#i actually almost cried a few times because of how beautiful she is and how good i recreated her

[gaypleasantview]

Some mysteries are bound to remain unsolved 🥀

[erwinsvow]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

summary: you were a pogue, and now you're a kook. just like how once you were no one's, and now you're rafe cameron's.

author's note: here it is!!! imagine like s1 rafe with the s2 hair, and basically just having a former-pogue girlfriend through out the whole season. i just think rafe would actually be such a good boyf, he just needs someone to settle him down when he gets a lil crazy. follows the sequence of s1 until about 3/4ths down, where i just started making stuff up. you might read this & think no one would act like this.. and that's fine, i know they wouldn't, but this is a self indulgent story for rafe <3 part 2 of the other seasons maybe? enjoy!!

now spinning: black beauty by lana del rey (soooooo rafe coded! he just needs a hug and some pussy!)

word count: 13.5k

warnings/tags: wheeze is a toddler for no reason. reader isn't the biggest fan of the pogues at this point in time. smut: oral (f receiving), fingering, degregation, use of daddy, rafe calls reader kid because <3, lemme know if i forgot something!

“So that’s it? Really? Your mom is marrying a Kook and you’re moving across the island… just like that?” John B speaks to you as if you had any choice in the matter. You look at him sadly, but you’ve cried so much the last few days, it’s hard to find any more tears.  

You want to tell him, want to explain everything. The way your mom has been so lonely for years, ever since your dad passed away. The way she would pull double-shifts every week just to make sure you had the nice, trendy shoes and hot dinner every night. The way you grew up in the cut but it never felt any different than growing up in figure eight, because she took care of you.

And now it was your turn, to take care of her. Blake Richards was rich, and he wanted to take care of your mom, which meant for the first time in a long time, she would be the one being taken care of. And you owed that to her, you owed that much.

“I-I don’t really have a choice, John B. I mean, this is my mom. And she’s getting her chance to be happy. I can’t ruin it for her.”

“Yeah, I get all that but, like, does this mean you’re gonna go full-Kook on us? Because I think that would just be disturbing,” JJ says, and you crack a smile, even as you feel a tear spill down your cheek. 

“I don’t think I could ever go full-Kook.” It comes out quietly, a notch above a whisper.

“Hey, hey,” you hear John’s voice again, as he stands up to get closer to you. You feel embarrassed, the way your cheeks flush and heat up when he’s only a few inches away from you. He wipes the tear away with his thumb. “No crying, okay? Nothing has to change.”

The way he says it, you almost believe him.

“Right,” you say, still quiet. There’s a sob stuck behind your throat, and you don’t want the boys to know how upset you really are. You’ve stitched up these boys more times than you can count, set shoulders and bones and nursed bruises for them. “Nothing has to change,” you repeat, trying to convince yourself. Everything was about to change, starting with your relationship with them.

And that’s the one thing you wish could stay the same. Deep down, no matter how many times you were teased and laughed with, there was a part of you, buried away, that thought you would end up with one of these boys one day. Sweet John, funny JJ, smart Pope. Well, maybe not Pope. You’ve seen the way he stares at Kie, even when no one else notices.

But John and JJ, the possibility of being with one of them always lingered in the air. Even when they’re flirting with tourists or cracking so-called boy jokes that you just wouldn’t understand, you always thought they were your endgame.

If only you knew. 

Pope and Kiara drive up, just as you’re wiping away another tear. You’re dreading repeating everything to them, shedding more tears. 

౨ৎ

“Who is that?” Topper asks, eyeing some girl entering the club. Rafe was getting sick of Topper crying over every pretty girl he saw on the street when he was supposedly dating his sister. He hardly cared about Sarah, daddy’s favorite, but that was his family, and he wouldn’t tolerate disrespect to his family. 

“She must be fresh meat,” Kelce says, “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Tourist?” Topper questions. Rafe downs the rest of his drink. 

“Nah, man, see that guy ahead of her? That’s Blake Richards. My dad works with him, he’s a big finance guy. He’s a widower, but I guess not anymore.” 

“Step-daughter? Jesus,” Topper says. “It’s like a cheesy porno. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he married her mom to tap that, I mean-”

“Enough,” Rafe snaps. “Shouldn’t you be in a fight with my sister?” Topper blanches. 

“I mean, look at her Rafe. That is something special,” Kelce says, and then finally, Rafe lifts his head to look at you.

You look… confused. Your head is turning, taking in everything about the club, like you’d never been there before. A waiter comes up to your family with tall glasses of water, little pieces of cucumber and lemon floating around in them with ice cubes. Richards—your step-father—takes a glass and hands it to a woman who can only be your mother, with the same hair and complexion. Before he can take a glass to hand to you, you take it from the tray yourself, smiling and saying thank you. The waiter, some teenage Pogue, blushes at your affection.

When you start walking, continuing the tour, the waiter turns to look at you walk away, gawking like men do when they see something pretty. Rafe feels an overwhelming urge to punch the kid, and cover you up with his jacket. 

You’re not in anything too immodest, compared to what he’s seeing girls at the club walking around in, but it feels like it’s too much for the leering eyes that follow you. Your jean skirt comes down a little less than half-way to your thighs. Your shirt is white, with puffy sleeves and little buttons that tighten around the chest.

He sees a glimpse of cleavage, which makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, not in the way he’s used to when he sees a pretty girl. He wants to take his shirt off his back and slide it onto you, buttoning it up all the way and making sure no one else looks at you the way he’s looking at you right now.

“Rafe?” his friend calls, and he’s not sure which one. In your glancing, you turn towards Rafe and you lock eyes for a second. You must have noticed him staring. You probably think he’s crazy, but he doesn’t seem to care much at the moment. Your mother must have beckoned you, because you turn away in a second, walking towards the older couple, trailing behind them again.

“Be right back,” he says, leaving a confused Topper and Kelce behind him at the table. He cuts through the tables near the bar, entering the walkway where your family is already, but coming out of the other end. He gets there just in time to run into Richards, who’s leading the little group.

“Hi, Mr. Richards, right?” he says, holding his hand out. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Oh, Rafe, hi,” the older man replies, shaking his hand. Rafe grips hard, making sure Richards doesn’t think he has a wimpy handshake. Otherwise he’s never gonna agree to what Rafe has in mind. “I haven’t seen you in years, I mean you were half your height last time I was over at Tannyhill.”

“Crazy, right? Well I just wanted to say hi since I ran into you. How’s, uh Benny and Brax?” 

“I can’t believe you remember them, they haven’t been to Kildare in years. They’re good, yeah, Benny’s in California now, and Brax is out at law school, at Oxford.”

“Oh yeah, international law, right?”

“Yeah,” Richards says, smiling wide. “You’ve got quite a memory, son, I’ll have to tell Rafe when I see him.”

“Oh yeah, he’s around here somewhere.” Then, he makes his move. He turns his gaze to your mom first. He thinks about it briefly, but if he addresses you before her, your mom will be on guard. He knows how their minds work. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, I’m Rafe,” and he shakes your mom’s hand, but turns back to Richards for the introduction—something else in his little cheat-sheet of rules. Let dad do the talking, so he feels like he’s in control. 

“Rafe, this is my wife, Anna-”

“Nice to meet you, Rafe,” your mom smiles at him sweetly, and he smiles back. 

“-and my step-daughter.” You smile, and hold your hand out. He shakes your hand, gently, and looks at your face, because he can tell the smile is forced. He wonders why. 

“Nice to meet you.” he says, and you smile that forced way again.

“You too, Rafe.” You let go of his hand, and it’s good, because if he held on any longer, the adults would get suspicious.

“First time here?” he questions, still looking at you.

“Yes,” your mother answers, laughing, if not a little uncomfortably. “Is it that obvious?”

“Nah, it’s a lot to take in, I remember that much.” Richards smiles at him, almost beaming. He knows Rafe has been coming here since he could walk. That means the old man appreciates him trying to comfort his new family. Another step closer.

“It is,” Anna says, looking at her daughter. She has those worried eyes, the one Ward’s new wife won’t stop looking at him with. 

“Well, it’s the perfect place to be all summer. I mean, pretty much everyone our age is at the pool or the courts.” At his mention of the both of you, you look up from staring at your shoes quickly to looking right at him. He smiles. You don’t smile back. 

“Really?” Richards asks, still openly friendly.

“I mean yeah, Mister R, I remember Benny on the golf course, like, everyday. And Brax, I mean he practically taught half of us how to swim.” Richards nods and laughs, continuing small talk about his sons. Rafe sneaks another glance at you, and you look back knowingly, like you can smell his intentions from a mile away. 

“Honey?” your mom asks quietly. “Do you wanna go with Rafe?”

“What?” you reply quickly, surprised. You weren’t listening, and he tries hard not to laugh.

“Well, I can take you ‘round, introduce you to everyone. I’ll finish the tour if you and Mrs. Richards are heading up to the course?” He nods at the golf clothes your parents have on, that you are lacking. 

“I think that sounds great, right, honey?” Anna presses, and after you lock eyes with her, you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, sure,” you say quietly. Rafe smiles again.

“Great, great, yeah. Well, it was great to see you Mister R. Missus R.”

“Thank you, Rafe. Kiddo, you can ask for the car to go home when you’re ready, okay? Your mother and I are going to get dinner here.” Anna looks up confused, probably wondering how they’ll get back.

“I’ll call someone to bring the car back, honey,” he explains, and your mom smiles.

“I can also take her back,” Rafe interjects. “Tannyhill is the same direction, and I’m headed back anyways. If you wanna leave the car here.”

“Really, Rafe, that would be great, thank you.” You look even angrier than before, but the plastic smile spread over your face doesn’t faze them.

“Right, thanks, Blake. Bye mom,” you say, and then lean over to kiss her on the cheek.

You watch them walk away, chewing your cheek and turning back to Rafe with anger splashed all over your pretty features. 

“I can’t believe that worked on them,” you tell him quietly, smiling when your mom turns back to look at you before they turn the corner. Your parents were too gullible sometimes.

“Yeah, me either, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you reply right away. “And despite what you think, I’m not touring this place with you. I’m probably never coming back here after today.” You start walking away, in the opposite direction of your parents, when he chases behind you.

“Y’know, I don’t get you. Every girl your age lounges around here all day, and everyone else wishes they could.”

“Well, you know what they say,” you start, smiling sweetly, though he sees through it again. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

“Really?” he shrugs. “Never heard that before.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have.” 

“Come on, you’re not even giving me a chance. You don’t even know me.” You laugh at that.

“Yes, I do, Rafe, you just don’t recognize me.” You continue your brisk pace, looking for the exit and getting closer. He reaches out to grab your forearm, holding you back for a second. He guides you into the corner, between the hallway where there’s no one else around.

“Yeah, that so?” Rafe is almost caging you in. He’s so close you can smell his cologne and the scotch on his lips.

“I’m from Kildare, Rafe.” You try to break free of his grip, but it proves even harder than you thought. He holds you in place without even breaking a sweat.

“No, no, no, because I know every pretty girl in Kildare. And you’ve definitely never been here before, so-”

“Really? Even the ones from the cut?” You thought that would be enough to get him to drop your arm, but he doesn’t budge.

“Huh. So that’s why you’ve never been here. Old Man Richards married a Pogue and made her daughter into a Kook? Did I get that right?”

“I’m not a Kook,” you say, squirming, because you still don’t want to be trapped by him. His cologne smells good, your mind wanders and thinks, like ocean air and sandalwood. You snap out of it at once.

“Not yet, you’re not.” 

“I’m not going to be, either. A little money isn’t going to change anything for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, kid. That’s what everyone says, ‘til it does.”

“Rafe, let go of me, I said let go-” And he does let go, quickly, and your arm falls. Faint red marks appeared when he was holding on, what can only be a bruise tomorrow. He’s marked you, and you’re not half as angry as you would have thought. 

“Come on, kid, we’re finishing this tour. I promised,” he says, and the last bit is so mocking, you can’t believe mom and Blake fell for his act. 

He takes you around the entire club, shows you the restaurants, the spa, the pool. At least a handful of girls stare at the two of you walking side by side, but Rafe doesn’t look back at anyone. You don’t know how to feel about that.

The oldest Cameron isn’t a mystery to anyone in Kildare, but you don’t know anything about him besides what the boys have told you. JJ hates him, naturally, John doesn’t let you look at him in passing, and even Pope can find a few bad things to say. But right now, he’s not doing any of those things you would have expected once he found out you and your mom are from the other side of the island. The crude jokes and gold-digger comments are nowhere to be heard.

But you can’t write him off completely yet. After all, this is Rafe Cameron.

He finishes the tour on the golf course, so you can wave to your parents on the course. You’re sipping on a lemonade through a little pink straw, and he finds it hard to look away when your cheeks hollow to draw up the liquid. Your mom and Blake wave back, and you smile—genuinely—for maybe the third time that morning. 

“They’re good together,” Rafe comments, on the walk back to the front door, where his truck is waiting. 

“Do you really think that?” you ask quietly. You’re tired, he can tell, drained from trying so hard to make sure he knows you hate him. 

“Yeah, kid, I do. He’s been a widower basically my whole life. And he married your mom, so he must really love her.”

You can’t tell if he’s just saying it to get on your good side. You hope he’s not. Through all of this, all the crying and the suffering and how much you miss your old life and your friends, if your mom doesn’t at least end up happy, it’ll all have been for nothing. You feel more tears brewing.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you end up saying quietly, as you put on the seat belt in the passenger seat of his truck. His music plays softly in the background of the drive - rap, something you've heard before but can't place - back to Blake’s house. With your window down, you stare out of it and try to pay attention to the breeze in your hair rather than the entirely overwhelming scent of Rafe, which is all-consuming in his car.

Rafe turns to look at you every few minutes. You look perfectly in place in his car, leaning against the panel with your eyes closed. That means you trust him, even though every word you say makes him think otherwise.

Your eyes flutter open when he puts the car in park, outside the door to your house. 

“Home sweet home, kid,” you hear his voice in your ear, but he sounds closer than he should be. When you turn to look, he’s leaning over you and so close to you, you feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask quickly, heartbeat picking up and rocketing off. 

“M’just getting the door for you, kid.” His arm flexes, only an inch or two away from your chest, pulling the handle and swinging open the door. He leans back into his seat, smirking. “Why, what'd ya think I was gonna do?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in and swallow uncomfortably. Your throat feels dry and your palms are suddenly clammy.

“Nothing.” 

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

You climb out of his car, shoes hitting the ground a little too hard. He strains his neck, trying to make sure you’re okay. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, not meeting his eyes, closing the door behind you. 

“Anytime, kid. I’ll be seeing you around.”

You thought he would take over the second the passenger-side door was shut, but he doesn’t. He stays and watches you fix your skirt that had ridden-up on the drive, and walk into the front door, glancing behind you, just for a second, before going inside. And then you hear the roar of the engine, only after the door was closed and you were safely inside.

౨ৎ

You didn’t take it literally, that you would be seeing him again. Rafe seems like the type to play with his toys and get bored before long, but true to his word, you see him days later. And to his luck, you were feeling even worse than the first time you met him.

The morning started like any other—showering in a bathroom that’s just yours, and no one else’s, and attached to your bedroom. You can hardly remember the years when your dad was alive, but after he passed, you and your mom moved into a tiny two-bed, one-bath with your mom’s best friend. You were there for the next five years, until she got married and moved out, and it was just the two of you. But even in all the years since, you’ve never had your own bathroom until now. 

