, this name was known, especially here, yakuza- The woman’s eyes wandered, seeing the tattoos peaking from under Kento’s collar, the figure beside him too, now their eyes wandered on the littered messy walls, looking with disgust, but there were tattoos on their neck too. The clerk swallowed a little before looking to her old box computer, signing in the two for a free room, she reached over to a small plastic container, which once was transparent, but now it was clouded yellow from the cigarette smoke. She pulled out a key with 116 number on it and set it on the counter.

With the sound of the creepy beaver plush fading the two made their way upstairs, to the floor above to their room which was far from the reception side and the staircase. Nanami held his arm hooked with y/n while his other hand was occupied with the bag over his shoulder and the key in his fingers. The two walked in silence, they had a reason to be here and not in Nanami’s quarters in the big comfortable bed. Y/n glanced to the man beside them and gave him a small smile, their eyes flickering to their room number for a moment before stopping.

The atmosphere felt tense now, instead of unwelcoming, the clerk definitely knew not to fuck with these people, especially under that name. “Its 1540 ¥ a night for a room.” She spoke her tone wasn’t too stuck up anymore too. Y/n found it amusing, their e/c eyes scanned the messy walls, with posters, newspaper cutouts, offers to buy or sell, rules etc. nothing seemed interesting, but they listened calmly to the exchange, when the keys jingled in Kento’s hand y/n looked over sparing the clerk but a glance, one that froze the woman in her tracks once more, the mischievous fox like glance and a smirk would be burned into the clerks head for a while..

· · · ·

As a pair of strong hands rummaged through the bag on his lap, a certain someone sneaked their arms around the blonds waist, their smile never fading, a little mischievous, their gaze sharp as they glanced towards one of the windows seeing the smallest of blinks, someone was watching. Their lips parted and leaned to the soft skin between Nanami’s neck and ear whispering, their words unreadable from lip reading as they tilted their head just enough to inconvenience whoever tried to peek at them. “They’re watching..” they whispered pulling on an act, having just a bit too much experience in this field with the blond, their hands explored his chest, unbuttoning a few top clasps of his shirt, reviling just a bit more of the big tattoo covering his back, one that only lucky survived seeing in its full glory.

Nanami opened the door and stepped aside for the other, just for his lips to be captured in a kiss, making his eyes widen for a moment, just before he let out a satisfied hum. With that the blonde was pulled inside of the tiny, sucky room, the door behind them shutting with a dull thud. Y/n pulled away as soon as the door shut with a small cocky smile tugging their lips, Nanami loosened his tie a little more than the figure before him did “Remember what we’re here for.” His words were simple, earning a nod and a smile yet again, but this one was hunting, a smile with a dangerous glint, one that always entranced the blond, who took the smaller hand in his and kissed it softly, before leading them to the bed.

· · · ·

With the only light lit in the room being the bedside lamp, small and shitty providing a dim orange light and even flickering once, the space was dark, dark enough for the two to carry out what they wanted, prepared, the bag was there for a reason after all. In a smooth motion, the blond turned, dropping the bag and caging the e/c eyed figure underneath himself, with a smooth move his hand traced up from their elbow to their palm, placing a cold handle in their hand and gripping it there for a moment as they carried out their act.

Y/n felt the adrenaline rush through their veins as their black kimono was slipped off of their shoulders and dropped aside, their lips briefly parting from the blond, their left arm wrapped around the broad shoulders of a man above them, his hair messy, falling in thin strands over his forehead. If this mission failed, this would be the last time they would see Nanami like this. Y/n chuckled breathily at the sweet nothings the blond whispered between the kisses. Their right hand gripping a cold metal handle, feeling of material wrapped in an intricate pattern under their fingertips, this was to be a quiet one, no guns, knowing who the enemy was, the dark colored blade didn’t even reflect light.

As the sound of the shower accompanied the constant buzz of the shitty lights and the sound of a  shitty small fan inside the bathroom, another sound joined after a moment, the sound of the door, these unlocked front door, left just for that one, special masked figure which slipped inside, with a knife prepared in their shaking hand, this person was afraid, petrified, after all their target was Nanami Kento himself, the head of the second biggest yakuza around, the boss himself, the one with a golden tiger on his back.. As the masked figure entered, the blond haired yakuza sat, shirtless, on the bed, his hands held together and elbows leaning on his knees, his eyes sharp looking to his assassin.

They waited for the right moment, that moment that came soon enough, an engine, a crunch of the concrete and gravel, then the dull thud of the closed doors. This was a small signal, Y/n got up from the bed, not without a few kisses here and there, they grabbed a towel hiding their right hand and went to the bathroom, Nanami was left alone, he felt the gaze on his back, if their suspicions were wrong, he would drop dead in a second, shot from a nearby building, but that didn’t happen.. yet.

· · · ·

The silver blade reflected the dim orange light, Nanami could see his warped image in the curved metal, which surely was covered in some kind of poison, it was the Orochi yakuza assassin, known for their poisoned blades. The bright blue eyes peaked out from under the mask, this being the only distinctive feature of the figure, which loomed closer, a soundless step after another “Your partner will find you drowning in your own blood-“ The figure spoke, their voice surprisingly kept together, seeping with venom, the blonds brow twitched, he knew all too well why he was targeted.

His dark eyes lingered on the assassin, who gripped the blade tight in their hand, their bright blues searching around Nanami, his hands, the bed, in case any weapon was around, they were to kill the boss and leave in one peace, a simple mission, yet something felt off. With one more step, Kento felt the nerves arise, Y/n was taking their time, he needed his little songbird, he gave up the only weapon he had to his sweet shrike. Now completely defenseless, Nanami felt the creeping doubt arise in the back of his head, but on the outside not a muscle twitched, his dull eyes almost unblinking looked into the one that could potentially bring him death.

A thud, the sound of the shower became louder as the creaking door flung open, the blue eyes catching but a glance of h/c as the figure took a leap, a black matte blade in their hands smoothly gliding between the left ribs of the black clad figure, a disgusting squelch sounded, then a guttural gasp and then, crimson, red blood seeped from under the black mask, the poisoned blade falling to the ground with a soft pad against the carpet. Y/n’s lips curled into a sadistic smirk, the shock, the fear and then the grimace of pain, agony, they found something so entrancing in these moments, their hands gripped the long katana handle twisting it one side then the other before dropping the body.

The figure still tried to fight, move their hand towards the blade, but this was met with a snap, a crunch of bones beneath a heavy boot of y/n’s, their gaze sharp, finding amusement in this kind of play, but there was no time to play, Nanami looked to the h/c haired figure and got up, grabbing their clothing, his shirt, y/n’s kimono, and setting them on a chair “Hurry up and die already~” Their voice purred as they crouched down to the groaning in agony figure, the blood spilling, staining the shitty carpet quickly. Y/n grabbed the poisoned blade and smirked, their hand grabbing over the assassins’ forehead, using the blade they pulled up the mask, just a little, a tattoo of a snake on the right side.

