Piccolo Arms Crossed Novels & Stories

“Here I was, planning to be nice.” “You’re never nice without a reason,” I said, squinting. “What are you plotting, Cross?” He leaned in slightly, and I hated that my heart noticed. I leaned beside him, trying to stay cool even though our shoulders were dangerously close. Too close. “Okay, fine,” he said, holding up his hands. “I may have a tiny idea. Like microscopic.” He held his fingers barely apart. “Spill,” I said, arms crossed. “Let’s hear how microscopic it really is.”

“Croissants. From the place that pretends they’re from Paris.” “Bless you,” I muttered, taking one. Lila perched on the arm of the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “So… I woke up to your face all over my feed again. It’s giving ‘star-crossed scandal sequel.’” I groaned. “Please don’t start.” She grinned. “Relax. I’m not judging. I’m just saying — the man looked like a walking heartbreak out there. You could feel the tension through the photos.”

I parted my lips to speak, but he shook his head, nodding negative before clicking his fingers. “You want him?” he asked again. But somehow, I knew it didn’t sound like a question. “Well then... I’ll let you have him. After all, it’s just... sex, isn’t it?” Maccini asked. The door swung open. Two men walked in, Nico hanging off their arms. He had cuts in his thighs, arms, chest... face. He looked as though he’d been cut.... and stitched up in his legs! And cut again? Stitched arms all over again. He was bleeding... everywhere.

The corridor was silent. Sunlight, sliced by panes of glass, fell across the marble floor. Even the fine dust in the air looked like diamonds. Ewan strode over to me and wordlessly grabbed my wrist, squeezing it hard enough to make it hurt. His breathing was a little heavy. He parted his lips several times, but the words didn't come. "So?" I lifted my eyes to his, keeping my voice flat. "How I am has nothing to do with you anymore."

The silver fork slipped from Leo Lovera's hand and clattered to the floor. Sophia Costa's smile froze. I sat in the antique chair she had complained was too hard, my fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. "Go tell my father I'll take care of the annoying rats in the estate soon." My eyes swept over the fork on the floor and the woman in the revealing robe. "Understood, Principessa." Bruce didn't spare Leo so much as a glance. He simply bent slightly at the waist, waiting for my reply.

“Because I finally realized something.” “What?” “That I don’t want power over you.” He held her gaze, voice low, steady. “I want a place beside you.” The silence between them deepened, not uncomfortable, but charged. She reached across the table, fingers brushing his wrist. “That sounds dangerously like you’re human, Cross.” “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, mouth lifting in a crooked smile. “It’ll ruin my image.” The laugh she gave him was soft, real. And in that moment, surrounded by candlelight and quiet music, Damon felt something he hadn’t felt in years, ease.

He’s probably my age too but if I call it how I see it. The girl speaks up again, trying to get back to her territory. “Too bad, you’re mine now” She begs and for a moment I kind of want to let her go. That voice, so pleading – so desperate… Instead I let out a chuckle, trying to hide my thoughts. I drag her closer to my body, her small frame almost disappearing when she’s so close to me. I place my one arm around her neck, feeling her gulp. The other one I place by her small hip, feeling the bone jutting out through the thin material of her dress.

"Uhh, I guess I was late, huh!" he settles in the branch he was standing and folds his arms crossed close to his body. He intently stares at the beautiful maiden happily glaring at the moon with her dress hugged into her arms. "Well, at least you're happy..."

Third-Person POV Meanwhile, Xavier had his head down as he tended to Tiffany's arm after her allergy flared up. Red rashes covered the entire length of her arm, and she'd even scratched some spots to the point that they were bleeding. Xavier held up a cotton swab, his movements gentle. "Does it hurt?" "A little," she replied. "Hang on a little longer, okay? We're almost done." His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and glanced at the screen, noting the message from Serena that read, "Let's break up, Xavier."

The heat felt good against the cool breeze that whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of smoke, pine, and whatever sweet drinks people were spilling. Bodies moved in loose circles near the speaker—some dancing with wild energy, others just swaying while talking loud over the music. A couple of teammates started an impromptu arm-wrestling match on a log, bets flying with cups and a few measly dollars as stakes. Laughter erupted when one of them lost dramatically, rolling into the dirt. Ethan felt the buzz building, his cheeks warm, thoughts loosening at the edges. He laughed at a joke he only half-heard, joined a toast to the win when someone raised a cup in his direction.