You shower as long as you want, whenever you want. Your room is in a completely different hallway than the master, where Blake and your mom sleep. You blast music at night, singing along off-tune from the bathroom, and would stay on the phone for hours with your friends. If anyone answered your calls anymore. 

It’s been three weeks since you broke the news to everyone that you were moving. Two weeks since you actually moved. One week since Rafe walked you around the country club and drove you back home, like you belonged to him. In that time, you’ve driven down to the Chateau twice, walked by Kie’s house, which is now just a few blocks away, and texted multiple times—all with no responses. At first you panic, thinking something’s happened, but then you realize this was what always happened. When you’re off on an adventure, you don’t think about who’s waiting for you back at home.

That’s what’s running through your mind when you run into Rafe again that day.

You had showered without interruption, taking your time doing your hair up just because you felt like it. There was no work to be done, no chores assigned to you anymore. Breakfast was always prepared when you went downstairs, so you took your time getting ready now. 

You missed a lot of things about your old life, but the limited time and constant rushing and anxiety were not among them. 

Your clothes were picked out with the anticipation of seeing your best friends again, your favorite overalls from the thrift store—which had been bought when you were still two sizes too small for them, and had been baggy on you until last year, but they were such a steal your mother refused to let you put them back—and a yellow shirt to match your ratty, yellow converse. They had been washed so many times they were more brown than yellow, but it didn’t matter much. 

This outfit was the old you, and it brought up feelings inside you that nothing in figure eight could change. You wore it because you wouldn’t look any different to your friends in this outfit, and for maybe a few hours, you wouldn’t be the girl in the fancy house with the country club membership anymore.

“You look nice, sweetie,” your mom says, when you head downstairs. She’s drinking her coffee at the table, your step-dad nowhere to be found. It’s eleven in the morning and she’s just woken up too, in her robe and slippers, and you smile, watching her more relaxed than you’ve seen in years.

You swing by her side of the table to give her a kiss, and steal a piece of toast from her plate. You’re relieved she doesn’t mention your clothes, not when she keeps offering to take you shopping with Blake’s money, which you keep refusing, but is getting more tempting every time you step in a puddle in these shoes.

“Thanks mom, I’m going to see the boys and Kie, I’ll be back later, don’t wait up!” and with that you’re gone, before you can discern the disapproving look in her eyes. 

Your junky old car, older than you by several years and still somehow the nicest thing you own—used to own, a voice chirps in the back of your head—is hidden around several fancy cars in the driveway. It’s intentional, you’re sure, and likely your mother’s doing. Nothing embarrassed her more than you handing out constant reminders of your old life to everyone around you.

And then you’re on the way to the Chateau, windows down and no music, since there was no way to connect your phone and the radio was busted by Pope a year ago, who claims he was trying to fix it. 

But it’s what happens when you get there that embarasses you the most—no one’s there, and no one will answer your call. You wait around for a half hour, trying to see if they come back, but they don’t. 

And that’s when it hits you. They were off on their adventures, and you weren’t just down the street anymore, which meant you weren’t invited. You get back in your car and slam the door, humiliated, tears falling down your face and probably ruining the makeup you had done, stupidly, this morning, because you wanted to look nice for them, like your old self for them. You don’t realize until later, after you were done crying, and seen Rafe again, that your friends didn’t want to bother you while you were adjusting to your new life. 

You feel betrayed, and the words that John had told you rattle through your head, because he was wrong. Everything had changed, and nothing would be the same. 

You take off, heading back home. There’s a big storm brewing and your Accord gets dramatic in the rain. It’s not until you cross the border back into figure eight that you realize two things. One, that you had just thought of your new house as home for the first time. And two, that you had never felt more alone. 

There’s not much to do about either of these feelings, besides stopping for the biggest bowl of ice cream you can reasonably carry back home, and eating it in your room, crying and watching You’ve Got Mail for the hundredth time.

So that’s what you do, pulling into the ice cream shop closest to home. Your car also doesn’t have the greatest functioning air conditioner, and you don’t need any more questionable stains in your seats, considering how many times JJ had borrowed it and returned it, promising you it’s nothing and that that spot in the back seat was always there!

In line, tapping your foot, calling your mom’s cell. Your eyes are puffy and your nose is red from crying. She’s not answering, but the unspoken rule of your little family is to always, always call when you’re getting ice cream in case the other wants something. You’ve only been gone something like two hours, and you can’t imagine what she’s doing that she can’t answer your phone. You dial Blake’s number, hoping he answers instead, and while it’s ringing you realize it’s your turn to order. You haven’t even looked at the menu yet. 

You turn to the people behind you, telling them they can go in front, but when you look up from your phone, you almost drop it. 

Of course it’s Rafe Cameron behind you. Of course. Who else would it be? Who else would keep catching you at your lowest moments? He’s with a little girl, who can’t be older than four or five, with dark hair and glasses, holding his hand patiently while staring up at you, while you stare at him and he stares back.

“Rafe, she said we can go in front,” she says, tugging on the hand she’s holding. 

“Yeah, Wheeze, I heard. Let’s go order and then thank this nice girl for letting us go ahead, right?” The little girl nods, and follows him up to order. Rafe looks back at you but then your step-dad answers, so you turn away, cheeks heating up. You don’t want him to see.

“Hi, what’s going on?” you hear his voice through the phone, sort of staticky and jumbled. 

“Hi, Blake, I just wanted to ask if you and mom wanted ice cream? I’m at the place… yeah, the one near the house.”

“Oh, yes, let me ask her, one second-” You hear him put the phone down, or cover the mic, and then, “Honey! Kiddo’s asking if you want ice cream.” 

You feel yourself soften a little bit at the nickname. And then you hear your mom and Blake talking back and forth, for what feels like ages. The girl behind the counter looks at you with a glare and you try to look back at her with an apologetic smile, but you’re a little fed-up from the emotional turmoil you’ve just endured. 

“Hi, sweetie, I’m okay, I had some at the club with lunch and twice in a day is just not a good idea-”

“Just get it, who cares? We can have it later tonight too-”

“What if the power goes out? It’ll melt, and then it’s just a waste of money-” Crap. You hadn’t thought of that.

“We have generators for that.” Blake picks up the phone again. “Hey, kiddo, get your mom her usual and make sure you use the card I gave you, okay?”

You hang up the phone, smiling, and then order. It feels weird, being oddly comforted by someone other than your mom or your friends for once. In your distraction, you don’t see Rafe and the little girl hovering near the freezer window that showcases all the ice cream they offer. When you’re reaching for the shiny black Amex, you hear him again. 

“I got it, kid,” Rafe says, pressing his matching card against the reader and pushing your wrist down and away. He does it so easily, without trying, just like he did in the country club. You look up at him stupidly, brain not registering what he just did and why he did it, and you don’t move for a moment. You don’t move until he leans down a little, close enough to smell that enticing cologne again but not nearly close enough. 

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’. And you should probably get out of the way.” You blink back up at him, and he’s smirking again. You feel kind of stupid, the way he’s talking to you, but you also don’t mind as much as you thought you would. The girl behind the counter yells out Next! and that’s when Rafe takes you by the arm, just above where he had bruised you, and moves you away himself.

“You okay, kid?” he asks, and you feel yourself melt like ice cream left in your car for too long. You don’t know if he really means it, or if he really cares, but you do know Rafe Cameron needs to stop talking to you like he likes you, or you’re going to be in trouble.

“Fine, yeah. Thanks, uh, thanks for the ice cream.” You’re still blinking slowly, stupidly, stuck in a daze. You should really get it together around him. It’s a little pathetic if a strong grip and a couple of nice actions gets you acting like this. That’s a problem for another day right now.

“Is she okay, Rafe?” the little girl asks quietly from beside him. 

“No idea, Wheezie. Why don’t you sit and eat your ice cream?” he replies, and she sits down a few tables away, beginning to shovel chocolate ice cream with a tiny wooden spoon.

“Hey,” he says, and you begin to snap out of it. It’s raining outside now. You hear the pitter-patter of the drops on the roof. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yes. I am. I just had a bad morning. Sorry.” But you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

“Well, are you gonna talk about it and shit? ‘Cause I don’t know you that well yet but you’re kinda freaking me out right now.”

“I-I…I just-”

“You, you, you just?” he mocks, and then when tears fill your pretty eyes and he sees one slip down your face, his own eyes panic briefly. “Hey, hey, I was just joking, kid-” He pulls out a colorful chair for you, and sits you down next to Wheezie, who is still eating ice cream at an alarming rate. Your ice cream is ready at the counter, and he brings it down next to you, holding his own strawberry cone in his hand. 

“Hold this for me Wheeze,” he says, not really asking, and the little girl shakes her head right away.

“How’m I gonna eat mine then?” 

“Wheezie,” Rafe says, in a voice that you haven’t heard him use before—and then you realize how stupid you sound. You’ve talked with him twice, you don’t know anything about the voices he uses or how he sounds when he’s talking to this girl who can only be his little sister. 

“Can I have some?” Wheezie propositions back, and Rafe nods. “Okay!” she says, taking a bite of the scoop with her front teeth.

“So, y’gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to guess everything?” 

“My friends, I just keep missing them, or they keep missing me, maybe. I just wanted to see them. It’s really lonely here, that’s all.” You’re staring into his eyes, his really, really blue eyes that are currently a little alarmed and concerned, and the fact that they’re that way for you is making you a little dizzy. 

“Yeah, I get that. Sorry, kid, that’s the lay of the land, right? Not a Pogue anymore, are you?” 

“I don’t know what I am.” You feel silly and embarrassed for pouring your heart out over ice cream with Rafe Cameron. He doesn’t know you, and he never will.

“Well, right now you have a choice. You can sit here and eat ice cream with us, or you can go home and cry about it alone. But if you choose the second one, Richards and Anna will see you, or hear you, and ask about it. And I’m not gonna keep asking if you don’t wanna talk. So pick one before this shi-stuff melts, okay?” 

You nod dumbly again. You’d like to turn your brain off and let Rafe decide for you. 

“I need a spoon.” He smiles, not smirks, for a second, before getting up to get you a spoon.

A few things float through your mind while you eat ice cream with the Camerons. First, Rafe remembers your mom’s name. Second, Rafe doesn’t swear in front of his kid sister. And third, and most important of all, Rafe Cameron cares about you.

“That’s a lot of ice cream,” Wheeze, or rather—as you’ve just learned—Wheezie, comments.

“I was feeling really sad,” you reply, shoving another spoonful into your mouth, watching the little girl eye your peanut and chocolate ice cream inquisitively. “You’ll understand someday.”

“Boy problems?” she asks, and you can’t help but crack a smile. Rafe looks up from his phone momentarily 

“Not really, but a good guess. This would also apply to that situation.”

“My sister’s always got boy problems.”

“Really?” you ask, and then look up Rafe. “You have another sister?”

“Yes,” he says, in between licks of strawberry ice cream. You should really look away when he does that, because your heart rate is picking up. “And she’s even more annoying than this one.”

You laugh while Wheezie frowns.

“If I’m so annoying, why do you always take me for ice cream, huh?”

“She’s got you there, Rafe,” and you resist the urge to look at him, even when you can feel his eyes on you. 

“Because you wouldn’t stop asking, dork, that’s why.” Wheezie shrugs in reply.

“I’m not gonna finish all of this. You want some, Wheezie?” you ask, offering her your spoon. She looks back at you smiling, and then at Rafe for permission, who nods.

She digs into the pile left, while you finally give into the urge to look up at her brother again. He takes another lick of his ice cream and you look away within a second. 

“Been eating that for a while, haven’t you, Rafe?”

“Yeah.” 

Somewhere in between Wheezie eating so much of the ice cream so quickly that she gets a brain freeze, and Rafe finally tossing his half-eaten cone into the trash, it’s time to go home. And as much as you hate to admit it, you don’t want to leave. The rain is coming down hard outside, a preview of the impending hurricane.

“Drive here, kid?” he asks, as your feet hesitate by the door. 

“No,” Wheezie answers, “I came here with you, dork.”

“Not talking to you, kid,” he replies, rustling the top of her hair with his hand, getting an ugh, Rafe, in response.

“Yeah. Yes, I drove here. But my car doesn’t do so good in the rain.”

“Huh?” he questions.

“It’s old, okay. Junky. The AC is broken. And the radio. Sometimes she just stops, y’know?” You gesture to your blue car parked out front, the rusty, tiny sedan two spots down from his shiny truck.

“No, I don’t know. Richards lets you drive around in that thing?”

“She.”

“It’s a car. Barely, at that.”

“She has a name, okay. HoHo. That’s her name.”

“Alright, well, you’re gonna have to ditch the hoe, because I can’t let you drive home in a hurricane in… that.” You turn to glare at him. “Her, sorry.”

That’s how you end up soaking wet in the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck, Wheezie secured in her booster seat and Rafe even wetter than you are. He drops you home and says the two of you can go pick up your car tomorrow—if it’s still there, he adds at the end, leaning over you again to open your door. You stare at him dumbly again, which has now become a bad habit, and it’s not until Wheezie says you’re getting her wet in the back that you finally climb out and close the door. You stand behind the front door with your mom’s melted ice cream in one hand, and your phone with Rafe’s contact saved in the other, wondering what exactly just happened. 

౨ৎ

The next few weeks pass through as quickly as they came. Your car—to your chagrin and your mother’s joy—does not survive the hurricane. Blake gives you a fancy, luxury car to drive around in that he just had laying around, which you don’t believe for one second. But, your mom is pleased when you actually start driving it, and you can actually listen to music from your phone and enjoy air conditioning and the most luxurious of luxuries—a backup camera. 

The night of the ice cream shop incident, Rafe texts you. You were completely ready to wallow in bed, waiting for the text from him that never comes, drowning your sorrow in more ice cream, but he does text you. First and right away. 

R: Is it wrong if I hope hoho drowns tonight?

that’s so mean. she never did anything to you.

R: She’s kinda ugly. And what was that about no ac?

so she deserves death????

R: The impound lot at the very least

if she dies, it’ll be because YOU manifested it

R: Never thought I’d believe in that manifesting shit, but here we are

did Wheezie eat dinner after how much ice cream you let her inhale?

R: No.

R: Ur fault. You gave her yours

you gave her yours too

and btw, I offered her a bite. she ate the rest. not my fault

R: She’s five, genius

R: I’ll come around noon tomorrow. Sleep tight kid

౨ৎ

Somewhere in between picking up your car—which entailed no less than stopping for lunch, even more ice cream that you can’t stand to watch him eat, and driving through town to see how bad the damage from hurricane Agatha was, and altogether three hours together ending with a wet, heated kiss in his truck with the windows fogged up—and today, you’ve been with Rafe more times than you can count. 

And you try hard to suppress the thought that it’s just because he’s available, that the availability is the reason for your attraction. And then you catch yourself trying to justify why you want to see Rafe so much, this guy that you had just been assuming was bad because your friends told you he was bad, without much in the way of an explanation. 

But Rafe is the furthest thing from bad. He’s so sweet to you it makes you delirious. He picks you up all the time, even when you tell him you’re just at home, and your car is right there. He pays for everything, he opens every door, the gentle but teasing way he is with Wheezie makes you even more head over heels.

But most important of all, he calls you first. He texts you first. He makes you feel wanted, and you definitely, definitely, want him, so you don’t think twice before saying yes to accompanying him to Midsummers. 