Nanami watched calmly as the sound of skin cut and blood splattering filled the room, the blood gushed out in pumps staining y/n’s hand and the blade, the room too, but it didn’t change much, it probably wasn’t ever cleaned anyway. They got up, gripping the masked head in their blood stained hand, they walked up to the window and held the head up, seeing once again, the blink of reflection, the deed was done. The blonde walked up to the h/c haired figure, a smile so small yet present tugged on his lips. His right hand rested on the bloodied figures waist, his left hand gently turned y/n’s head by their chin, his thumb, rough, lacking fingerprints, these carved out years ago, wiped a droplet of blood from their cheek.

His dark eyes flickered to the watcher, seeing the glint too, his gaze went back to his partner, which still held the head up to the window, just for a moment longer before lowering their trophy, the body behind them still bleeding out, impaled on the long black blade through its heart. Nanami kissed their cheek, where a small stain of blood was left “You’ve ruined your clothing.. But you finished your mission.” The male spoke between a few smaller pecks, trailing to their lips, there he placed a lingering sweet kiss, his hand trailing to their hair and gently brushing through the strands “My sweet Northern Shrike..”

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

@ryosmne​ @love-amihan​ @falling4fandoms​​

||if youd like to be added to the tag list, comment, send an ask or a dm :))

[purrincess-chat]

Kill Em With Kindness CH5

So, I know I said I wasn’t going to update again until I finished the rest of this, but my secret MDCSP project is taking up a majority of my writing time now, so I haven’t been in the mood to work on this one, so rather than keeping you all in suspense even longer, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 5 since it’s finished. But for reals next time I update, I will be finished. There are only 2 chapters left, so I’ll get to them eventually so the final two updates can be close together.

Read on AO3

Chapter 5

Marinette laid back on her chaise, humming along to Jagged’s newest single Liar. Adrien’s interview had just ended, so she kept her phone nearby for his inevitable call. While she knew about the rumors spreading about them, she still hadn’t been prepared to hear Adrien tell the world they were just friends on live TV. Part of her hoped that this thing with Lila would bring them closer, and it had—just not in the way she wanted. No matter. There would be plenty of time for flirting after Lila was taken care of.

When her phone buzzed, she lowered the volume on her playlist and answered. “Nice job on the interview.”

“Thanks. We’re in good shape for tomorrow. Clara told me she’s really looking forward to our shopping trip,” Adrien said. “I can’t wait to see the look on Lila’s face when Clara posts about her new fashion advisor.”

“Do you really think she’ll do it? I mean, I still have to impress her with my choices tomorrow. What if she hates everything I pick out?” Marinette bit her lip.

“Relax. You’ll do fine. I know you will,” he assured her. “Clara really respects you. She told me earlier that she’s hoping you two can be good friends.”

“For real?” Marinette shot upright.

“Yeah, for real,” Adrien laughed. “Funny how almost everything Lila lies about is coming true for you now.”

“Well, she has one thing on me. Jagged did write a song about her…” Marinette turned the volume up with a smirk.

I see through your disguise. Can’t touch me with your little lies.

Adrien chuckled at that. “Maybe we’ll make an honest girl out of her.”

“Doubt it. She loves the attention too much,” Marinette said with an eye roll. “But we’re the ones with the real connections, so we still have the high ground.”

“And we have each other. I promise I won’t let her get you ever again, Marinette. If she tries to hurt you, she’ll have to go through me.” Marinette’s cheeks warmed, and she leaned back against the pillow, trailing her thumb over her lucky charm.

“Thanks, Adrien. It means a lot to know you’ll always be there for me,” she said.

“Of course. You’re a dear friend, Marinette, and I know you’d do the same for me.”

She smiled up at her ceiling, pressing a soft kiss to the lucky charm as if it were his cheek. “See you tomorrow?”

“Let’s make Lila regret coming after you.”

***

Raindrops pattered against Lila’s umbrella on the abandoned street corner. Most citizens had moved inside to avoid the downpour, but Lila barely batted an eye. She had business to attend to.

Her mental clock ticked away the seconds until a silver car rolled to a stop to her left. She kept her eyes forward as the window rolled down, and Gabriel glared out at her. It wasn’t that he held any personal disdain for her. Gabriel glared at everyone.

“I’m growing impatient, Lila. Every time I turn around, I see my son with Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I thought you said you could handle her,” he said, and Lila’s jaw clenched.

“I’ve run into a few hiccups, but I assure you, I can take her out for good. I just need more time,” she said, watching the droplets splatter against the ground.

Focusing kept her from losing her temper. While it was incredibly tempting, Lila couldn’t afford to lose Gabriel now. She wanted to scream about how Adrien was plotting against her. That Marinette had been playing dirty. But Gabriel didn’t care for excuses. He needed results, so if Marinette was taking low blows, Lila would throw a few of her own.

“Perhaps it might help you to know that she and Adrien will be out shopping with Clara Nightingale tomorrow afternoon. Clara hopes that Marinette can give her fashion advice. She has dreams of being a designer, you know,” Gabriel said. “It would be a shame if something got in the way of those dreams.”

A smirk curled on Lila’s lips, the calm reassurance of Gabriel’s support relaxing her shoulders. “Understood.”

***

“Don’t be nervous.”

Marinette ripped her gaze away from the window and removed her fingers from her mouth. Wiping the chewed nubs on her pants, she let out a breath and began tapping her feet instead. Adrien gave her a soft smile and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll do great. Just relax,” Adrien said as they rolled up to Gabriel’s boutique.

Nathalie climbed from the front seat and opened the door for them, and Marinette took a deep breath.

“You’re right. I can do this. Clara wants to be my friend, so everything is going to be totally fi-” Her voice trailed off as they climbed from the car, blood running cold.

“Marinette? What’s wro- oh, no.” Adrien stopped in his tracks as Clara approached with the only person on the planet who could ruin this trip.

“Hey, Marinette, Adrien.”

Lila.

“Marinette, it’s so good to see you. This girl says she’s a friend of yours too,” Clara said, pulling her in for a hug.

“Thank you two so much for inviting me to come along on this trip. I’m such a big fan of yours, Clara, and when Marinette told me she was nervous about picking out your outfits today, I was happy to come along and assist,” Lila said with a sugary grin. “Marinette and I share a love of fashion, and we bounce ideas off each other all the time. Isn’t that right, Marinette?”

“I wouldn’t say all the time,” Marinette grunted, crossing her arms over her chest, and at Clara’s curious expression she added, “because you travel so much, right, Lila?”

“It’s true. There are so many countries out there that need our help. I’m just doing my best where I can,” Lila said, pressing a hand to her forehead in a ‘woe is me’ fashion.

“How very noble of you. I can sense a deep bond between you two,” Clara said, and Marinette suppressed an eye roll. Nothing bonded people more than mutual hatred. “Well, there’s nothing to stand out here for, so let’s go in the door.”

Lila shot Marinette a pointed grin the moment Clara turned her back, and Marinette exchanged nervous looks with Adrien. This trip had just gotten a lot more complicated.

An employee let them in, the boutique having been closed for their private shopping spree, and Clara twirled around with a cheery squeal. “I’m so happy having you all here. Nothing’s better than spending time with friends so dear.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Lila said, linking arms with Adrien.

“Ya know, I’m kind of in the mood for coffee. Why don’t you and I go get some, Lila? Nathalie can accompany us,” Adrien said, tugging her toward the door, but Clara’s bodyguard stood in the way.

“There’s no need for that today. Mme. Nathalie, will you fetch some straight away?” Clara said, and Nathalie nodded.

“Of course. You all carry on,” Nathalie said, oblivious to Adrien’s pleading look.

Adrien shot Marinette an apologetic wince, but she didn’t blame him. They should have expected something like this from Lila, so they would just have to navigate this one on the fly. It was risky, but Marinette had a plan.  

“Clara, why don’t we make this a little more fun? Why don’t Lila and I could both pick out outfits for you, and you could choose the one you like better. That way you have more options,” Marinette suggested, and Clara took her hands, twirling her around.

“I have been wanting to change my style, so let’s see what you two compile. For my first look, let’s keep it easy, an evening dress that’s not too cheesy,” Clara said before shimmying off to the dressing rooms.

“Not so fun, is it?” Lila said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know how you got in, but-” Marinette held up a hand to cut Adrien off.

“It’s fine. If Lila wants to play designer. We’ll let her,” she said before turning and stalking toward a rack on the other end of the store.

She shifted through hangers as Adrien fell in beside her. “Are you sure about this?”

“Look, Clara asked me to come on this trip, so obviously she respects my opinion. Not to mention your father, Audrey Bourgeois, and Jagged Stone have all praised my work in the past. I can beat her,” she said, meeting his gaze, and Adrien blinked in surprise.

“Anything I can do to help?” He asked, but Marinette shook her head.

“No. I have to do this on my own,” she said, grabbing a couple dresses from the rack and heading for shoes.

“You’ve got this, Marinette,” he said with a grin.

Marinette’s heart pounded as she assembled her outfit, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins only fueled her determination. Lila could challenge her in a lot of things, but fashion was hers. No amount of lying or deceit could take that away from her. She would beat Lila no matter what.

“I have your coffee.” Nathalie reappeared with two cups in a paper tray.

“Thanks, Nathalie,” Adrien said.

“Have you picked out your outfit, Marinette? I can take it to Clara for you,” Nathalie offered, and Marinette nodded, exchanging the garment bag for the tray.

“Thank you!” She bowed, and as Nathalie sauntered off, she let out a breath.

“Don’t worry. Clara will see the one with real talent in just a few minutes. No way Lila beats you,” Adrien said, and Marinette offered him a smile, taking a swig of her coffee before they made their way to the platform outside the dressing room to wait.

“She’s trying on Marinette’s pick first,” Clara’s assistant announced, and Marinette held her breath as the curtains parted.

Clara stepped out in a lime green skirt, a neon orange tiger-print shirt, a pair of red heels, and a black feathered hat, and Marinette’s jaw dropped.

“What?”

“Marinette, your choices are a little off the wall. I’m not sure I’d have paired these at all,” Clara said, examining herself in the mirror.

“But that’s not-” She stopped short, shooting a cutting glare at Lila. Her fists shook, angry tears burning her eyes. Accusations formed on her tongue, but she bit them back.

Of course Lila wasn’t going to play fair. She should have known better. Without even realizing, she’d played right into her trap. There was no way to win because Lila already stacked the odds against her.

“This must be a mistake. Marinette didn’t pick any of those things,” Adrien said, stepping forward. “Her bag probably got switched.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t pick that outfit,” Lila said, pressed a hand to her lips to hide her smirk.

Clara tapped her chin with a hum then turned to Nathalie. “You brought Marinette’s bag to me. Do you know where the real one could be?”

“I placed it on the rack for you, and then I brought your coffee. I’m not sure what happened after that,” Nathalie said.

“Hmm…This is quite the mystery, but this outfit not being Marinette’s is something I’m glad to see,” Clara said, giving it one last disgruntled look in the mirror. “Having you come on this trip was such a delight, so I’ll give you one more chance to get it right.”

“Thank you, Clara!” Marinette breathed a sigh of relief.

“In the meantime, why don’t you try on my outfit, Clara?” Lila said, casting an impish smile over her shoulder at Marinette.

“It would be my pleasure. Let’s see how your picks measure.”

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest as Clara retreated to the changing room and turned to Adrien. “I should have known she’d try something underhanded like this to make her outfit seem better. I can’t believe I fell for it,” she sighed, flashing Lila a sardonic grin when she waved to them.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her next round so she can’t switch your outfit out for something lame,” Adrien whispered as Clara emerged from the stall.

“Now this is what I’m talking about. This outfit is totally me, no doubt.” Clara hopped onto the platform and gave a twirl, and Marinette nearly blew her top.

“But that’s-” Marinette started, clamping a hand over her mouth. “A great choice. I would have picked the same thing.”

Only she had because it was hers. Lila hadn’t just swapped her outfit for a ridiculous one—she’d outright taken it. Marinette could beat her easily, and Lila knew that. Rather than just make Marinette look ridiculous, Lila took it one step further and used Marinette’s talent to make herself look better. If there weren’t so many other people in the room, Marinette would have transformed on the spot and ripped her head off!

“Lila, your understanding of my style is quite profound. Marinette will have to try harder next round,” Clara said, admiring the stolen red dress. “For my next look, I want something more hearty—an outfit that will make me the life of the party!”

Marinette stormed from the dressing area, and Adrien followed her to the men’s changing room on the other side of the store. Pulling the curtain closed behind them, Marinette leaned against the wall with a huff, cupping her cheeks.

“Lila was ready for that. She’s catching up,” Adrien said, taking the wall across from her and crossing his arms over his chest.

“She’s already caught up, and now she’s ahead of us.” Marinette shook her head. “We need to gain back some ground.”

“What should we do?”

Marinette drummed her fingers on her jeans before digging out her phone. Adrien didn’t question as she dialed furiously then pressed the phone to her ear. She answered on the third ring.

“Hey, girl, how’s your shopping trip going?”

“Alya, I need you to do me a favor.”

***

Adrien paced across the floor to where Lila sifted through a rack. She didn’t look up as he approached, but an amused smile curled on her lips.

“Marinette has such strange taste, don’t you think?” She asked, holding up a bright green blazer.

“I told you to leave her alone,” Adrien said, and Lila rolled her eyes.

“And yet every time I mess with her, you do nothing,” she said, returning the jacket to the rack. “You could end this whole charade right now by telling Clara you didn’t really invite me, but you’re not going to do that, are you? Because that wouldn’t be very nice.”