You actually don’t know what it really is, besides for a big party. It was always one of the worst nights at the hospital—litters of teens with alcohol poisoning and from car accidents— so your mom would be working. When you turned eighteen, your mom paid for classes to become a junior nurse, and so busy nights like the one of Midsummers usually was, you would get called in too. So before this week, you’d never spent Midsummers doing anything other than cleaning wounds and fetching suture kits.

You tell Rafe this and he looks at you strangely, another of his looks you hadn’t seen before, with furrowed brows, and you flush and apologize, regretting even opening your mouth. 

You know you’re deeper than you thought when he takes your head between his hands and kisses you—messy, with tongue and spit left glimmering over your mouth, so much so that he wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb when he’s done. 

“Go get yourself a pretty dress, and we’ll have fun, yeah?” You nod stupidly again, the way you’re prone to doing around him. He must have realized you get a kick out being told what to do by him, what to worry about and what to focus on. 

You finally take your mom up on the offer to go shopping. Her and your step-dad are going to this thing anyways, but you can tell she wasn’t completely sure you’d go to something so Kook-y, maybe not just yet, and she doesn’t want to push it since your mood finally seems to have picked up. But then you tell her Rafe asked you to go with him, and the two of you smile and jump around the living room, laughing like kids. She’s happy for you and you’re happy that the two of you are happy at the same time.

Rafe sends you money for a dress—enough money to pay for a month’s rent at your old place. Your mom says your step-dad insists on paying. You feel like things are coming together for the first time.

You wander the stores, trying on different dresses and feeling like a scene out of a movie until you finally find the perfect blue dress. Blue for Rafe’s eyes and his suit jacket, because you’re not embarrassed to admit to him that you want to match for Midsummers. It’s patterned with little flowers, ruffles and lace moving in the wind when you twirl, and for once, you stop feeling like you need to pick a side to be on—Pogue or Kook—and you decide just to be Rafe’s for now.

The night of the party, Rafe offers to pick you up, but you tell him you’ll come with your parents. They’re both wearing shades of peach and salmon, the three of you together look like you’re headed to a baby shower, which you and your mom laugh about in the car ride there. 

You text Rafe to let him know you’re there, and tell your parents you’re going to walk around to find him. When you glance back, they’re talking with some of Blake’s friends, people he had invited to the wedding.

You see, what you can only think, is a glimpse of Pope, in his usual waiter get up, but he disappears before you can see where he was. His father is still there, though, and you make your way through the crowd to get near him.

“Hi, Mr. Heyward,” you say, smiling and unsure if he’ll recognize you. You don’t think he’s ever seen you in anything but your overalls or scrubs. 

“How can I help yo-wait, is that you, well I’ll be damned. You’re blending right in, aren’t ya?”

“Well, it took long enough.” You suddenly feel embarrassed, because he knows the old you, the one who wouldn’t be here in a million years. “Do you know where Pope is? I thought I saw him, I just wanted to say hi.”

“He just went off that way, but if you see him, tell him I still need his help over here, just like I did before he walked away—”

“Can I help with anything?” you ask quickly, but he shakes his head and tells you the direction Pope went in.

You follow it generally, trying to see where he could have gone in such a short time. But then you see all of them, and you can’t stop your feet from running over. Kie, JJ, and Pope, all standing and talking about something, but you don’t really care about interrupting. Kie’s all dressed up too, and you suddenly don’t feel so embarrassed.

“You guys,” you feel yourself gushing. “It’s been so long,” and you go in for a hug with each of them. 

“Wow, god, you look so pretty,” Kie says, and you hug her again. You don’t realize how much you missed her. 

“You too, Kie,” your smile is so wide it starts to hurt. “Isn’t this so weird, all of us here at this party? Where’s John B?” you ask, looking around. 

“So weird,” JJ says, and you notice the bruise around his right eye because he’s turning to look at Kie again. 

“JJ, what the hell happened to your face?” JJ doesn’t answer, he actually doesn’t say anything at all, which should have been your first sign that something was wrong. You look at him quizzically, before turning to Pope.

“Pope, your dad’s looking for you, I just went over to say hi-”

“Oh crap,” he says, heading back in the direction you just came from. “Sorry, be right back.”

“W-what the hell is going on?” you question Kie and JJ, searching for any answer, desperately hoping that it isn’t we don’t wanna tell you. Your phone goes off, twice, and you pick it up. The look on your face must have been beyond palpable to your friends.

R🧸ྀི: Come inside the house

R🧸ྀི: Got a surprise for you

“I-I gotta go inside,” you say, looking at the confused faces of your friends.

“What’s inside? I thought-”

“No, nothing, I don’t know, Rafe just asked me to go inside, and I haven’t even seen him yet-”

“Rafe? What, Rafe Cameron?”

“Y-yeah?”

“What are you, with him, or something?” JJ asks, and you feel your heart fall into your stomach.

“I-I yeah, maybe. I’m here with him tonight, he-” Your phone goes off again. “I’m sorry, I have to go find him, but I’ll come find you guys right after, okay?”

You leave the two of them there, looking at each other confused, looking at you like they don’t recognize you. And it stings, for a moment, until you get inside the mansion and find Rafe hanging out by the entrance, nursing a glass of scotch and eyes lighting up when they see you. 

Everything with him is like that scene from that movie. Lights go dim, you walk in slow-motion, the room goes quiet. He watches you walk up to him and his eyes take in everything—your pretty hair, your dolled up face, the way your dress moves when you walk, and most of all, that you’re here with him. He reaches his hand out to grab you by the waist to bring you in for a kiss. It’s not like the others, it’s chaste and soft and romantic. 

“Hi,” you breathe out, resting your forehead against his.

“Hi, kid. You look fantastic,” and he presses another sweet kiss to your temple. 

“We’re matching,” you say with a smile, taking in his blue suit jacket and the way you feel dizzy right now, and you feel his grip tighten around your waist. 

“Yeah, we are. Now get in line with me, we’re walking out together.” Your eyes are big like coins, because you understood that you were coming here together, but this is his family’s big night, if everything your mom and Blake told you was to be taken seriously.

You don’t have time to say anything, because Rafe’s nice parents line up ahead of you, and his two sisters behind you. Wheezie tugs on your dress and you turn to greet her and Sarah quickly, because then the doors open and you’re walking out, following Rafe’s lead, lots and lots of eyes on you, but only one pair of blue ones you really care about. 

You almost want to cry, the whole thing is so magical. You have a flute of champagne and a sip of Rafe’s scotch, and you are deliciously tipsy for the next two hours. Your parents come over to talk to you and Rafe, and you can see how happy your mom is in her eyes. You and Rafe dance until your feet hurt, and it’s only then, when he leaves your sight, that things seem to get back down to how they normally are. 

You can’t find Wheezie’s parents or Sarah anywhere. The little girl spilled ice cream on her dress and is crying quietly, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. You want to get her parents, because you think they can help, but you end up taking her to the bathroom yourself. With a damp paper towel, you wipe as much as you can, and you promise to get her another ice cream if she stops crying.

“It’s just a stain, honey, don’t worry.” You toss the dirty tissue and grab another one, wiping the tears and then letting her blow her nose. “It’ll come out when you wash it. And no one will notice because it’s so dark now, right?” She nods in agreement. “Do you wanna go find your big brother?” Another sad nod. “Let’s go honey,” and you take her hand and lead her back out. 

You’re not entirely sure what you missed in the last fifteen minutes. Everyone’s gone quiet, staring at what you hope is a trick of your eyes—all of your friends running from the party, hooting and hollering. Kiara’s parents look hopelessly upset, Mr. Heyward downright disappointed, and your mom scanning the crowd, trying to see where you are, until she spots you and Wheezie.

Her and Mrs. Cameron come running over, and you instinctively flinch, thinking the giant headpiece she’s wearing will poke you. You hand off Wheezie and turn to look at your friends, and you think, for a second, they’re waiting for you. They are, you realize slowly, waiting for you.

And you almost take off right then and there, until you feel Rafe’s warm hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see him bleeding.

At that moment, you turn right back around and head inside to the nearest room, sitting Rafe down on the bed and scrambling to find something to clean his wound with, and something cold to help the swelling, and in your panic, you don’t realize you’re rambling.

“I mean, what the hell was all of that? I turn around for two seconds and everyone’s running from the party like there’s a fire, and destroying things and throwing punches, I mean, I get they hate the whole Kook thing, but it was never like this before, even when I didn’t know you yet, and I-” you drop the frozen bag of peas onto the floor in your sudden realization. “I just let them leave. They waited for me. I didn’t go with them.” Your eyes fill with years. That’s a betrayal, not all the stupid stuff you thought was happening before tonight. They waited for you, and you turned right back around to go inside with Rafe.

“Hey, hey hey,” Rafe says quietly, taking your head in his hands again. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”

“You’re bleeding, Rafe,” you say, voice trembling. Your tears are ruining your makeup. 

“I’m gonna be fine. You know why?” he asks, and you feel more tears rush down. “Hey, hey, no crying.” Rafe wipes away the tears with his hand, then he brings his hands to your back and rubs soothingly. “You know why, kid?” “Why?” it comes out a whisper.

“Because you chose me. We’re gonna be fine, okay?” 

The way he says it you believe him. 

You spend the next two days at Tannyhill with Rafe, wearing nothing but his t-shirts and doing nothing but rolling around in bed. It’s been a month, maybe a little bit more, and you haven’t even had the talk yet—the sex talk. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s not ready for it, but you’re not ready for it, not yet. You’re working on it. He doesn’t make it easy for you, either. You’ve spent hours now, making out in his lap, grinding against each other until you make a mess all over his shorts and his hair is sticking up in every direction, and working your way up to telling him what you want. 

You’re almost there. You’re waiting for the perfect time. Which was almost right now.

“You like that? Shit-” he breathes into your ear, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of your neck right underneath. It makes you moan again, louder, until he clamps a hand—the one not three fingers deep inside your leaking pussy—over your mouth, barricading the noise from leaving. “Gotta be quiet, kid, you want the whole house hearin’ what a little slut you are?” 

His blue eyes, lustful and blown, stare into your own. You shake your head softly underneath the tight grip of his palm. You’re always obedient with him, but he really likes you like this. 

“Yeah? You gonna do whatever daddy tells you? Just so I keep my fingers in this tight pussy?” You nod compliantly, head falling back on to the pillow. His fingers are thick, and the cool of his ring rubs against your clit in the best way, in ways you didn’t even realize it could feel.

He keeps fucking three fingers in and out of you, moans muffled by his hand but not completely silenced. You must be making a mess, because it’s what he keeps talking about, rambling about your messy cunt, greedy and sucking him in, and how you’ve been cumming for him like a little princess for the last two days, but it’s never enough for you. 

It’s when he removes his hand and kisses you hard instead, tongue deep inside you mouth, the metal of his chain dangling on your chin, and you feel the similarly cool metal of his ring on you, you finish again, exploding around your boyfriend’s fingers and moaning into his mouth. He hears you, repeating his name over and over again, not Rafe, but rather daddy, and he swallows your chants into his mouth. When you calm down, he makes a show of licking his fingers off while locking eyes, and then you get flustered and bury your head into his neck. 

He laughs, because it’s so cute, but only for a minute. Then you two shower together and he makes another show, but this time out of you, kneeling on the floor of his tub while he paints your face with his cum, making sure to cover the necklace you’ve been wearing recently too, the silver, loopy little R hanging between your collarbone. 

Then you get dressed—a little pink dress that’s been his favorite recently, with buttons down the front and a pretty bow where your tits sit— and the two of you have lunch with his family like nothing ever happened.

Rafe drops you back at home later that day, gives you a kiss where he grabs the back of your head to bring you in, and then waves bye to your parents as he unlatches the door for you, in his usual way. 

౨ৎ

A week later, he does the same thing. Drops you off, drives away once you’re inside, and you’re starstruck walking back, so much so, you don’t realize there’s someone waiting for you.

It’s Kie, and Rafe’s sister, Sarah. You’re a little confused since you thought the two of them didn’t get

along,  but they look like they’re fine now.

“Hey, listen, we need you to help us. Can you come down to the Chateau later tonight, after sunset?” Kie asks, and you must look as confused as you feel, because Sarah speaks right away, before you can get a word out.

“You cannot tell my brother. Promise us you won’t.”

“Why are you asking me that? Why can’t I tell him?” Sarah and Kie exchange a look, and it’s clear to you that you are missing several pieces of the puzzle. “Guys! Come on, you-you can’t expect me to just be on board with lying to my boyfriend and showing up to help you guys without knowing what it even is, right? What’s going on?”

“We will explain everything, just please promise us that you’ll come,” Kie implores and you nod hesitantly. 

“And you won’t tell Rafe?” Sarah asks again.

“Come on. Pogues for life, right?” Kie says, and you get a flashback to your life two months

ago—doing anything for your friends and dreaming of how you’d end up with one of the boys someday. It all seems like a million years ago.

“Yes, yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. I won’t tell him.”

You guess that God was on your side today. 

R🧸ྀི: Hey kid. Busy with my dad today. Dinner tomorrow okay?

sounds perfect!! don’t work too hard! i'm gonna watch a movie with my mom and blake and stay in tn

R🧸ྀི: You got mail again?

you know me so well

R🧸ྀི: Have fun princess.

You set down your phone on your dresser, feeling like you could throw up your dinner. It’s just starting to get dark outside, and you’ve just lied to Rafe for the first time since you’ve met him. It feels terrible, like something’s gnawing inside you, begging you to come clean and confess, or not to go out at all. You think about it for a moment, maybe if he knows you’re with some of your old friends, it won’t be like a real lie.

Then you remember your old friends are the ones who punched him. You tell your mom you’re going to Rafe’s, and then you get in your fancy car that Rafe helped you christen the other day—in the backseat, specifically—and drive to your old life.

You park next to the Twinkie and get out, stepping into a slush of mud. Your shoes are new, and were clean, and you cringe internally at how much you started caring about these things. You don’t want Rafe to see you with dirty shoes.

The boys and Kie are sitting on the logs near the fire pit. Sarah is sitting right next to John B, looking at him how you look at Rafe, and then you realize the magnitude of just how much you’ve missed.

“Hey,” Kie says, looking up first, smiling. “You came.”

“Yeah.” You’re at a loss for words. Everyone looks the same. Everything feels so different.

A part of you wants to sink down between Pope and JJ, crack a beer, and laugh at jokes you think you would still understand. Another part wants to get into the fancy car and drive to Tannyhill. You opt for neither, standing a few yards away and letting the light from the fire cast its hazy glow over you and all your old friends.

“Did you tell him?” Sarah asks. She means it well, not in a rude way, but that’s how you feel. 

“No, no, I didn’t. He, he thinks I’m at home. With my mom and Blake.”

“Alright,” JJ says, tossing his empty beer can. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Listen,” John B says, getting up and sounding too sincere for your liking. “We all appreciate you coming. Because we need a favor from you, and it might not be easy.”

“I mean, I think it’s gonna be pretty easy. Unless Rafe is like, really, really crazy, like even crazier than we already know he is-” JJ says, but stops when Kie and Pope shake their heads. “What? She knows, she’s the one dating him.”

“Know what? I don’t even know what you want from me-”

“We need a distraction. For Rafe, okay?” John B starts.

“An hour, okay, that’s all we need, right guys?” Sarah asks, looking back at everyone. They nod, trying to convince you, except Jayj.