“I mean it, Lila. You’re messing with Marinette’s dreams, and that’s not okay.” She examined his stern expression with amusement.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” She asked, and Adrien held her expression for a long moment before stalking off.

Marinette was finishing her second outfit when Adrien rejoined the group by the dressing room, and this time, Marinette personally handed Clara the bag. Adrien stood guard by the curtain, shooting daggers at Lila the moment she approached which only made her chuckle under her breath. He wasn’t taking any chances. Lila wasn’t going to ruin Marinette’s dreams. He’d see to it.

When Clara emerged, she skipped onto the platform and gave a twirl. “Now this is a party outfit that’ll make me dance! I’m so glad I gave you a second chance.”

“You look awesome, Clara. Marinette is super talented when her actual picks don’t get switched around,” Adrien said pointedly.

“I couldn’t agree more. This outfit is one I simply adore!” Clara said, stepping down to take Marinette’s hands. “Your style is simply the best. When it comes to fashion, there’s no contest.”

“Thank you, Clara. That means the world coming from you,” Marinette said, that spark of confidence returning to her eyes.

Lila’s jaw clenched, and Adrien high-fived Marinette. For added insult, he draped an arm over her shoulders as Clara tried on Lila’s outfit. It didn’t matter what Lila had picked; she was no match for Marinette when they were competing honestly.

“Hmm,” Clara hummed, twisting in the mirrors to see the dress from all angles. “A lovely choice, don’t get me wrong, but this outfit just isn’t my song. Your first choice was far more on the nose, and I’ve got to be honest, these shoes are hurting my toes.”

“That’s okay. Marinette is incredibly talented. The only reason I won the first round was because of that mix-up. I’m sure she’s got something amazing up her sleeve for this next round too,” Lila said, curling her shoulders in the fakest show of humility Adrien had ever seen.

“Then let’s not waste any more time. I can’t wait to try on an outfit so divine. Tonight I will be Nadja’s TV guest, so let’s see which one of you is really the best!”

---

As Marinette took off, Adrien shot Lila a warning look before following after her. It was cute that he thought he could intimidate her into being nice, but Lila had direct orders. Things were going exactly as planned, and those two idiots were falling right into her trap. Soon Marinette’s aspirations would be nothing more than a pipe dream.

When Nathalie emerged from the back with a garment bag, Lila sauntered over to meet her. “Is this my dress?”

Nathalie responded by offering Lila her phone, and Lila pressed it to her ear.

“Nathalie tells me everything is going according to plan,” Gabriel said on the other line.

“Of course, Mr. Agreste. Marinette thinks she’s getting ahead, but with your help I’ll make sure her dreams are crushed for good. Then she’ll be sure to stay away from Adrien,” she said like a dutiful student.

“Good. I’m counting on you,” Gabriel said before hanging up, and Lila lifted the bag with a smirk.

Marinette chose the wrong opponent to challenge, and Lila was about to prove that she didn’t lie about everything. She really was going to take everything from Marinette. Clara was just step one.

---

“I still don’t trust Lila,” Adrien whispered while Marinette browsed the wall of shoes.

“Don’t worry about her. We’re onto her little game now, so it’s impossible for her to steal my outfit again, and we both know Clara prefers my picks to hers now without a doubt,” Marinette said, sounding confident, and under normal circumstances, Adrien would have been proud. Lila, however, was not normal circumstances.

“I know you’re better than her, but I just have a bad feeling. I don’t trust her,” Adrien said, glancing at Lila in accessories out of the corner of his eye.

Marinette zipped her bag up then turned to look him in the eye. “I’m not asking you to trust her. I’m asking you to believe in me.”

Her bright blue eyes glowed with determination, and although he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut, he nodded her on. Marinette was brilliant and amazing—Adrien knew that quite well. She had a bright future ahead of her so long as nothing got in her way, and one thing was certain: if Lila even tried, Adrien would never forgive her.

“Alright, chickadees, let’s see what you’ve got for me,” Clara said, bouncing in anticipation.

Marinette didn’t spare Lila a single glance as she paced over to Clara, but Adrien hung back to make sure she behaved. Lila seemed to all but ignore him until the last moment when she shot him a playful wink that sent his blood boiling.

“Oh, Clara, since I know Marinette is probably going to win, will you try on my outfit first?” Lila requested innocently. “Naturally, mine will pale in comparison, so I want you to give it a fair shot.”

“Lila, that’s quite the humble stance. I’d be more than happy to give yours a chance.”

Adrien instinctively bristled when Lila passed off her bag. What was she up to? His stomach churned in knots, and he stepped closer to Marinette, gleaning comfort from close proximity as if he could protect her from whatever scheme Lila was trying to pull.

When Clara emerged again, every jaw in the room dropped, and Adrien’s mind whirled with a thousand thoughts at once. That dress wasn’t part of the normal collection—it was one of a kind. Adrien had overheard his father and Nathalie talking about it a few days prior. He wasn’t entirely sure how Lila got her hands on it, but it wasn’t by accident.

“This dress is so…so…” Clara gasped, abandoning her riddles and rhymes as she stared in awe.

Lila beamed, clasping her hands behind her back. “I really wanted to impress you this round, so I asked the staff if they hand anything special in the back. I truly care about your style, Clara, and I wanted to prove that to you.”

“Your attention to detail and willingness to go the extra mile certainly make you standout, Lila. I’d love for you to be my new style consultant,” Clara said, clasping her hands together over her heart.

Adrien’s heart snapped when he turned to Marinette, her once confident demeanor now shriveled in defeat. Lila caught his gaze, tilting her chin up with a smirk. I win. She seemed to gloat, and Adrien’s hands clenched into fists.

“Clara, I know this dress is beautiful, and I’m not entirely sure how Lila found it,” he started, shooting her a quick glare. “But designing is Marinette’s true passion, and in my professional opinion, I think she would make an amazing personal stylist.”

“It’s fine.” The voice was Marinette’s, and she turned to Lila with a small smile. “I’m really happy for you, and I know you’ll do an amazing job.”

She held her head high and threw on a smile despite the anger and humiliation she must be feeling. They were committed to being kind to Lila in front of everyone, but Adrien didn’t care about that now. Lila had taken something from someone who deserved it, and more importantly, she’d done it to someone Adrien cared about. If Lila was going to ignore his warnings, then he’d have to repeat them a little louder.

“Clara, why don’t you try on Marinette’s pick just for fun. She worked really hard picking it out,” Adrien suggested.

“While my search has come to an end, I’d be more than happy to wear something picked by a friend,” Clara said, brushing Marinette’s nose with her finger before climbing back into the changing booth.

Adrien marched over to Gorilla, yanking his collar down to whisper in his ear. Lila was going to learn the price of hurting people precious to him. He didn’t care if it wasn’t nice. Lila wasn’t a nice person, so just this once, he wasn’t going to be either.