“Well, like, maybe a couple of hours. If he’s up to that, y’know, I don’t wanna assume shit ‘bout stamina and all that-”

“JJ,” Pope says, shoving the blond’s arm. “You’re not helping.”

“What?” you breathe out, even more confused than before. You start to get what they’re asking, you just don’t want to admit it.

“We need to distract Rafe, for an hour, or like two hours, and we figured you’re our best bet.” John B says, and you look at them with your mouth falling open a little.

“You want me to…sleep with my boyfriend, to distract him, so you guys can do something that you won’t tell me about?”

“Kind of, yeah. Pretty much.”

“And is, is this thing going to hurt him in the long run? Is he going to be upset? When he finds out what happened?”

“My Kook feelings radar is a little off, right now, but who knows, I mean hell, he might not ever find out,” JJ says, and you want to sit down, because your knees feel weak, but the ground is muddy and the logs are occupied. “If we do our job right, he won’t know for a long, long time, right guys?” A chorus of right, right rings around the fire. 

“And you’re not gonna tell me what this is about at all?” 

“Well, it might not be a good idea. Because, you’re dating him, and listen, we just need like an hour, and he never has to know you were a part of this, okay? I will never tell him, none of us will,” Sarah says, and you do believe her. But you can’t believe that they’re asking you to do this.

“And if he finds out, and he breaks up with me, then what?” 

“Yeah, I, uh, knew this was a bad idea. She’s not gonna do it, guys, so let’s just reformulate-”

“Oh, you knew I was gonna say no, JJ? Lying to my boyfriend? For the people who hurt him?”

“He hurt us too, y’know,” Pope says, and you feel your heart begin to race. 

“No, I don’t know, because no one tells me anything! No one answers their phone and no one’s here when I drive down. Kie, you live two streets away from me now. The first time I saw you all month was at Midsummers and then, today. Asking me to come here to lie to Rafe, to sleep with him to distract him.”

“No, no, we shouldn’t have asked you, because I knew you would say no, I told them-” and you can’t believe the words coming from your friend's mouth. “Look at you, you went total Kook on us.” 

And then you feel like they’re taking it all in. The R around your neck, the jewelry that sparkles in the light of the fire, all yellow citrine, for Rafe’s birth month. The pink dress that’s his favorite—you put it on this morning in case you ended up back at Tannyhill tonight. And worst of all, his white button up hanging from your shoulders, smelling like ocean and sandalwood and Rafe Cameron. 

“It’s like you belong to him now.” You feel a tear sliding down, but you wipe it away. 

“Maybe that’s because he was actually there for me, when I needed it. And I get it, maybe I should have tried harder. But you guys should have too.”

The group of you stand there in silence for a moment. Your phone goes off. You know it’s Rafe. They know it is too. It starts with Kie, and then a course of apologies from everyone. John B wipes away your tears like nothing has changed. JJ scratches his head, and then hugs you tighter than he ever has before. Pope tells you how much he’s missed you, how he had to start bandaging wounds in your absence. 

“I’ll distract him. An hour, that’s all you get. I’m not sleeping with him because you guys want me to, okay? So if he leaves, he leaves.” 

You take off for Tannyhill, leaving your old life behind and risking your new one all at once.

౨ৎ

Rafe’s phone goes off again, and he lets out a short, tight breath. 

Princess: are you still busy at home? i need you

Princess: please rafey

“I’ll be back,” he tells Ward, and before he can even respond, he’s out of the room, calling you. The line rings twice, and then you answer.

“Rafey?” you sound quiet, like you’ve been crying.

“Hey, hey kid. What’s going on? I told you I was working tonight,” and then he runs a hand through his hair, because he knows he’s fucked, if you’re crying and you need him, then he’s going.

“I know, Rafe, I just really need you, I had a really bad night-” “Woah, wait, I thought you were just with your parents?”

“I was, it just got really bad, I-I’m outside Tannyhill because I had to leave, and then I got lost and I was scared so I just came straight here.”

“Lost? Jeez, kid, it’s, like, down the street.”

“But I didn’t wanna bother you, ‘cause you were busy-” and then he hears a hiccup, and then a sob.

“Okay, okay, stay there, I’m gonna come get you,” and he hangs up the call. He darts outside, spotting your navy car and you inside, still in the same clothes from this morning, just wearing his shirt over it, like a jacket. He gets close and you climb out of the car yourself, jumping into his arms and burying your face into his neck, like you always do when you get like this. He can feel the way your body shakes under his arms, the wetness of your tears on his black polo.

“Okay, it’s okay now, come on, let’s go inside.” You make it up the stairs to his bedroom, when Rafe guides you inside and pulls his blinds, so no one peeks inside. 

He sits you up on the edge of his bed, squatting before you, hands in yours, arms resting on your knees. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” You shake your head, another tear falling. You wish you could say you were pretending, but the tears find their own way when you think about the encounter you just had. You’re lying when you tell him it’s between you and your parents, but his reaction makes you regret it instantly. “Did they say somethin’ to you? Did they try something? I’ll go over there and sort it all out, okay, kid, don’t worry about a thing.” He stands up, running another hand through his messy hair, letting it fall in the moppy way it always does, over his forehead. “Stay here, okay, princess, I’ll be back.”

Then you realize he’s gonna go over there and talk to your perfectly happy, clueless parents, so you stand up and turn him back around.

“No, no, Rafe, don’t leave,” and then you melt into a hug, taking in everything about it. Rafe rests his chin on the top of your head, his arms tight around your back. He smells so good, and the way he’s taking care of you makes you realize a couple things. “Will you just…make me forget?”

Your boyfriend looks down at you, and you don’t shy away from his gaze like you often, when you get flustered. 

“Make you forget?” he questions. 

“I just don’t wanna think about anything else,” you start, undoing the bow of your dress, more cleavage revealing itself. “I just wanna think about you,” and then your fingers undo the buttons trailing down the front of your dress. It falls off your shoulders, and you stand before him, naked, certainly not for the first time but what feels like the most intimate it’s ever been. 

There’s a pretty lingerie set hidden in the back of your closet, what you had actually put aside for this moment, but you had no time to run home and get it, so you opted for the next best thing, taking your bra and panties off in the car ride here, shoving them into your purse, and hoping that Rafe was as tempted as you were.

“Just about me?” he questions, and you take his hand into yours, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips.

“Just you, Rafe. I’m ready, Rafey, I want you to fuck me,” and it seems like that’s all it takes. Rafe crushes his lips against yours, kissing you how he always does, tongue in your mouth and spit everywhere. He holds you by the back of your head and your hands run through his hair. You want him closer, even closer than he already is, than he possibly could be.

His hands leave your head and go down to your ass, grabbing both cheeks roughly and wrapping your legs around his waist. He drops you on his bed, head hitting the pillow, and you pull away for a second, to catch your breath. Rafe doesn’t let it happen, gripping your cheeks between his hand and bringing you back in for another kiss. You’re naked, and he’s still completely dressed, but you don’t miss the obvious way his hardened dick presses against your bare cunt.

You can’t breathe, and all your senses are overpowered by Rafe, but you also don’t really care. You keep kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths and gripping hair and skin that’s sure to leave a bruise tomorrow, until you feel him finally pull away for a second. You catch your breath, open-mouthed and heaving, eyes locked.

“‘M only gonna ask this once, kid,” he breathes, leaving another hot kiss on your neck, which makes you spread your legs further open with instinct. “Y’sure you want this? ‘Cause there’s no going back.”

You nod in that way you always have with him, telling him everything with no words at all. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against your neck, and you feel him bite down into the soft skin of the flesh there. You yell out, but it turns into a moan when Rafe licks his tongue over the wound. “That’s just so you can remember this night, okay baby?” You look back up at him, wet eyes, swollen lips, and flushed, sweaty skin. 

“Thank you, daddy.” He smiles, because you’re in for it now.

“You’re welcome, kid. Shit,” he breathes out, “I knew you’d like it, little freak.” He starts with more hot kisses, all the way down your neck, down your sternum, and stopping to press a kiss to each side of your ribs, before continuing down to your stomach. You whine from your position below him, one huge hand holding your hip in place and the other tracing the pattern of the kisses down, until he finally reaches where you want him to be.

“Gotta be quiet, kid, everyone’s home. You gonna let them all hear how much of a whore you are for me? Huh?” he mocks, and you shake your head fervently. “Good girl. You’re being so good, you’re gonna get a treat, okay?” You nod stupidly.

His breath catches for a second, when he gets down to your glistening cunt. He looks up at you from his position there, your chest heaving, tits bouncing with how much you’re squirming, how much you want him to do something. He moves his hands, one resting on your breast, pinching the nipple with his finger, and the other running a line down your pussy. Your whole body twitches up when he runs the metal of his ring over your clit, because he knows you really like it. 

“Rafe, please,” you cry, sounding stupid and fucked out, even though he hasn’t started yet. “Please, please,” and your hips jerk up. He pushes them down. 

“Be patient, kid. Gotta admire this virgin pussy for the last time before I ruin it, ‘kay?” You feel your walls tighten at his words, and you hope he missed the way everything just clenched, but it’s Rafe, and he didn’t miss a thing. “Like that, huh? You like being my little slut?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the damage is done.

Rafe dives in, and you let out a moan that you didn’t realize you were capable of producing. You clamp your own hand over your mouth, because you know he’ll stop if you get too loud. His tongue licks you up and down, and true to what you had always thought, he does know what he’s doing.

The hand pinching your nipples doesn’t relent, and the weight of his arm holds you down when you buck up as he pushes two fingers inside you, scissoring them to stretch your walls out. It hurts, in the best way, and before you know it, he’s added a third.

His mouth stays focused on your clit, and your legs tremble, even though it’s barely been a few minutes. It’s all of it, all at once. Being naked in Rafe’s bed, his hand groping your tits, the way he holds you down without trying, the smell of his cologne and his skin and his sweat, making you lightheaded.

His fingers push in and out, and when he hits that sweet spot inside you, the one your own fingers have never been able to reach but somehow, Rafe’s have become well acquainted with, you can’t help the noises you make.

You repeat his name over and over again, and you think you’ve felt the height of this pleasure, that nothing could surpass this feeling, until your stomach tightens in an entirely new way. Your fucked out brain gets it together for a minute, to feel the overwhelming, ecstatic pressure of Rafe’s tongue on your clit, spelling out his own name. Your stomach tightens, unbearably so, that coil winding up, but before he even finishes the F, it snaps all at once. 

You let out a scream—which you think is so stupid of you. But it feels so good, there was no way around it. Rafe reacts instantly, grabbing your hand that’s pulling his hair and using it to snap over your mouth, all while he rides you through it. 

His nose presses against your clit while he slides his fingers out, your pussy walls clamping around nothing, missing him already. He laps up the mess you just made with his tongue, the noise being so overwhelming, you want to scream again. 

You use your other hand to yank his hair, pulling him up to look at you, because you know you want to see this. Rafe, your Rafe, your boyfriend, with blown, wide eyes and the entire lower half of his face glistening with your juices, with the mess you just made, and then you collapse back down onto the bed. 

Your breathing is heavy. You aren’t sure it’ll ever go back to normal.

Rafe pulls his shirt off by grabbing it from the back, yanking it over his head. Your hand floats up to

touch his chest, to make sure he’s still real and not just a vivid sex dream, but he slaps it out of the way.

“What did I say, hm?” he asks, leaning over you. His face is just an inch too far to kiss. Your limbs feel numb, and you can’t pull him down yourself. You want to cry, because you want to kiss him so badly. “I said you had to be quiet, or everyone’s gonna know what a little whore you are.”

“I tried, daddy, I did-”

“I don’t think you tried at all, kid.”

“No, I did, I swear-”

“You’re lucky that I-” and before he finishes his sentence, you pull him down into another kiss. He tastes like you and scotch, and the combination is so intoxicating, you can’t pull away. “Hey, hey,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” and the soothing way he says it, you believe him.

“I’m lucky that you what?” you ask, unbuckling his belt and snaking it off the loops.

“That I love you, and I’m not gonna punish you tonight for not listening to me.” You drop the belt over your stomach, the melt part hitting with a little clink. You look back up at him, your eyes wide, you imagine, your cheeks flushed. 

“You love me?” you ask, quietly. You can barely hear yourself over the thud of your heart pounding in your chest.

“I do,” Rafe replies, running his hand to smooth over your hair, which you’re sure is a mess now. “Enough that I’m gonna fuck you now, but I had to say it first, because I’m gonna fuck you until you break.”

You’re speechless, watching Rafe unbutton his pants and kick them off, boxers going with them. He strokes himself once, twice, and you’re still staring up at his face, even though normally you would get distracted. 

He looks up again. 

“You ready, kid?” 

“I love you, Rafey,” you say, twisting your hands around to the back of his neck, pushing him into yet another kiss. You can’t pull away, even if you want to, you want him so close that you forget everything else in the world for now. While you’re kissing, he lines himself up with your leaking pussy, which has probably ruined these sheets, and pushes in the tip.

You pull back from the kiss, just to moan, but Rafe silences you with his mouth again. He pushes in more, and more, until you’re sure he’s bottomed out. Your cunt is so, so stretched, you can’t fathom this is what you’ve been missing out on, and it feels so good, like nothing has ever felt before, not his fingers, not his tongue, not any other part of him. 

“That’s halfway, kid, you doin’ okay?” and your eyes jolt up to his in a second.

“H-half?” you breathe out. “I can’t, I can’t take any more, s’not gonna fit Rafe, not gonna fit-”

“Hey,” he repeats, which always has that calming effect on you. “You let me worry about that, okay? Just relax this pussy f’me, okay?” and the way he says it, you do, because you have no other choice. He pushes in again, fast, hard, and then pulls all the way out. You’re too scared to look anywhere but his eyes, so you stay locked in on them, until he pushes all the way in again, and your eyes clasp shut.

“Oh, oh my god, Rafe-” And you don’t care who hears you this time. He pulls out again, just his lip still inside you.

“Look, princess, look down,” he urges, and you follow his instructions, because you always do. “Look where we’re connected, yeah?” He fucks in and out of you, slowly but then faster, and you do look, entranced at the way your pussy sucks him in, the way your cum is coating his dick, at the brutal pace he’s set. 

You look until you can’t anymore, leaning back against the pillow and watching Rafe above you, his face twisted in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed, mouth panting. He buries his face into your neck, and you grip the top of his shoulders, nails digging in, because you just need to hold onto something.

He told the truth, you think, in your fucked out, blissful state, that he was going to fuck you like he hated you, battering into your sore pussy over and over again. 

You repeat his name—daddy, not Rafe—until he shuts you up with a kiss, and he watches the strings of spit connecting your mouths when he pulls away.

“Just needed this dick, didn’ya princess? Just needed daddy to think for ya?” You moan in reply. “You got it then, kid, because m’never gonna stop fucking you. Y’never gonna think about anything else again.”

And then he finally does you in, because he presses down, right below your stomach, while he slams in, and you feel something inside you break, like a flood breaking through a dam. It washes out to every part of you, from your ears to your fingers to your toes. White hot pleasure runs its course through your body, cunt tightening and shaking, eyes rolling back, your spine arching forward. Through all of it, Rafe pins you down, and fucks you through it. And finally, deliriously, you open your fucked-out eyes, looking up at him.

“I love you, daddy,” and he cums before he can even pull out, messy rivulets shooting inside you, leaking out onto his expensive sheets. He moans into your neck, and his entire body slumps forward, and you giggle under the weight.

A few minutes pass by.

“Rafey, you’re gonna crush me,” you say quietly, sing-songy. You’re so happy, you’ve forgotten everything else that’s happened.

Rafe presses a kiss to your forehead and rolls off, slumping next to you. Your head lands on his chest not a second later, his arm around your shoulder and another kiss to your hair.

“Feel better, kid?” 

“So much better, Rafey.” 

You don’t know when you fall asleep, only that you woke up to the sound of your phone going on. You pick it up, trying to turn down the light so Rafe doesn’t wake up too. There’s one message.

JJ: I thought you said you weren’t gonna sleep with him?

౨ৎ

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Vacation: Part Three

PART ONE PART TWO

Pairing :: OPLA!Sanji x fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, NSFW/SMUT, Semi-Exhibitionist(under the table deal), Light Fingering, Sex

Word Count ::  3,469

Summary :: Sanji is finally reunited with you

A/N :: A more perverted pathetic Sanji because GODDAMN. That is all and I am sorry if this feels a bit rushed- Thank you all for your support!

“Sanji?” You asked quietly, almost afraid that if you spoke louder, you’d be waking up from some sort of hyper-realistic dream.

His stunned expression quickly shifted into a joyous smile. He ran up to you, scooping you up in his arms and twirling the two of you in the air.

“(Y/N)! I missed you so much!" He cried out. "Your beautiful voice! Your perfect smile! The way your nose scrunches up when I say something annoying! I've missed it all!" He put you down but kept his hands on your arms. "Especially the way your boo-"

WHAMP! A wooden staff came slamming down on his head, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"Sanji, how many times have Robin and I told you to quit going around harassing women!" A redhead lady showed up behind him, followed by a black-haired one and a green-haired man. She gave you an apologetic smile as the man stepped forward to pick Sanji up. "I'm sorry about him, miss. He's a flirt and can get carried away when he sees a pretty lady sometimes."

You laughed awkwardly, cheeks flaring up due to memories from the past. "Oh trust me, I know how heart-eyed he can get."

The women each raised their brows, surprised by your comment. The man didn't seem to care, instead being preoccupied by holding Sanji back. He was holding him with one arm and covering his mouth with the other, his voice being muffled by his friend. Sanji was clearly upset; he couldn't explain that you weren't a random stranger he decided to hit on.

"Do you know each other?" The dark-haired woman asked.

You nodded, eyes moving past them and over to the blond. "We know each other quite well actually. I guess you could call us special friends."

The man released him. He walked back up to you, muttering under his breath about how the green man smelled. 

His mood seemed to pick up once his focus was back on you. He reached a hand up to brush your hair behind your ear, the tips of his fingers grazing past your cheeks. He didn't pull his hand away after resting it on your shoulder. He couldn't say it at the moment with his friends around, but he missed how you felt in his hold.

"How are you, darling?" He asked in his usual charming voice.

You smiled warmly up at him. “Happy to see you’ve made yourself some new friends.”

“They’re my crewmates. Don’t get too scared now, but,” He leaned down close to your ear, “I’m a pirate.”

His hot breath hitting your ear sent a familiar tingle down your spine and your fading blush intensified.

He backed away, quickly introducing you to the three before you, all the while rubbing a small circle into your shoulder with his thumb. Nami, the redhead, was their navigator, Robin, the tallest, was their archeologist, and Zoro, the greenhead, was their first mate. Sanji, naturally, was the crew’s cook. They had ported into town for a quick stay, leaving the day after tomorrow.

“So, do you think I could stay at your place tonight?” The question was so sudden, you almost didn’t know how to answer in front of his friends.

“Oh, erm, I wouldn’t mind it. I’ll need to get a few more ingredients then to make sure I have enough for both of us,” You mumbled, attention finally returning to the vegetables you had come to purchase.

“Sanji, it’s rude to suddenly ask someone if you can stay with them, especially if you didn’t give them a heads-up in advance,” Nami scolded.

“I don’t mind!” You were quick to defend him. “It’s no trouble at all, especially since we have so much to catch up on. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having you three over for dinner as well.”

“Really?” All four of the pirates asked in sync.

Sanji seemed to be a bit annoyed, while the other three were genuinely surprised by your hospitality. You reassured the lot that it was fine, especially since you could easily get all the extra ingredients you needed since you were already in the market. Zoro was the only one to decline the offer and instead offered to break the news to their captain that Sanji wouldn’t be cooking dinner for them tonight, so they'd have to find someplace to grab grub.

-

On the walk back to your home with Sanji and the other ladies, you started a small conversation with Robin and Nami.

“So, (Y/N), what do you do for work?” Robin asked.

“I work for Greylock Trading, a merchant company.”

“I’ve heard of Greylock Trading when I was a kid,” Nami said. “They used to come by my hometown to buy tangerines.”

You nodded. “That was in the early days. Greylock started with basic produce eventually moving up to luxury goods like fine silks or rare paints.”

“You must get to see a lot of interesting places working for such an impressive merchant.”

“I did.” Your smile fell a bit at Robin’s comment. “Long story short, a few years ago, Greylock fell ill and the captain of his ship retired so he could take care of him. Ever since, we’ve downsized considerably and just work from here.”

You could feel Sanji’s hand squeeze yours. “Is that why you never came back to Baratie?” 

“Yes. Greylock asked me to stay and help him restructure the business. He and Captain Tommy are father figures to me, so it was near impossible for me to decline, despite how much it saddened me to stop traveling. Now that everything’s settled with the business though I’ve found myself feeling a bit melancholy as of late.”

Greylock and Captain Tommy had tried to convince you to join a different crew so you could travel once more, but you refused. You didn’t want to leave them behind to join a brand new crew full of strangers. It didn’t feel right to you.

“All she ever talked about when we were together was traveling and all the different places she had been to and all the different places she was excited to see,” Sanji explained to his friends. Quickly, he then whispered to you, “At least, that’s when you weren’t a babbling mess.”

You quickly hit his shoulder, embarrassed that he’d make such a comment in front of others.

His teasing behavior didn’t end there.

When you got back to your place, he helped you in the kitchen while the girls made themselves comfortable in your living room. Your kitchen was small, but one would think it was cramped with how Sanji was acting. Whenever you were trying to grab something from one of the cabinets, he’d come up from behind you conveniently also needing to grab something. His body would push against yours, trapping you against the counter with one hand fondling your breast. A scheme so he could grind against your ass for a moment.

When you were chopping up some lettuce, he came up from behind you and placed his hands on top of yours to help you “properly” chop the lettuce. He would lower his head down to your neck, claiming it was easier for him to see if he rested his head there. A ploy so he could kiss your neck.

It didn’t end in the kitchen.

Once dinner was served, you sat next to Sanji and Robin sat with Nami opposite you two. The three of them started to enthrall you with tales of their adventures on the sea, making you a bit envious of their wayfaring.

You didn’t have much time to feel sorry for yourself though, as midway through dinner, Sanji’s hand fell under the table and began petting up and down your thigh. At first, you decided to act normal and ignore it. You two were at a table in front of his friends, there’s no way he would be dumb-

“Hmph-!” Your body tensed, feeling his hand slide up your skirt and in between your thighs.

You clamped your thighs together hoping to halt him in his tracks. Your head snapped to him, but he remained unfazed, acting as if nothing had happened.

Unfortunately for you, he was able to wriggle his hand just enough to get closer to your panties. He pushed his finger against you, pushing your underwear to the side to stroke your growing wet folds. After that, he stuck one long finger in, pumping slowly with just one finger.

You gulped, biting the inside of your bottom lip, hoping to stay silent. You’d be mortified if Robin and Nami found out what you two were doing right now.

Sanji didn’t do much else after he started fingering you. He continued that slow pumping pace, not doing too much so you could act normal and giving you just enough to be excited for when dinner ended. He only pulled because you started to clean up the table while they were still around.

Eventually, it was time for you to say goodbye to your two guests.

“It was nice meeting you, (Y/N).”

“Same here, Robin. I’m glad you two enjoyed the meal.”

“It was delicious, thank you so much for having us.”

“And if Sanji gives you any trouble, just come and find us. We know how he can get.”

You chuckled, walking the two towards the door. “No worries, Nami. I know how to deal with him too. Have a nice night!”

“Bye!”

Almost the second the door shut and you two were alone, Sanji shoved his tongue in your mouth and wrapped his arms around you. His hands roamed your body, jumping from caressing your thighs to your ass to your breasts. He was so needy.

You struggled to keep up with his pace, but you couldn't break away. He was refusing to let you go. His kiss was so messy and rough, that you were sure your lips would be puffy by the time he pulled away.

His hand that was fondling your breast pulled away, hurriedly working on removing your blouse, something he had to stop the kiss for. Your head was dizzy with how he had rushed you, you almost didn't pick up on how eager he was to see your bare chest. His eyes lit up once your bra was removed.

"God, I've missed your boobs."

He reached down past your skirt to grab onto the back of your thighs and they hooked around him instinctually. He carried you over to the table you two had just been having dinner at and placed you down. His face fell straight into your chest, kissing and nipping your flesh. His hands latched onto your nipples to start pinching and rolling the buds in his fingers.

His crotch was directly against yours, allowing you to feel his erection growing. You started to move your hips against his, remembering the tingling pleasure he always gave you. He was eager as well, as he started to grind into you.

"Sanji," You moaned softly, hand reaching out to tug his hair.

He groaned at the action, and the speed of his hips picked up creating more friction. He removed a hand from your breast, reaching around to squeeze your ass and pull your body closer to his.

You were about to beg him to start fucking you, needing more than this to push you to cum, until you noticed the expression on his face. His eyes were tightly shut and he was biting his bottom lip. He was desperate to cum, now.

You had never seen him so worked up before, it turned you on, even more, to know he was being like this for you. If there wasn't a wet patch on his pants before due to your soaked panties, there certainly was one now.

"Fuuuck," He said, a mix between a whine and a moan.

So entranced by the sight before you, you decided to let him finish like this, already coming up with a plan for the aftermath. A bit of revenge for how he acted during the meal if you will.

His speed was getting faster, and his hold on your ass and tit tighter. "I just- I need-" He was struggling with his words, clearly lost in his head.

"Are you close to cumming for me, Sanji?" You asked in a teasing tone.

He completely froze, his face turning red with embarrassment for the first time since you met him all those years ago.

"(Y-Y/N)- I didn't mean to-" He struggled, stammering out a sentence, but his words were silenced when you slid your hands down his pants and cupped his length in your hand.

You could feel him throbbing in your palm, he was so close that he was already twitching in your hand. "It's okay, Sanji. I'll let you finish, but then we play my way. Okay?"

You squeezed your hand around his dick at the end, earning a small shaky breath. After he quickly agreed, you pulled your hand out of his pants, allowing him to continue grinding on you.

You pushed your breasts together for him, to which he happily planted his face in between.

He bit down roughly on your right tit when he finally started to cum in his pants, his hips jerking against your wet clothed cunt. When his peak ended, he raised his head from your breasts, trying to steady his breathing.

You hopped off of the table, grabbed his hand, and led him to your bedroom. "You know, I always remember you making fun of me for being so needy all the time. I guess the tables have turned now, huh?"

"It's… it's been a while okay?"

"I can tell," You said while pushing him down on your bed.

You pulled down your underwear before lifting your skirt to reveal your exposed wet pussy before moving to straddle him. You worked on unclothing him, carefully undoing each button on his shirt while rolling your crotch against his. In no time, you could feel him hardening up again.

Once you got his shirt off, leaving on his tie, you repositioned yourself to sit right below the hem of his pants. You zipped his pants open and pulled them down, along with his underwear, springing free his messy cock. It was smeared in sperm from before, already lubed up when you wrapped a hand around it.

You scooted closer so you were able to bring his tip to your entrance. You moved it up and down your slick folds, humming at the feeling, already ready to be filled up. But you had to be strong, remembering how you wanted to get payback.

He jerked his hips in your hands. "Love, I'm begging you. You've already made me wait such a long time."

You put your hands on his chest, raising your hips so your entrance was right above him. "I said I was sorry." You began to move your wet cunt against his length, not allowing the sweet tightness he desired. "Don't you forgive me, Sanji?"

He let out a shaky moan, feeling your slick folds slide up and down his length. His tip was so close to entering each time you went up his dick, only for you to slowly slide back down.

His hands went up to cup your face, thumbs tracing against your cheeks. He pressed a long deep kiss onto you. It was so unlike the kiss from before, with there being a slow passion to it, he was able to distract you.

You gasped into the kiss, feeling him push his cock into you. He pulled away with a devilish smirk, continuing to push until he was all the way in you. You started to whimper, it had been such a long time since anyone filled you up.

"I do, darling. And that's why I'm so happy you're not going to get upset with me for breaking our little agreement." He pulled out a bit before thrusting up into you, earning a moan.

He wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you closer to him so your chest was flush against his. He continued to thrust into you. He had quickly developed a pattern, he did a few shallow thrusts, not pulling out very much, before pulling out nearly all the way, leaving only his tip in you, then rammed himself back in only to repeat the process.

Each time he pulled out more, he hit hard, and with each thrust your moaning got louder and louder. His moaning grew in volume as well, as your walls tightened with each deep thrust.

This feeling was getting him close, along with watching you on top of him. Since you were flat against him, he could feel your breasts bouncing up and down on him with the thrusts. His favorite part about this though, was that your face was clear for him to see. Your half-lidded eyes, the small 'o' shape your mouth was in got bigger each time you moaned loudly.

Eventually, your entire body tightened and you began to spasm. Your walls clenched, finally hitting your high. Sanji wasn’t far behind, as seconds after you came you could feel his cock twitching inside of you and hot spurts of cum poured into you.

“I hope you don’t have plans tomorrow,” Sanji breathed out.

“Why?” You asked in between pants.

“Because,” He pulled out of you, beginning to reposition you two, “I don’t plan on stopping until you’re exhausted.”

Your palms fell flat against your bed as you found yourself on all fours now. His hands went down to hold your ass, his now hard again dick ramming into you from behind. He was much rougher this time with his thrusting, and his hold on you was tight so you couldn’t pull away.

At this faster pace of his, it didn’t take long until your arms gave out and your top half fell against the bed. You bounced your ass in the air with him, hoping he’d hit deeper with each thrust. So fixated on cumming again, you didn’t notice how his grip had loosened and that he had slowed down again.

“There’s my good girl,” He moaned. “So desperate to cum around my cock.”

-

Your eyes fluttered open, feeling a pair of arms wrapped around you along with a leg thrown over yours. Your vision began to clear and you saw a blond sleeping in your bed. The events of the night before began to play in your head, reminding yourself why your body was so sore.

“Hm… I guess you were telling the truth when you said I’d pass out.”

“Of course I was. I’d never lie to you, love,” His eyes opened.

You narrowed your eyes. “How long have you been up?”

He shrugged. “A while.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I made you do a lot last night. Plus, I enjoyed how peaceful you looked when you were asleep. I was trying to save it in my memory in case…” His voice trailed off, afraid to finish his sentence.

“In case what?”

“In case… you said no to being a pirate with me.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He sat up, and you followed. “I want you to join the Straw Hat Pirates. It’s a really friendly crew, aside from Zoro. Everyone’s nice, aside from Zoro. You’ve already met three of them, and got along great with them, aside from Zoro, but he’s just a grump. And I’m sure Luffy would be fine with it.”

“Who’s Luffy again?”

“He’s the captain. He’s a good kid, and he could use a negotiator.”

You fell silent, contemplating his offer for a bit longer than he’d like.