With everyone focused on Clara, no one noticed when Gorilla clamped a hand over Lila’s mouth and carried her to the back. A single employee followed, opening the door to the private bathroom as Gorilla tossed her in.

“What do you think you’re-” Lila’s voice trailed off when Adrien approached, hands shoved in his pockets. “Is this the part where you try and intimidate me? It’s not going to work. I know your little niceness scheme is all an act, and I’m about to leave you both in the dust.”

“Maybe,” Adrien said, leaning against the doorframe with a shrug. “But you seem to have forgotten where you are. Did you really think you had the advantage in a shop named Agreste? In case you didn’t realize, everyone here works for me.”

“You’re too late. I’ve already won,” Lila shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Clara picked me, and Marinette will never make it as a designer.”

“Marinette is going to be just fine. I’ll see to that,” he said. “Clara respects my opinion, so she’ll listen to me.”

“And why would you convince her to pick Marinette over me? Doesn’t that contradict your whole plan to nice me into compliance?” Lila asked with a smirk. “As soon as we go back out there, Clara will still have picked me, so this whole conversation is pointless.”

“Who said you’ll be going back out there?” Adrien quirked a brow. He stepped away from the door, and an employee stepped in to lock it from the outside.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Lila beat against it, furiously tugging the handle.

“It’s such a shame you’re so busy, Lila. Clara will be disappointed to hear that you’re too busy volunteering to clean public restrooms to devote time to being her personal stylist. I’ll be sure to send Marinette your best,” he called from the other side. “Don’t worry. Someone will let you out after we leave.”

“Adrien! Let me out!” Lila screeched, but he was already walking away.

Clara was admiring Marinette’s outfit in the mirror when he returned to the dressing area, and he draped an arm over Clara’s shoulders. “Marinette did an amazing job, don’t you think, Clara?” He asked, shooting her a wink.

“It’s true that Marinette has good taste. Not picking her would be a waste…” Clara hummed, tapping her chin. “But Lila’s pick is still on my mind. A dress like that deserves to shine.”

Marinette’s shoulders slumped, and Adrien pursed his lips. “I know you picked Lila, but I think you should reconsider.”

“Where is Lila anyway?” Marinette glanced around, and Adrien bit back a smirk.

“Oh, uh, you see, Clara, Lila has a very busy schedule. Her parents are ambassadors, so she is always traveling. She pulled me aside while you were changing and expressed worry over being able to devote the time to being your stylist,” Adrien explained smoothly. “She was absolutely thrilled that you wanted her for the opportunity, but she just has so much on her plate right now.”

“I see. Well, that’s a real pity,” Clara said, and Marinette eyed him curiously as Alya burst into the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” she panted, doubling over to catch her breath.

Adrien stepped down to retrieve the pink sketchbook tucked under her arm. “Designing is Marinette’s true passion, and while she is good at pairing other people’s designs, creating her own is where Marinette really shines.” He offered Clara the sketchbook and nudged Marinette forward. “I know you had your heart set, but Marinette is incredible if you just give her a chance.”

“Wow, Marinette, your skills are certainly plain to see,” Clara said, admiring her sketches. “So, what do you say? Will you design clothes for me?”

“I- Yes! I would absolutely love to! Thank you, Clara,” Marinette gaped, and Clara took her hands.

“The pleasure is all mine. Your designs are so divine! This deal is all set. I’m so happy that it’s you, Marinette,” Clara said, giving her hands a squeeze.

“What’s happening?” Alya asked, quirking a brow, and Adrien smiled.

“Marinette just became Clara Nightingale’s personal stylist.”

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Promises

He didn't have a lot of friends. That required trust, and trust just wasn’t something Billy Hargrove did. Except with Steve Harrington, apparently. Steve was his friend, which was fine. Billy would have preferred a lot more, but that did not seem particularly likely. Not for lack of trying on Billy's part, honestly. At this point, Billy was so overtly flirty with Steve that he was worried he had overshot genuine interest and was fast approaching the realm of parody. He had spilled his beer on Steve no fewer than four times in the past several months in the hopes that Steve would go to change out of his wet clothes and realize halfway through that just...hanging out in his underwear would be totally fine. Instead, Steve always disappeared into Billy's bedroom, completely at home in Billy's space, and came back wearing Billy's clothes. And that was somehow worse?

And the thing was—the thing was!—Steve clearly wasn’t uninterested. He blushed when Billy teased him. His breath hitched when Billy touched him sometimes. His pupils went wide when Billy stretched or flexed or did that one thing with his tongue. And he didn’t avoid touching Billy, like just about everybody else did, or touch him like he was something fragile or broken. He touched Billy casually all the fucking time. He hugged him when he arrived, and fell asleep against his shoulder, and tucked his feet under Billy’s thigh on the couch, and kissed him on the cheek before he left. He even kissed him on the fucking forehead sometimes, which made Billy feel small and blushy and unbearably cared for.

Billy wondered sometimes if he should just be honest with Steve, but that was tricky, wasn’t it? Because in this particular case, he couldn’t be honest with Steve without betraying a little too much about himself. And it’s not like he had all that many secrets left. Neil was gone and his treatment of Billy was common knowledge, at least among the people who knew what had actually happened at the mall. So, the vast majority of the people Billy actually talked to anymore. It turned out that competent doctors could tell the difference between recent monster trauma and years of physical abuse, and Steve's little group of nerds and their various hangers-on were around enough and had overheard enough to put it together. The fact that Billy was not actually into girls was also common knowledge among that same subset of people, but only because Billy had been in a coma, so he hadn't been able to mention to Eleven that she might not want to share that little tidbit with her friends. Billy wasn’t mad—couldn’t be, not at her—and with Neil gone, he supposed he had a little less to fear on that front. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to do anything about it, aside from continuing to flirt shamelessly with Steve. So he only really had the one big secret left.

Here's how it was: Billy Hargrove, at the time that he was impaled by a massive interdimensional flesh monster, did not have a whole lot to live for. He had a shitty father and a mother who had fucked off quite a while back and a stepsister who had not yet given up on him for some reason, but who was also probably better off without him. He had a hopeless crush on a gorgeous, oblivious straight boy; several delightful mental images of that same straight boy in a frankly pornographic sailor outfit that he somehow had to wear for work; and treasured memories of California, but not quite enough money or guts to fuck off back to the beach where he came from, with or without Steve Harrington. All of that stuff was good, and it got Billy through the day sometimes, but none of it was actually something to live for. Steve Harrington in that sailor outfit came the closest, but Billy was never going to get to take it off of him, so what was the fucking point?