“Alright, I’ll join.”

Sanji continued to plead with you to join, having not fully processed your answer. “Please, (Y/N). You’ll get to travel again, and sure, we’ll have to deal with occasional bad- Excuse me?”

“I said, I’ll join. I’ve already helped out Greylock and there’s not much left for me here anyway. What I want is to travel on the sea again, going to new distant lands with you.”

“(Y/N)...”

You grabbed his hand, smiling happily up at him, knowing you’d be starting a brand new chapter in your life. Unlike all the other ship crews that had offered you a spot amongst them, you didn’t feel like you would fit in. Joining The Straw Hats felt right somehow, especially since someone you were close with was already a part of the crew.

The sweet moment you two shared ended shortly, as in your peripheral line of sight, you saw a tent rising in the sheets.

“Really?” You asked, throwing the blanket up to expose his erection.

“You’re just so cute when you’re sincere!”

.

.

.

Tags:

@misfits1a, @nuhteyam, @violet-19999, @idkhowtoplayhoyoversegames, @chaixsherlock, @notazul, @simpforseungkwan, @shadowwolf1864, @quixscentsposts

[zeppelinlvr]

Kiss Your Eyes Again

Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: you and Sam head home from the bar before dean, the two of you get ready for bed but you find yourself wishing you had gotten a room for just the two of you.

Notes: Like half of this got deleted and I had to rewrite it and I almost cried. Also, the fic literally has nothing to do with the song Anything by Adrianne Lenker I was just listening to the Songs album while writing this. I want to thank all of you for the continuous support, I appreciate it so much. Also feel free to send in requests because I'm running out of ideas 💔

Warnings: Cursing, this gets frisky but there's no actual smut, making out, fluff.

w.c 1.4k

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You placed two beers for Dean and Sam down and a seltzer for yourself, on the small table at the bar. Sam, Dean and you were in the middle of a case, Dean and Sam had done interviews with victims and visited the morgue while you looked at autopsy reports, symbols they had found, and the contents of the hex bags they had discovered. You knew the three of you were dealing with a powerful witch as the spells you found being used were from around the 15th century.

“This witch is hardcore, her end goal looks like she wants to be possessed by or summon a demon, we need to get to her before she can even attempt to do that” You told the two as you sat down.

“Why the hell would someone want to be possessed by a demon?” Dean asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“No clue” you shrugged “Some witches have sex with demons too, they use it as a way to seal the pact they made with the demon”

Dean scrunched his face “I’m glad you're smart but you don't have to share everything you know”

Sam was watching you with interest in what you were saying “so we’re not just dealing with some everyday pagan?”

“Nope, this bitch is crazy” you told him with a giggle.

Sam gave you a soft smile, the two of you had been dating for a while but he always looked at you like it was the first time he’s seeing you, his eyes wide, taking in how beautiful you are.

The conversation carried on, the two boys sharing about the people they had met and how a few seemed off their rocker.

You finished your drink then said to the two “I’m tired, I’m gonna head back” You gave Sam a look, wanting him to join you, not only because you didn't want to walk in the dark but you missed the two of you being alone together and you were hoping to get some time with just him.

“I’ll go back with you, I’m tired too” Sam responded.

“Don't be gettin’ your freak on you two, I’m not gonna be out all night, I’ll have a couple more and head back” Dean told both of you, a smile on his face at your reaction of embarrassment.

“He’ll be done before you even finish your next drink” you joked, earning a laugh from Dean and Sam quick to defend himself with statements about how it wasn't true.

You and Sam headed out of the bar, the motel was only about a 5-minute walk away. You gave a dramatic shiver in hopes to get his jacket.

“Sammy, I’m so cold” you giggled and rubbed your arms dramatically

“You don't deserve my jacket after that comment” he replied, rolling his eyes as he shrugged his jacket off and placed it over your shoulders.

“We both know it isn't true and that's all that matters” you told him, putting your arms through the sleeves and cuddling into it, his smell engulfing you.

Sam laughed and brought his arm around your shoulder, his larger frame completely overshadowing you. You brought your arm around his waist and began to gently scratch his back. He placed a sweet kiss on the top of your head.

“I’m not really tired, I just wanted some alone time with you” you admitted “I love Dean but I want to be alone with you sometimes”

“I know baby” he told you “how about we get ready for bed then we can cuddle and watch some desperate housewives”

You smiled at the mention of the cheesy show the two of you had gotten invested in, it started off as a background show that you’d turn on when you waited for the boys to come back to the motel, or when you and Sam were trying to fall asleep, but you quickly became invested and so did Sam.

“That sounds perfect” you told him

The two of you had returned to the motel, Sam unlocked the door and you made your way over to your duffle bag, changing into your pajamas, Sam did the same. You made your way to the bathroom Sam close behind, you brushed your teeth at the same time as him, unable to hold back your giggles at the toothpaste that dripped down his chin and how aggressively he brushed his teeth.

You washed your face and he watched you closely, eyeing the products you put on your face.

“Why do you have so many potions for your face?” he asked, a small smile on his face.

“Sam, its three things, and it's so my face doesn't break out and get greasy” You explained

He was nothing short of intrigued by your explanation “But why is your face wash called la roach pussy?” he asked, reading the bottle

“Its probably french or something” you shrugged “I don't know how to actually say the name”

When both of you were ready for bed, you turned on the current episode of desperate housewives that you were on.

You snuggled into Sam, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you leaned into his shoulder. Both of you attempting to cuddle while still being able to see the show.

Sam placed a kiss on the top of your head “I’m sorry we don't get a lot of alone time, I wish I could give you a white picket fence life, but I think we both know that's out of the question by now”

“Sammy don't apologize, and I’m okay with not having a Stepford Wives style of living” you paused “It’s more interesting to research monsters and see you come back sweaty and covered in dirt, its hot” you giggled and poked his chest, he shook his head in response, but a small laugh escaped.

“Sam, I really do love you and I wouldn't trade the life we have for anything, I like knowing we helped people at the end of the day” you added earnestly.

A smile played on his face as he brought you in for a kiss. It was slow and loving, he brought a hand to hold the back of your head, gently toying with your hair. You scratched and rubbed his shoulder, your other hand on his neck playing with the tufts of hair.

The kiss became heated when Sam picked you up and set you on his lap, doing it with such ease it felt as if you weighed nothing. He worked kisses along your collarbone, a soft moan escaping your lips at the sensation. He placed a few kisses on your shoulder before pulling your shirt over your head. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of your bare chest, running his hands along your sides a few times, tracing your figure, before grabbing one of your breasts with his large hands, he began to gently toy with your nipple. Your incoherent encouragement and praises followed, you were unable to speak properly, it had been a while since you had been able to be so intimate with Sam.

“I know baby, it's okay” he said in response to your babbling.

You ground down onto his lap, earning a groan from him, you had your hand around the back of his neck tugging on his hair more desperately now, your other hand holding on to his large arm. You felt his growing erection against your core, your arousal pooling at the overwhelming sensations you were experiencing.

Sam brought his lips to yours again, his chest heaving as he harshly breathed while kissing you. His hand on the back of your head pushed you into him, holding you close. You continued to grind down onto his lap, Sam swallowing your soft moans and letting out groans and soft whines of pleasure.

As Sam was beginning to pull off your pants you heard a knock at the door. You sighed, not wanting this moment to be cut short. You threw your shirt on quickly and climbed out of Sam’s lap, giving him a sweet kiss.

“Are you two decent” Dean yelled through the door

Sam was uncomfortably shifting around, pulling the blanket over his lap.

“Yep, just watching tv” You yelled back

You heard the door unlock and Dean entered the room, laughing at Sam’s messy hair and your disheveled shirt, he chose to keep his comments to himself and made his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Sam pulled you into him, his chest flush against your back, he wrapped his arms around you, and you snuggled into him. You could tell he was still aroused, his erection poking you. You giggled at his issue, and he sighed but also laughed.

“We’ll get our own room next time” he told you and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

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[nburkhardt]

Clingy Honeyboy

Quick information I don’t want to fully explain: it’s an au of season 4. Steve and Eddie got together while Steve was working at Scoops. The UD isn’t around anymore either.

cw: omegaverse, mpreg (omega Steve & alpha Eddie)

Onto the fic ✨

There’s something up with Steve.

Eddie loves him, like, wants to mate with him kind of love. Is sorta obsessed with him actually. Already half way living together and has family weekly meals with Wayne kinda love. Clings to each other, spends as much time as possible together type of love. Ya know?

And that’s how he knows there’s something up because Steve’s been extra, extra clingy.

So clingy that his best friends officially found out about their relationship, because Steve was glued to his back during band practice one day. (He had to answer many questions that day- with a purring very content Steve leaned against him not even bothering to help, the jerk!)

Look, he’s not complaining. Eddie loves his clingy omega very much, thank you. He’s worried, this is a new level of clingy for his sweet baby.

It’s just…leaning into a concerning amount of clinginess. To the point that he’s skipped days of school and spent it in their nest or in the backroom of Family Video. Steve heavily scents him on the days they do manage to be apart. He’s almost out of clothes because they keep getting stolen!

“Alright, okay. Stevie, Sunshine, Light of my life. What is going on?” Eddie sits up in their nest, watching as Steve stops his hands from continuing fixing the edge of the nest, “Honey?”

Steve shifts to sit back down, confusion all over his beautiful face. “What do you mean, Eds?”

“You’ve been extra clingy, stealing a lot of my shirts. You’re fixing the nest for the tenth time this week and it’s only Tuesday. I’m starting to get concerned, are you feeling okay?”

Eddie reaches over and grabs his hands, squeezing lightly before tugging him closer. Steve goes along and rests his forehead against his shoulder, “I just, I have this need to be with you and- and the nest feels wrong, okay?”

“Wrong? But it’s our nest, has been for a while now?”

Steve lets out a huff, “I know! But it’s, there’s- maybe. It needs more, I don’t know.” there’s tears coming up and Eddie is quick to pull him into a hug, “Doctors appointment?”

“Doctors appointment.”

The day he found the courage to just talk to Eddie, Steve was a little sleep deprived. (Give him a break, it was just after the whole- mall fire, okay?!) It felt out of body, but so amazing, because the alpha said yes to a date.

Right now, right here, he feels that same- giddiness. Feels on cloud nine, his heart is beating so fast and his scent is blooming his joy.

“Congratulations, is the right word, then?” The doctor smiles at them, then while the doctor talks a bit more, Steve blanks it out.

In a few blinks, he’s settled on their couch at home and Eddie is strumming his acoustic guitar. Their combined joyful scents are filling his nose and making him feel warm and happy. They stay like that until Wayne gets home, telling him the news immediately.

Because one, they live together and two, it’s Wayne. Of course he gets to know immediately.

Steve is so happy the days following that everyone gets to smell his cinnamon and the new subtle vanilla scent from his pregnancy. His joy is contagious, everyone they run into ends up feeling just as happy as Steve.

It was only a matter of time for Steve’s found family pack to notice and question the sudden mood change.

(It took Robin a day of working together to piece it together, she knew of their relationship of course, she’s Robin. She freaked, rambled and cried happy tears for him. The front room of Family Video was full of cinnamon and apples from their combined scents.)

Eddie’s busy reworking notes and rereading all his papers, leaning over the table and ignoring the others around him. He’s too wrapped in it that he doesn’t hear or see the door open, until a very familiar scent pops up next to him that immediately gets his attention.

Standing there with a pout already on his face, his arms crossed in the jacket Eddie was wearing last night, is his Stevie. His scent doesn’t give off actual distress or discomfort, so Eddie isn’t panicking yet. Instead he flips his papers over and turns completely to face his Sweetheart.

Around them Eddie can hear how silent it gets as Steve climbs into his lap and immediately scenting him. Eddie’s arms automatically wrap around him and breathes in his favorite scent.

As he opens his eyes, there’s the newest sheep, Steve’s adopted pups, looking at them with wide eyes and mouths wide open. Dustin front and center, an arm up pointing at them looking like a cartoon character.

It’s as Steve’s pur starts up and he fully sinking into Eddie getting comfortable, that the room explodes with questions. At least from the pups- his best friends already know how clingy Steve’s been for weeks now.

“What the hell is this?”

Eddie shifts against the chair and looks over at them, “Honeyboy is clingy.”

It absolutely does not answer the question and if anything, it looks to have annoyed Wheeler- and confuses Henderson even more.

“Honeyboy? How do you two even know each other?! Is he asleep right now?” Dustin’s eyes can’t get any bigger as Eddie watches the wheels turn in his head.

“yes, Honeyboy. Or Sunshine, Baby, Sweetheart, Babydoll, annnnd Stevie.” Eddie smiles as he lists each name, knowing he has even more. “We live in a small town, of course I know him. And yes, he is asleep right now so why don’t you be quiet and not wake my Honey?”

Henderson looks about ready to explode and it would be funny to keep him and the others from getting any more information, but luckily, Eddie’s willing to ignore the little devil on his shoulder today.

“Stevie and I are together, he’s extra clingy right now. Ya happy?”

The boys all look at each other with wide eyes before deciding to whisper to each other and Dustin turns back around and as he starts to speak, Steve shifts against him and Eddie can feel his smile as he moves.

“Teddy forgot one important detail, I’m also pregnant.”

I think if I continue writing, it’d just be more of Steve being clingy and a little shit towards Dustin. So we’re ending it there :)

I was at work the other day and all I could think about was a clingy Steve and how funny if that’s how people find out about their relationship haha. Then i decided I needed this to be just a straight up season 4 au, where the upside down doesn’t effect them anymore bc I didn’t want the hurt/comfort, I just wanted happy and sappy.

@puppy-steve (I saw that comment on the WIP I posted a few days ago ❤️)

Permanent Taglist: please let me know if you don’t want to be included when I post with mpreg.

@mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @bookworm0690

[fadingdaggerr]

would that i

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: melissa knew what love should look like, and learned what it shouldn’t be. learning what it actually is takes time | 3.4k

translations: nonna/nonno (grandma/grandpa), t’amu (i love you) | reminder that sicilian is slightly different from italian in dialect

warnings: allusions to cheating (minimal), allusions to unhealthy relationships (minimal), making up my own melissa lore bc i’m so normal about her, kissing/making out

note: a little bit of this was an homage to my grandparents, the people that showed me what love should be. thank u and love u

When Melissa was in sixth grade, her teacher assigned a two-page essay on what they thought of when they pictured love. The moment Mrs. Erikson said this, Melissa knew she was going to write about her Nonna and Nonno.

Every morning, Nonna made breakfast and coffee, she packed Nonno’s lunch, and always left a note that said T’amu in her flowy cursive. Every evening, Nonno brought in the laundry off the line and folded it while Nonna made dinner. Even when they fought, there was never a loss of their kiss good morning, goodbye, and good night. Only on anniversaries was Nonno allowed in the kitchen, and they’d dance while sauce simmered on the stovetop. Love between them seemed easy and gentle. Melissa spent every Saturday night and Sunday morning across the street at their house, and every time she found something to add to her list of what love looked like and how it should be.

Melissa thought she had found love with Tommy Adkins in eighth grade. She’d even bought a new dress to wear to autumn formal, pink and ruffled and perfect. By the time she was ready to leave, her face almost hurt from the amount of times she redid her makeup so that Tommy would call her beautiful instead of bangin’ for once. That night she watched him dance with Jennifer Milano with a half-baked excuse of him “not wanting to kiss a chick with braces.” Melissa cried for two hours while Nonna told her she was better off, a bowl of pastina pushed her way. She forgot about him by the time Monday rolled around.