And Billy knew, even though he didn't exactly remember it, that it had gotten pretty bad for him a few times as he was recovering. Like, 'they were sure they were going to lose him' bad. And people had said a lot of fucking stupid things to him, both while he was in the hospital and after he got out, about fate and love and redemption. About holding on for the sake of the people you cared about. About not knowing what you had until you lost it. About how he must feel so lucky to be alive. And Billy hated all of it so fucking much. He wasn't alive because he had had some big epiphany about how precious life was, or because fate had spared him, or because he thought anyone on the planet would spend more than about thirty seconds being sad if he died. What he did have, what had actually kept him going when it got bad, were these...well, they weren’t anywhere close to clear enough to be called memories.

They came from that long, hazy period when his body was gradually knitting itself back together. When the boundary between being asleep and being awake hadn't seemed real at all. When he had almost no visual memories, aside from brief flashes of fluorescent lights or the shadows of people moving around above him. He had a handful of half-remembered phrases in various voices: Max whispering sorry, El whispering I won't tell. And these...other sentences. These promises, in Steve Harrington’s low, husky voice.

Billy was in no way certain that they were real. He didn't know how much of anything from that time was real. What they were was meaningful, which made it fucking impossible to talk about them. Unlike all the bullshit about fate and family and redemption, they had helped him. Had helped a lot, actually. Had given him something tangible to live for when it would have been so much easier to just let it all slip away. But that was the other thing--they weren't exactly things that Steve Harrington would actually, conceivably say to him. They were things he would have killed to hear from Steve, would still kill to hear from Steve, but Steve was sweet. Goofy, affectionate, kind. Unfailingly supportive. An invaluable friend throughout Billy's recovery. An invaluable friend who consistently, gracefully deflected Billy’s obvious flirting. It hardly seemed possible that he had said those things, and Billy really didn’t want to find out that he hadn’t. It was too awful to contemplate. Because, shit, they still kept him going sometimes, a year and a half later.

The first one came to him from far away, like he was hearing it from the bottom of a well. “I swear to God, Billy, if you make it through this I’ll let you choke on my dick whenever you feel like it.” So, like, there was a fair amount to unpack there. First of all, Steve almost never actually called him Billy, even now. And secondly, literally everything else about that sentence. It wasn't possible that it was real. Billy had to have made it up, given himself a fucking reason not to move toward the light or whatever. And if that had been the only one, he would have dismissed it as an obvious fabrication of his own mind without a second thought. But it wasn’t.

The second one was a little clearer, though all of them were maddeningly hazy. Had he actually felt Steve’s breath against the shell of his ear while he'd said it? It was impossible to say. “Hey gorgeous, hang in there, ok? Wouldn’t want you to die before I get the chance to fuck you so hard you forget your own goddamn name.” It was true—he absolutely did not want to die before that happened. That one had gotten him through some bleak nights, even after he woke up. He still got half hard every time he thought about it.

The next one was maybe Billy’s favorite. Although, honestly they were all his favorite. He wasn't sure he had ever treasured anything more. The third time, he was almost sure he could feel the warmth radiating off of Steve’s body as Steve leaned in next to his ear. “Come on, tiger, you gotta get through this so you can show me absolutely everything you can do with that tongue.” A little less filthy, maybe, but no less motivating. He did want to do that, very much. He had thought about it quite a bit while he was in the hospital. He still thought about it just about every time Steve came over to his apartment, which was often.

The fourth one changed it up a bit. “We’re going to sit there on the sand and watch the sun set over the ocean, and I’m going to make you cream your swim trunks right there on the beach.” And goddamn, that was quite the mental image. Fuck a bunch of holding on for the people you cared about; that was worth living for.

The fifth one was ragged, a little desperate. “You can’t die, baby. I’ve never let anybody put their dick in me before, and you have to live so you can do it.” That one came with the gentle sensation of a hand in his, the phantom press of lips to his temple. He was pretty sure he woke up just a few days after that one. And rightfully fucking so, honestly.

So yeah. He still had the one secret. And there was no fucking way to talk about it without revealing way too much about himself. So he didn't talk about it, and he was never going to talk about it, and he was going to go to his grave not knowing if any of it was real, and he was going to be fine with that because there weren't any other options. Until Steve slipped up.

It was far too early on a Saturday morning. Steve had arrived at an even more ungodly hour and had dragged Billy out of bed for some weekend trip. He wouldn't say where they were going, but he promised it was going to be great, and Billy could sleep in the car, and they were going to have the time of their lives. So Billy was slouched grumpily in the passenger seat, nursing an enormous coffee and periodically glaring at everything out the window for having the audacity to exist at this hour. He didn't glare at Steve. All of this was Steve's fault, but Billy couldn't be mad at him when he looked all sleepy and his hair was a mess and he was wearing his fucking glasses instead of his usual contacts. Billy couldn't be mad at him under any other circumstances either, but he deliberately didn't think too much about that, so it was fine.  

Billy watched out of the corner of his eye as Steve sipped his own coffee and stifled a yawn. Steve had spent the first half hour of the drive not talking at all, but the coffee was apparently kicking in, so now he was trying to get Billy excited about his mystery plan.

“Come on, tiger, you’re going to love it,” he finally said. Billy wasn’t fully awake, so it took a second for it to land. Come on, tiger. When it did, Billy’s head snapped up, eyes wide. It could easily have been a coincidence; Steve would have been fine if he had just played it off, but that's not what happened. When Billy looked up, Steve was staring intently out the windshield, resolutely not looking at him. But his shoulders were creeping up around his ears and his face had gone scarlet. Billy felt a grin spreading across his face. Suddenly, he was on top of the goddamn world; this was shaping up to be the best day of his life. He stared at Steve’s profile for a long moment as the flush from his face spread down his neck. The atmosphere in the car was electric. Billy took a deep breath and tried to get himself under control. Steve's entire demeanor had hope beating wildly in his chest, but there was still room for this to end in disappointment.

“Absolutely everything, huh?” Billy said it quietly, carefully, deliberately, and then he held his breath. Steve made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and Billy felt giddy. Steve had been right--they had only been on the road for forty minutes, but Billy was already having the time of his life on this trip. Steve didn't say anything, but after a few long moments of silence, he pulled the car over onto the shoulder. After he carefully put the car in park and turned it off, he dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. He didn't lift his head when he spoke.

“I didn't think you remembered," he said slowly. Billy didn't say anything and after a moment, Steve gave a little sigh and continued, still talking mostly to the floor. "The first time, it was a fucking Hail Mary. You were declining fast and nothing was working, and I just...I had a hunch. So I waited until everyone else had left the room and I tried it." Billy was absolutely delighted picturing it, Steve flushed bright red, leaning down to whisper stuff about his dick into Billy's ear. "They kicked me out right after that, at about four am. They told me to go home and get some rest, and to be prepared for bad news. But when I got back to the hospital a few hours later, you were doing better.” Steve cleared his throat. “Apparently you started improving shortly after I left. I told myself it was probably a fucking coincidence, but part of me thought that maybe it had actually worked." He huffed out a laugh. "I could barely fucking believe that you weren’t dead; it was bad. And then a couple of weeks later, it got bad again. So I tried it again. And you started doing better again. And then it was like this secret that we had. That I had,” Steve corrected himself. He sat up and dropped his head back against the headrest, but he still wouldn't look at Billy. He stared out the windshield instead. His  face was still bright red. “And then you actually woke up. I didn’t know if you remembered any of it, and I didn’t want to be the kind of person who would come onto you while you were in a fucking coma and then act like you owed me something afterwards, so I kept my mouth shut.”