High school boyfriends came and went, but in college Melissa fell in love for the first time. A true, deep love with a firefighter-in-training that knew her neighbor. Everytime Joe visited Brian, he stopped across the hall to see Melissa, leaned against the doorway with an easy smile. He was charming, respectful, and funny, everything she had been looking for. Two months after she graduated, he dropped to one knee and she jumped into his arms. They moved from their apartment to a home in south Philly. Melissa worked during the day, and Joe started night shifts at the fire station for the extra pay.

Night shifts began to extend, and Melissa never saw him. He’d eat the plate she’d prepared in the fridge and leave the dirty dish on the counter. Dirt and ash from his boots tracked across her rugs and carpets, scuff marks in her living room. What almost killed her was the dirty cast iron skillet left in the sink. When she brought anything up, he’d deflect and leave. Every now and then, he came home with flowers “just because.” But then flowers began to follow every extra long night, and she could smell the floral perfume that didn’t belong to her and didn’t match the flowers. It took her months to say anything, and all she was met with was eyes that couldn’t look at hers.

Melissa began to think that what her grandparents had could never be hers. A loving life was in the cards, and Joe had only solidified this. She stayed at Barbara’s that night.

—

A few years later, her perspective was changed when a new fourth grade teacher joined the staff mid-term. Never in her years had she allowed someone in so easily, allowed them to be her friend and not just a coworker. Somehow, in two years, Melissa realized she’d never felt so cared for and loved by anyone.

—

“Is there a chance I could pour a cup of coffee before you start bursting my ear drums?” Melissa says when Jacob and Janine start babbling behind her about something she didn’t care about at 7:30 on a Friday morning. Ever since she turned onto the street the school is on, a headache had been growing steadily. Staying up late to finish grading was the worst idea she’s had all month. The two teachers cringe slightly, lowering their volume. When the door opened again for you and Barbara to enter chatting with each other, volume lowering at the sight of Melissa sat at the table with fingers pressed to her temples. She hears a bag drop on the table quietly, opening one eye to see you trying to be as quiet as possible as you dig around.

When you finally stop, you pull out a bottle of ibuprofen and pass it to her. She waves it off, muttering a don’t need it. When you don’t reply, she peers up to see you still holding the bottle out with an expectant look on your face. You shake the bottle, “don’t suffer just to look tough.”

“Melissa Ann, take the damn pills,” Barbara orders from her seat, spooning some sugar into her coffee.

“I don’t need ‘em,” she mumbles out again.

You push your hand forward more, “please. If not for yourself, for your students. You’re irritable when you have a headache.” Barbara chuckles and sends a knowing look to Melissa. Janine and Jacob, on the other hand, turn and look at you, fully expecting the red head to make some harsh reply or threat back to you. All she does is puff out a laugh and grab the bottle from your hands. She decided not to remark on the weird looks she was getting from the peanut gallery.

When getting the kids ready for recess, she sees you peering around the corner to the doorway. She holds a finger to ask you to wait, and gets a double thumbs up in return. After zipping many jackets and helping with gloves, she watches the little eagles run outside in the chilly autumn air. As she walks back into her classroom, she sees you sitting in her chair waiting patiently for her. “You know, I don’t let anyone sit in my seat,” she jokes as approaches.

“Good thing I’m not just anyone, now am I?” you joke, standing to meet her.

She fights her smile as she answers quietly, “no, you’re not.” She takes a second to breathe when she sees a grin cross your lips at her comment, “we still on for dinner at mine tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” the grin on your face growing, the giddy feeling in Melissa’s chest with it. You loop your arm with hers and walk towards the lounge.

When Melissa opens the front door, you expect a greeting, but instead you get a groan as she stomps back to the kitchen. Dropping your bag and shrugging off your coat, you walk into the kitchen, placing the box of pastries on the table. Melissa returns to angrily rummaging through the refrigerator, desperately trying to find something. It wasn’t until two hands pulled her back by the shoulders, turning her around. She relaxes into your touch, closing her eyes.

“I’m out of basil,” she says through a sigh.

“Want me to go to the store?” you ask, wanting to remove any stress from her.

“No,” Melissa answers as she opens her eyes, “you just got here, that wouldn’t be fair.”

You laugh, “we could go together. Or we can just be lazy, order a pizza, and not get off the couch.”

“Second one,” she sighs out, pulling away to clean up the dishes she took out. While she’s distracted, you take the time to call in the order, pay, and tip over the phone so that Melissa won’t even have the chance to say herself.

“If there’s pineapple on there, I’m kicking you out,” she yells from the kitchen after she hears you hang up.

“No, veggie. And yes, I asked for no mushrooms. One of these days though, I’ll convert you to being a pineapple woman,” you joke tilting your head back to see her standing behind you, “plus, you wouldn’t dare kick out the person who brought you zeppole.”

She gets closer, leaning over with her hands holding the backrest on either side of your head, “is there chocolate sauce?” The excitement was evident in her tone, bringing butterflies to your stomach. You can’t form words with her standing over you and smiling like that, so you just nod.

Later into the night, the TV played Weeds while you sat in comfortable silence, only breaking it when you both repeated the same joke out loud every now and then. Your legs were thrown over her lap, her fingers playing with the folding fabric of your jeans as she watched the screen. Her subconscious drew her attention toward you, eyes tracing over smile lines and the glowing reflection in your eyes from the TV. She watches you lean forward to grab a zeppole, ready to offer it to her. It’s only then that you catch her stare.

“You okay?” you ask, turning and scooting closer to give her your full attention.

She gives a quick squeeze to your leg, “yeah, hon. I’m better than okay.” She feels even better when you lean into her, placing your head on her shoulder. She drops her head to yours, a deep breath leaving her as she finally relaxes fully for the first time all day.

—

Some time between then and now, things had changed, Melissa wasn’t exactly sure when. At some point the Friday dinners turned into Saturday plans, then Sunday since the farmer’s market was open, no other reason. Breakfast on those days translated to bringing coffee to each other at work, ignoring the questioning gazes of other staff members as she passed you your coffee, despite having never asked how you took it. What had started with you sleeping on the couch when the night grew later, migrated to the spare bedroom.

On a Sunday night, it changed again. You watched the tail end of an Eagles’ game while sitting in her bed after helping grade book reports. As always, your head rested on her shoulder with her own resting on yours. Anytime something that wasn’t a point being scored happened, she explained it to you, though she knew not a thing she said would help make sense of it. It didn’t matter to you, all you wanted was to hear her voice and have her attention.

“Your bed is comfy,” you mutter when the commercials begin before the last quarter.

A smile crosses her lips, “treated myself to a good mattress when I kicked bozo out. Glad you approve.”

“You deserve nice things,” you say as you settle into her more, and through a yawn add, “the best things.”

That night, you’d both fallen asleep slumped against the headboard, leaning into each other for comfort.

Melissa woke up to a rhythmic thumping under her ear and a hand in her hair gently playing with amber waves. The small smile that came to her lips would have been foreign to her if she wasn’t so comfortable, the content feeling in her chest would be almost alarming. When her eyes cracked open, she recognized her bedroom and sheets. She groaned into the cold morning air, and the hand moved from twirling the ends of her hair to scratching her scalp, making her tuck into the warmth beneath her even more.

“Good morning,” you rasp out, having only been awake a little longer, the only response being another groan. She finally rolls off of you, much to your dismay, and sits up on her elbows, looking at you with sleepy, squinted eyes.

“It’s Monday,” she grumbles.

You chuckle, grabbing her glasses off the nightstand for her, “fine, just morning then.”

Something about this morning felt different to Melissa. You’d never spent the night on a school night, let alone sleep in her bed, but that wasn’t what shook her. It wasn’t you making her coffee, sipping it to make sure it tasted right before handing it to her. It also wasn’t that you turned off her alarm and woke her up yourself without making her ears bleed. She thought it could be that you’d opened the door for her on the way out, or how you offered to drive her to and from work to make up for staying late, but not that either.

Maybe it was how she didn’t want to get out of bed, or how her coffee tasted better than any time she’d made it herself. Or how she hadn’t slept that peacefully in twenty years. It could have been how much she enjoyed being driven to work, and having full control of the songs you listened to on the way there, or the fact that she sped ahead to open a door for you this time. She doesn't have time to dwell on it once she gets to her classroom, a knock on the doorframe comes the second to place her purse on the desk.

“I thought you weren’t in today, I didn’t see your car in the parking lot,” Barbara says as she walks in.

Without looking up from her bag as she pulls out folders, Melissa answers, “I got a ride in.”

“Did you now?” Barbara asks with an amused tone. “And would that someone happen to be the fourth grade teacher that practically lives with you?”

“We don’t live together,” Melissa says incredulously, “we just fell asleep, so we drove in together. It’s not a big deal, it’s not like we’re actually together.”

Barbara can’t hide her laugh, “you fell asleep? Both of you? And where was that?” Melissa only mumbles back, so Barbara presses, “where did you both sleep, Melissa?”

“My bed,” Melissa finally says a little louder, but not much. She wants to send her head through a wall knowing that Barb just figured her out.

“Oh, girl. You are in deep,” Barbara says with a smirk. After she leaves the room, the spiral in Melissa’s head goes faster.

Said spiral carries her through lunch, and only stops when you sit across from her and stare at her for a moment. Her face contorts in a what? look before you reach across the table and brush your fingers through her hair. When you pull back, there’s a purple string from the third graders’ projects between your fingers. Barbara kicks her from under the table, and she kicks back with equal force. They both see you look at them weird, before brushing it off and going back to getting your lunch out. Barbara cocks her head to you, staring at the red head, silently telling her to do something. The look the kindergarten teacher gets back replies not now.

When the end of the day rolls around, Melissa is anxious for your eventual arrival in her doorway, keys swinging around your pointer finger. All she could think about since you parted ways this morning was your hands in her hair and your heartbeat under her ear. She hadn’t felt so content and so at peace in so long, the feeling was so new that it almost scared her. Melissa had to remind herself that this was about you, not anyone else. You’d never hurt, belittled, or offended Melissa, you’d never made it your mission to anger or disregard her, nor had you ever tried putting yourself before her. She knew that feeling this way about you shouldn’t scare her, but it did.

The sound of keys and footsteps in the hallways alerted her to your approaching presence, making Melissa quickly rise to her feet and grab her things, realizing she’d been spaced out since the last student left. As she predicted, you stood there spinning your keys, smile growing when she turned toward you. It drops slightly when you see her smile not reach her eyes. “Ready?” you ask.

“Sure, yeah,” she clears her throat, “let’s go.”

You can tell her mind is running into overdrive as you pull onto her street. When you park in the driveway, you unbuckle to turn in your seat and face her.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She turns to you with a scrunched face, “what are you, 90?”

You shrug and point to her sleeves, “you’re thinking. You play with the thumb holes when you think.” She’d curse you for noticing if it didn’t make her heart clench. “You don’t have to tell me,” you add, “but I’ll listen, if you want.”

She looks at you for a moment, surrendering with a, “wanna come in?” You only answer by taking your keys out of the transmission, hopping out, and opening the door for her.

The discussion gets put on hold while Melissa heats up leftovers from the night before. She carries both bowls out to the living room where you’re turning on the TV back on for background noise. As Melissa sits down, she faces toward you and you mirror her pose. “Sorry I was acting weird,” she mumbles before taking a bite.

You shake your head, “you’re only allowed to apologize when you’ve done something wrong. Thinking isn’t doing something wrong.” When she doesn’t speak again, you offer up something else, “Ava almost had a heart attack over you this morning.”

She looks at you confused, “were we wearing the same shade of green again?”

“No. She thought you didn’t come to work this morning cause your car wasn’t there, was going off about how she was going to have to sub because there’s still a shortage in the area,” you laugh, “I had to tell her I drove you in, which also ended me in a twenty minute interrogation during my prep period.”

“What sort of interrogation?” she asked, already nervous.

You look down the bowl in your lap as you speak, poking the food around, “the kind where she asks for a detailed account of my whole weekend. Weird amounts of detail too, mealtimes, where I slept, where we went, what shows we watched.”

“What’d you tell her?” Melissa can feel fear creeping into her bones.

“That we went to the farmer’s market, watched sitcoms, and I slept in the guest room,” you answer truthfully, “and what did you say to Barbara?” Her head snaps to you, you lean your head to the side, “she stopped by to ask me about my weekend, she seemed a little too excited to see me if you hadn’t spoken to her first.”

Melissa moves to place her bowl on the coffee table before looking back to you, “she asked why we drove in together. I said we fell asleep, and she asked where we fell asleep. Might’ve told her you slept in my bed.”

“It’s impossible to lie to her,” you say as you copy her move. You’re silent for a moment, then finally ask, “what were you thinking about?”

She takes in a deep breath and exhales to calm her nerves, “this morning. This whole weekend, but mostly this morning.” She glances up, and sees your face had dropped, worry setting in, and she’s quick to revise her statement, “in a good way. This morning, this weekend, they meant a lot to me.”

At her words, your lips stretch into a smile, “it meant a lot to me, too.” She can see you internally question saying the next part, “and you. you mean a lot to me, a crazy amount.”

It’s her turn to smile like an idiot now, a pretty blush covering her cheeks, “you mean a crazy amount to me, too. Being around you it’s... It’s easy. I like being with you.”

“I do, too. Sometimes, when I’m here I almost forget I live somewhere else. The second I step inside and I’m with you, I don’t know, leaving just feels wrong,” you say honestly, eyes flickering over her face as you speak, scanning for a rejection you won’t find.

“Waking up to you was nice,” Melissa mumbles, “you’re a pretty good pillow, if I do say so myself.”

Your airy laugh makes her heart race, it goes even faster when you lean in to reply, “I wouldn’t mind waking up that way again... and again, and again.”

She matches you lean in, smiling, “yeah?” Your noses are almost touching, she can feel your breath just barely touching her face. Her eyes flick to yours and see you looking back, faint lines forming as your lips turned upward as her gaze.

“Being with you makes sense,” you say quietly into the space between you, eyes flicking to her lips then back up.

Her hand moves up to your cheek, warm hands and cool rings holding with gentle affection. Olive eyes look into yours for permission, but your answer is closing the space between you. Her other hand flies to hold your neck, your hands holding her wrists. They slide from her arms to her waist, pulling her closer and crawling beneath her shirt to rest on her skin. She takes the chance to straddle your lap as her tongue slides over your bottom lip, asking for the instantly granted entry. Her lips were soft, savoring the feeling of yours against hers, committing it to memory.

Your arms tighten around her, holding her as if she’s this precious thing, and it makes her only give more into you. Her lips slow, and you can almost feel the love she’s trying to convey in her action. But your lungs can only survive so long, and she pulls her lips away, resting her forehead against yours.

“Stay?” she whispers through her breaths as she recovers.

“Wasn’t planning on leaving,” you mumble back, dazed from her kiss. You duck foreward, hugging her as she still sits in your lap. Her arms circle your shoulders, hearing you mumble into her neck, “I love you.”

She presses a kiss to your head, “I love you.”

Melissa’s heart beat against your ear, calm and steady. The smell of her perfume and honey shampoo flooded your senses, making you nudge into her further. You tilted your head, lips pressing softly to the skin of her neck, moving upwards back to her lips, pressing a long, sound kiss there. You pull away to look at her, smoothing back copper strands.