"Steve," Billy said softly. Steve rubbed his hands over his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Billy stopped breathing for a second.

"Don't," he said quietly. They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Billy decided that he had to know what exactly Steve was apologizing for. “Did you...” he started to ask, but he found that he couldn’t finish the sentence. Steve glanced at him and his face softened before his eyes shied away again.

“Mean it? Yes. Fuck yes. Every word.”

“Then what the fuck, Steve?” Billy had been beyond obvious for months. Steve sighed. His hands came back up to his face, and then he sat up straighter and squared his shoulders.

“You just...you went through something so awful, and it was like...your world got so small. You were trapped in the hospital, and now you're trapped in Hawkins until they clear you to leave." Steve glanced over again, and his voice got smaller. "I just...I really wanted you, but I didn't want you to do something you'd regret just because I was there, you know? And I still don't want you to feel trapped into something just because you can't leave this goddamn town. I would never want you to be with me just because you don't have any other choices."

Ok, so there was plenty to unpack there, and all of it was wrong. Except the part where Steve said he wanted Billy--that part was the best thing he had ever heard. Well, the sixth best thing he'd ever heard. There was a silence while Billy thought about what he wanted to say. He took a breath to psych himself up.

"The first thing you should probably know is that I was into you well before any of the Mindflayer stuff even happened. So there's that." Billy cleared his throat, watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. "And the second thing you should know is that I got cleared to leave Hawkins over a month ago." Steve's head whipped around, wide eyes on Billy's face.

"Then why..." Steve trailed off. Billy had considered leaving, but only briefly. He wanted to go back to the beach, he did, but not by himself. Not anymore.

"Steve," Billy said again, giving Steve a look. "You know why." After all, Billy had been the opposite of subtle about it. Steve just stared at him, eyes going impossibly wider as Billy deliberately took off his seatbelt and moved into Steve's space. "But fine, if you need me to spell it out, I'm definitely not in this car with you right now because I don't have any other options."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve's. Steve responded immediately and enthusiastically, and something that had still been wound tight in Billy's chest eased. By the time they broke apart to breathe, Billy was practically in Steve's lap, both of his hands up under Steve's shirt. Steve had one hand at Billy's lower back and the other buried in his curls. They sat panting a little, their foreheads pressed together. Billy smiled wickedly.

"I would just like to point out that you made a lot of promises about what was going to happen if I didn't die, Harrington, and I held up my end of the bargain." Steve's answering smile was bright and just a little cocky.

"I'm looking forward to keeping every single one of those promises, Hargrove. We can start as soon as we get where we're going." Billy frowned at him.

"I survived being impaled by a giant flesh monster because you promised me--"

"My giant flesh monster?" Steve cut in, cracking up halfway through. Billy snorted, but did not further dignify that with a response.

"As I was saying," he said instead, "I am alive today because you have a really nice dick and a filthy mouth, and I have been waiting on both of them for months, and I am definitely not waiting three more hours to get started." He punctuated this declaration by reaching for the top button of Steve's pants. He had it and the next two buttons open before Steve reached out to stop him.

"Billy," he hissed, "we are parked on the side of the highway! We are not doing this here. Literally anyone could look over at any time and get a fantastic view of exactly what we're doing." Steve had a point, but Billy didn't have to like it.

He sighed and kissed Steve one more time, hard, before he reluctantly clambered back over to the passenger seat.

"Fine," he said. "We can compromise." He leaned over and grabbed Steve's wrist to look at his watch. Then he smiled at Steve, sharp and a little predatory. "I'm going to start sucking your dick in twenty minutes, if not before. We're still in fucking Indiana, so that should give you plenty of time to find some deserted back road somewhere." Steve was already starting the car.

He grinned over at Billy as he pulled back into traffic and made his way to the next exit.

"So you're going to start at the top and work your way through them, huh?"

"Maybe. We'll just have to see," Billy said. He paused. "I gotta say, pretty boy, I'm legitimately fuckin' impressed. I didn't know you had it in you." Steve smirked at him.

“Hey, give me some credit. I knew you well enough to know that if I had mentioned feelings, or called it making love, you would have immediately chosen the sweet embrace of death.” Billy laughed along with Steve because Steve was right: at one point, Billy absolutely would have done that.

Not anymore, though. Not if it was Steve. But he wasn't about to just blurt that out, so. He could still have one secret. For now, anyway.

[monsoonblooms12]

Detectives by Chance: Chapter 8- The Final Bow

Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?

A/N: This is the end. The end of the first ever series, the first ever fanfics I ever wrote. It's melancholic you know? Bidding adieu to Open Heart and Detectives by Chance all at one? Anywho, I hope you enjoy this piece💕

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Rating: Teen (to be safe)

Warnings: Blood, Murder, Swear Words, Gun Violence

I would recommend reading the previous parts first, because I am sure this makes little sense without knowing what happened previously.

Read the previous chapters here!

The trail from the crumpled door to the back ground felt likes hours of navigating through the blazing desert, no one in sight.

The scarlet memoirs of the wounds that now covered her skin did not give her much relief either. Blood soaked into her shirt, colouring it red from cream at a steady rate. Lazy tracks formed as solitary drops slipped down to meet the ground.

Papers clutched with a death grip, her resolve did not waver. After all the goose chase she had done in the manor, she was sure she could do this. But then again, there was not much of a choice there.

Ethan's POV:

A hazy screen appeared before his orbs as they slowly, timidly, fluttered open, as if scared to look around. A blackness had spread around him, and his mind could not make out if it was a musty old dungeon or some place else.

Soft scents of the intoxicating vanilla and bluebell perfume gently let him know of their presence, and he sighed in relief.

Wherever he was, he was close to her.

And with that knowledge came a subtle sense of calm, a realization that as long as he was near her, he wouldn't mind even dying.

He just wanted her, his strength, with him.

He tried to get up, and the wince of pain came almost immediately. His legs ached due to the cramped position in the short space of wherever. As he managed to pull himself up from the sleeping position, a very faint jingle of keys could be heard in the background of his groans.

Then with a click, the front door flew open and he unclearly made out a thud of some kind of folder in the front passenger seat. Soon the driver's seat was occupied as well, and the engine was raved to life.

The scent of vanilla and bluebell grew strong and he knew it was her.

"Pooja?" He whispered so lightly that for a second he wondered if he had even spoken it aloud.

"Ethan! Oh thank fucking god you are- Ah!" She was cutoff mid sentence by a horrifying but muted shriek which had escaped as she tried to close the door.

"Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay!" Worry laced his tone as her other hand painfully completed the supposedly easy task.

"You are okay and I've everything we need to save Lex & Mark. That's all that matters, E."

"What about you?"

But her attention had already shifted to the driving the automobile. She had always been like that, too unconcerned about herself. As well as he knew her, he was sure she had been biting her lip a tad bit harder with every moment just to keep painful screams at bay.

"It doesn't matter."

A shrill roar suddenly invaded the eerie, uncomfortable silence of the abandoned area. The voice was human, but the intensity of the sound reminded them more of an enraged tiger trapped in a cage, ready to pounce at the chance of freedom.

Staying here for a second more could be a dangerous idea.

A slow pain spread though his forehead, an after-effect of whatever that was forcefully injected during his investigation of the murky place, too dishevelled to call it even an office, let alone a hospital. The ache became all-too-consuming, his struggle to keep his eyes open turning futile. The blackness grasped him steadily as consciousness bid adieu and the dangers of the world in front of him, at bay.

End of Ethan's POV

Pooja's clutch on the steering wheel was so hard that the fingernails that dug into its material left deep moon shaped indents, as a mark of their visit. The teeth pressed so deep into her lip that it had drawn blood. The gap of the missing tooth felt like an aftermath of the reckless rescue operations she had led at the building.

Why did her mind refused to cooperate with her now, when she had finally made her way out?

Another line of thought began to form, but before it spread it's being, a second horrifying scream broke through the audible silence like a dagger.

Sweat of hardwork was now the cold sweat of fear. A sense of great danger that lingered now completely flooded every chamber of her heart & she refused to stop.

Digging her teeth into her lips, tears streaming as every movement made her want to shriek and wail in agony, she revved the engine, turned the steering & fled out of there.

————————————

A rash drive followed. She sped through the roads, going straight without a turn until she was sure the they were not being followed.

A safe distance away, she stopped. Every moment was precious now, but she was done. She could not do this anymore.

Hell, she could not do anything anymore.

The left portion of her shirt that she wore was now soaked in scarlet, the stench of blood growing on her. She doubted that if she wasn't a doctor, she would have thrown up or passed out by now.

Pooja looked behind, the scarce daylight making it a difficult job to be done. She was quite sure that Ethan had been overcome by another bout of unconsciousness and the feeling of helplessness spread through her chest, forming a hollow through its path.

Her head felt light too. The injuries were starting to show effects, although the overwhelming sense of failure and danger had already numbed their pain.

Taking a deep breath, and another, and another, she tried to centre herself, though not to much avail.

Something she had realized was now, the necessity to keep moving was a need & not a want.

A slow kick on the gas pedal & she carried on her journey to the final destination.

————————————

At the police station, the unfolding of events occurred like a film sequence set on fast forward.

Pooja had barely made it there, an urgency ringing through her mind, a constant worry that she was late, too late. But thankfully, she wasn't.

Dragging her foot (her entire body, at this point) she entered and almost fell face down on the station floor.

Hastily handing over the evidence she had meticulously collected and suffered all the injuries for, she tried to explain what she had found.

Officers repeatedly asked her to calm down, but she refused. The three of them, Ethan, Alex and Mark, They were her family. They always mattered more than her. They always will.

At last, all she managed was to point a finger at her car, before her body gave up on the fight. A small smile of satisfaction decorated her tired, overworked features. It was a win. A well deserved one. A strange sense of pride, overwhelmed her as she slowly faded into unconsciousness.

————————————

It has been 36 hours since the ghastly raid of Miles's manor.

The evidence collected opened a lot of tied knots, the page from Miles's diary, even though muddy, serving priceless for the investigation. Almost everything got crystal clear from it.

Pooja underwent a major surgery, and was still under bedrest. Minor to Major, there were a plethora of injuries that needed to be treated. Recovery was going to take a long time but her response had been up to the mark.

As for Mark and Alex, the court deemed them not guilty for any of the charges made against them & they were released. The very instant they rushed to the hospital, tears streaming down endlessly both in gratitude & in worry.

Miles Danvers, as expected, was not found. The manor was investigated after the release of Mark & Alex, a big mistake, and nothing was left behind except a few beeping machines & broken furniture. The investigators now await Pooja's recovery for interrogation & to close the case as soon as possible because stories of a deranged murderer roaming around the dark streets doesn't exactly spark a rush of serotonin through the citizens.

Meanwhile in a dark, gloomy alleyway:

It had been seconds too long. The man's pace faltered at slightest sounds, fingers fidgeting the two ring that shone under whatever little light reached the area.

Why were they not here yet?

But his wait was cut off soon. Muffled footsteps echoed like, every step closer increasing their intensity. Even though he had been expecting them, his heart leapt up his throat, which tightened in fear.

He turned around, not being able to make out their faces. But at the time, he found it to be a blessing in disguise, because he was sure he would have thrown up from the fright of being the cause of their anger.

A hand extended out, the silver bracelet dangling from it gleaming in moonlight. It gripped the lapel of his coat, and a scared murmur escaped him without caution.

The person on the other side, let out a slow growl of rage, boiling blood coursing through their veins. The man's teeth chattered, the cold pressing against his skin even more as a chill ran down his spine.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the touch of cold metal against his neck made him shudder.

It was... It was a gun.

"Thi..s, Th..., This w-was not what, w-what we plann-nned upon." He quietly muttered, shocked that sound still escaped through the dryness of his throat.

"What were you supposed to do?" The person, no, the man, That man, growled, the evil of his heart almost visible in the spoken words.

The man stood soundless. It took two hard knocks of the metal to make him speak.

"K-K-Kill"

"And what did you do? Let her escape with a bagful of evidence." The words were being hissed now, with so much intensity that the man was surprised that he hadn't peed his pants yet.

"And since" The gun was displaced and he let out a sigh of relief. "You did such wonderful work, you deserve to be rewarded."

And before the man could even process what just happened, a single shot pierced through the fog settling around, and hit right in the forehead.

Seconds later, his lifeless body met its origin & any sign of life in the alleyway seized to exist.

End Note: Open Heart ended and it feels unreal. I have had a weird, wonderful journey with it. I would have never come to tumblr, make edits or write fanfics if not for it. It is a series which many of us, me included, hold close to our heart.

Firstly, I would like to thank everyone who provided their precious thoughts over the past chapters of this series. I always have & always will hold Detectives by Chance close to my heart, because it has some of my earliest fanfics & it was the beginning of a wonderful journey for me. So if you took your time & have followed this story from the start, I am so very grateful for you. Thank you❤

With OH ending, many have chosen to continue in this fandom & some have decided to move on. Whatever your decision may be, I hope you be happy & have a good time ahead💕

Detectives by Chance gets a Bonus part, with no relation to the storyline, like not an epilogue, but something that will answer the lingering questions. As for if this is really the end of DbC or not, I will let you guys decide that😉

Tags (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you):

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Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010

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