“Is it too early to go lay in bed for the rest of the night?” you ask quietly.

She huffs a laugh, “I was gonna suggest the same thing.”

By the fifth episode of Weeds, Melissa noticed your breathing even out. She peered down at you where you lay curled into her side with your head on her chest, arm slung over her middle, lips slightly parted. She presses a kiss to your head as she shuts the TV off, and lays there to just bask in you being with her. She’d never felt so adored, so cared for, so at ease. This is was it was supposed to be.

feedback appreciated as always <3

title from would that i by hozier (i’m sure everyone knew that. we’re all gay here)

[red-writes]

crushing on taiju shiba is so hard because you can never truly get a read on his mood. he’s grown up now and learned how to dial back his personality so not everything he feels is shown on his face but it’s hard to tell wether he likes you back or not, his poker face for romance is incredible. you guys have gone out together a few times you and he has yet to kiss you, even though you’ve dropped multiple hints that you were ready, but when other men try and approach you on the street he makes it clear that “she’s with me.” and they can’t help but back off after being face to face with a man looming at 6′5 and is nothing but thick muscle. crushing on taiju is very difficult because you've watched the sunset together and he’s always whispered “beautiful” and you were never sure if he meant you or the view. he doesn’t compliment you directly and every night before you see you him you doll yourself up hoping that tonight he’d comment on it but every night he looks you up and down, devouring your appearance with his eyes and proceeds to ask you if you’re ready to go. furthermore he only calls you ‘kid’ and sure there was an age difference but the nickname made you seem almost like a little sister and not a love interest. but with taiju there were those sweet times where you'd hear him call you by your name and the sound would have you floating on air.

 crushing on taiju is dangerous because he’s such a gentleman to you. he pulls out your chair, tucks loose hairs for you, covers you with his figure while you adjust your dress and yet he has yet to let you know if his heart is beating just as fast as yours or if he's just being kind to you. and you're getting to the end of your rope- you couldn’t keep sitting in limbo like this, what were you supposed to do it was like torture waiting for him to confess to you and you decided that waiting was no longer an option but you soon discovered that crushing on taiju was actually impossible because as you entered his apartment using the key he gifted you a while back you discovered a girl in his bed while he rested half dressed on the love seat across the room in front of the bed and you froze before mumbling an apology and quickly leaving and shutting the door behind you. you could hear his shuffling behind you, calling your name and the sound of your own sniffles and cries drowned out that sound. once you make it home your phone is blowing up with calls that you know are from him. it just all made sense now, the reason he never actually made a move on you...was she prettier than you? did she have something you didn’t? what made her special to taiju and not you? your own insecurities bubbling to the surface as a result of his actions. you jumped as you heard several rough knocks at your front door. you opened it only to be met with the very man you were trying to avoid. he was out of breath, looking as though he came here on foot. he was breathless as he explained the situation to you. a childhood friend of his just needed a place to stay for the night and that she was moving to another city the next day. there wasn't anything happening between them he explained and the weight of doubt is lifted off your shoulders but his explanation didn't quite answer every single question you had.

“if this is true then why haven't you told me you liked me? or...or that I'm pretty and you enjoy having me around? and you always call me kid- I just..” you felt tears brim your eyes and you didn't want to cry, you didn’t plan on this you just wanted him to like you as much as you liked him. he pulled you into a hug and you began to softly sob into his chest as you hugged him back. he squeezed you tight, his heart hurting- he really didn’t mean to make you cry, hated seeing you sad.

“i do like you..” he sort of whispers out and you freeze for a moment as you hear him out.

“i like you so much and i think that you’re stunning and i love having you around more than anything i..want you around all the time, you’re so special to me” he confesses and you lift your head from his chest and he moves his hands to cup your cheeks. you smiled up at him, cheeks smothered in tears and nose full of snot. taiju didn't care, he thought you looked gorgeous. he leaned down and pressed a kiss on your forehead which made you pout. he noticed your reaction and used his thumbs to wipe your eyes dry.

“don’t want our first kiss to be after i made my girl cry” he says and you giggle at the nickname. 

maybe dating taiju shiba would be even better than you hoped. 

[pablitogavii]

Holaa, can you write about a scenario where the reader makes a diy bracelet for Gavi using beads in his favorite color and with his initial too, as a gift. Gavi really likes it and wears it all the time, and the reader is so happy. However, one day when Gavi is at an international match, the reader sees one of Gavi's teammate's Instagram stories and notices that Gavi is no longer wearing the bracelet. This makes the reader feel hurt and they start to think a lot of negative thoughts. :((

Actually, the reason why Gavi doesn't wear the bracelet anymore is because one of his teammates accidentally pulled it during practice, causing it to break. Gavi tried to fix it himself, but was unable to do so. When Gavi returned home, they tried to make it up to each other. I prefer a lot of fluff after, thank you so much anyway! Te amo 🩷

"Um..I have something for you Pabs.." you said when he sat down on your couch having just came back from the national team training session absolutely exhausted.

He asked you to fly out and spent his days with him in Madrid while he practices for his first national game and you agreed really missing your best friend in the past few months.

"What's that princesa?" he said using the usual nickname but ever since your crush intensified as you grew older, you started reacting a lot more to it.

"It's for good luck on the nationals..do you like it?" you said putting it around his wrist and he smiled looking at your adorable blushed face. Pablo secretly had a crush on you as well but he didn't want to complicate our life by ever admitting it. Truth be told, he doesn't feel like he deserves you...not with all the negativity people label him as.

"It's pretty. Gracias princesa! I'm always going to wear it!" he said playing with the beads while you looked at him dreamily. He looked so beautiful without trying that you found your eyes focusing on his lips for a little too long.

"Everything okay? Do I have something on my face?" Pablo teased and you looked away shyly shaking your head and continuing to watch the movie on the TV screen.

Since you gave it to him, Pablo really wore it non-stop and started to believe that it was really a lucky charm because he never played better. During trainings he would get praises by coaches, and during games he would never be more efficient and get less yellow cards.

Whenever he would get angry, after being provoked, he would look at his wrist and take a few deep breaths before continuing the game without getting in trouble. Your face would pop into his head and he didn't want you to watch him get in trouble no matter where you were in that moment.

One day during the training, Ansu jumped on his back making him loose balance falling and pulling on his bracelet breaking it in process. Pablo almost cried while collecting the beads packing them up and putting them all into his wallet.

He wasn't home since then, so he couldn't ask you to fix it for him and had to play the next game without it. He was never feeling more nervous feeling like he lost his luck charm. This won't be good..

"What's up with you Gavi?" Ansu asked seeing his friend shaky and anxious standing in the corner alone while the rest of the team chatted like usual before heading to the pitch.

"Your fault cabrón! I don't have my good luck charm now!" Pablo said and his friend rolled his eyes already having apologized thousand times for pushing him and breaking his bracelet.

"Who gave it to you when it's so special?" Ansu teased not thinking that it was anybody in particular but when he saw Pablo's cheeks blush he knew that he poked the right spot.

"Wait! Did Gavi finally get tamed by a girl?? Who is she hermano??" Ansu said and Pablo talked about your long friendship since school and how you've always been there, through everything never leaving his side. Ansu could tell that what Pablo felt for you was something special..something more than simple attraction he had for other girls since the fame arrived.

During the same time, one of Pablo's teammates took a video and posted on his story catching he glimpse of Gavi and Ansu talking. What caught your eye tho is that there was no bracelet on Pablo's wrist..you thought it was because he was still wearing long sleeves?

When he came out on pitch, you realized that he really was not wearing the bracelet..why would he take it off?

You thought about all the recent rumors about him and this other girl from Sevilla who kept hinting their relation and in return gain quite a fame. But Pablo said she is a fame chaser and that he was never with her..maybe he lied? Maybe he found someone else?

Your heart was braking as your eyes kept checking on his wrist hoping that the bracelet would suddenly appear but it never did. Did you really think he would end up with someone like you? you thought to yourself feeling like you wanted to cry.

Close to the end of the game, Spain was still winning but Pablo didn't seem to play as well as he did in the past games. He looked like he was lost on the pitch and he was also easily agitated. In 90th minute someone slid down collecting Pablo's legs and hurting him badly in response.

You gasped moving closer to the screen while they tended to his wounds and carried him off the pitch. You were so worried texting Aurora to see if they had any information. Thankfully it wasn't permanent damage but he will need to miss the next match so he is coming back home.

alejandrobalde

Come back stronger hermano! @pablogavi

liked by 50K others

Comments:

pablogavi: gracias hermano! coming back with my lucky charm ;)

alejandrobalde: we're waiting for you!!

sefutbol: waiting for the Golden Boy! <3

aurorapaezg: proud of you hermanito! <33

pablogavi: <3

pedri: get your but back to the pitch quickly cabrón!! jajaja

pablogavi: look who's talking jajaja only you can cover my position so get to it!!

ansufati: get that luck back ;)

pablogavi: !!

Pablo was partly happy that he was going back home, that was he can get his lucky bracelet fixed and see you while he was there. He really missed your adorable face..

When he came home, you weren't staying with his family like you said you would and Aurora told him that you've left a few days ago..same time he stopped wearing the bracelet. He knew that you must have seen it and he wished that he texted you about to so you don't make assumptions. Mierda Pablito! You're so stupid sometimes!

pablitoo: are you home princesa??

amotcito: i'm not, sorry

pablitoo: don't lie to me. i see you through the window!

You looked through the window smiling involuntarily when you saw that he was indeed standing down there looking up at you while holding his phone.

"What do you want?" you asked through the window

"Let me in princesa" he said pointing at the door and you sighed nodding your head and letting him through nervously waiting for him to arrive to your apartment. He knocked and you opened saddened when you saw his leg being wrapped in gauze.

"Hola princesa.." he said

"Hola.." you moved so he can come in letting him sit down on your couch asking if he needed anything but he shook his head opening his arms signaling that all he wanted was a hug.

"I don't know if we should do that now.." you said gulping using last bits of your strength not to hug after missing him for a whole month.

"What's different now?" he asked and you blushed looking away which made him curious what you were thinking about.

"Um..you have a girl don't you?" you said and he sat up quickly raising his eyebrows wondering where did you get such nonsense from.

"What!? Who told you that?" Pablo said and you met his eyes again wondering if you really assumed everything wrong. But if he wasn't with another girl, why would he take a bracelet off so suddenly??

"Um..you took the bracelet off so I thought.."and Pablo chuckled grabbing your hand and pulling you closer before you were sitting besides him and he pulled you into a hug.

"You're so cute when you make up scenarios like this princesa..but no I don't have a girl..and I did not take the bracelet off" Pablo spoke as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

"But you weren't wearing it on the last game?" you said as he pulled out his walled opening it and reveling the beads inside.

"Ansu jumped on me and I broke it..I couldn't fix it on my own and you weren't there to do it..so I had to save it here until I came back home and let you fix it for me" Pablo explained and you blushed feeling so silly for assuming something so quickly and telling him about it too. Now he must think you were jealous..which wasn't far from the truth..but still..he was just your friend!!!

"I feel so stupid now.." you admit and he raised up your chin making your heart jump in your chest while you looked into each others eyes.

"Don't feel stupid princesita..I think it's cute how you were worried some other girl will take me away from you..but that could never happen" he whispered the last part before finally placing his lips onto yours softly.

When he pulled away you face was bright red and you were in utter shock. Did..did he just kiss you? So he felt the same for you!?

"Would you be a good girl and fix it for me princesa?? I really need my lucky charm back.." he smirked when he saw how stunned you looked and you looked down at the beads nodding and taking his walled form his hands.

Before you could get up to grab what you needed to fix in his hand grabbed your chin again and pecked your lips like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

"Um here you go Pabs.." you put it back around his hand when it was fixed and he smiled playing with the beads before looking back at you like he expected something else. You knew what he expected but you were too nervous to do it..it was still so fresh and you've been crushing at him for years.

"Come here..I won't bite" he pulled you closer kissing you a few times and you smiled into the kiss finally relaxing into the kisses "unless you beg me to princesa.." he whispered into your lips and you swore you could die in that exact moment.

"Pablo!!" you said hiding your hot face into his neck and he chuckled at how easily you get embarrassed kissing the top of your head and holding you tightly against him.

"I don't just need the bracelet for luck..I need you princesa..so be my girl..and come with me to the next game?" he said and you were so happy you could scream but instead you kissed him passionately letting go off all your nerves.

"Yes! Yes!" you said and he chuckled nodding his head and kissing you back sweetly before pulling you closer and letting you rest your head on his chest while he played with your hair. He was content..you were finally his..he had his lucky bracelet back..and he was ready to win this national league with you by his side!

pablogavi

My luck is back <3 @y.n.bebe

liked by 100K

Comments:

gavigavigavira: wait!!!? girlfriend!???

gavipablo: she is his old friend..that's so cute <33. liked by 12K other

pedri: what!?? lucky cabrón ;)

pablogavi: yeahhh ;)

ansufait: glad luck is back hermano!

pablogavi: she is backkk!!

y.n.bebe: hehe <33 liked by pablogavi

alejandrobalde: vamooss españa!! you're girl is beutiful!

pablogavi: yeah MY girl is beautiful jaja liked by y.n.bebe

y.n.bebe: hehe good luck cariño <3

pablogavi: you're here amor..we are winning <33

y.n.bebe

My best friend..my campeon <3. @pablogavi

Liked by 50K others

Comments:

pablogavi amor <33 only won because of you!!

y.n.bebe: te amo cariño!! liked by pablogavi

gaviraaa: i might be sad that he is not single but I'm happy it's with someone who loves him for him and not for his fame <33

gavithebest: yeahh this girl has been his friend for years too

gaviraaa: they are so cute!! <33

aurorapaezg: lindooos! ahhh!

y.n.bebe: you always knew this would happen Rora jajaja

aurorapaezg: my hermanito is head over heels in love with you!!

pablogavi: Rora!!! That was a secret!!

belengavira79: take care of my boy princesa <3

y.n.bebe: promise <33

gavifanss: aweee my heart!! this is so adorable!!

It's longish but I enjoyed writing it A LOT! Hope you like it :)

[c0eu4]

OP81 | Giving birth ☁︎

Summary: Oscar does his best after Y/n gives birth.

Warning: Y/n pregnant, y/n giving birth, a bit of fluff

A/N: I want him so bad to have babies with Lily 😔 not my fav but I wanted to do something for introducing Olivia's birth.

MASTERLIST requests are open

She squeezes his hand as if her life depended on it. He continues to whisper words of encouragement to her, stroking her hair, damp from all the sweat.

''You're doing so great !'' His hand is white from how she squeezed it, her voice broken from her cries of pain.

''One final push!'' Tell the nurse, encouraging her to continue. Y/n begins to despair. She no longer has any strength and her whole body hurts. She shakes her head.

''I can't! I can't.'' She cries, as she tries to keep pushing her daughter out of her.

''No! Don't say that y/n! She's almost there! Keep pushing my love! You're so strong!'' She squeezes Oscar's hand one last time with all her strength and pushes like she never thought she would have to do.

Then after that, everything becomes blurry. She vaguely hears her daughter's first cries, Oscar speaking to her once again.

Her whole body hurts and she has trouble thinking clearly, tears ravaging her face. She hears her daughter's cries getting closer, she sees the nurse place her on her breasts, the little hands of the newborn clinging to her skin.

Instinctively, she rocked her gently in her arms, feeling Oscar place a kiss on her forehead. She hears Oscar crying next to her while he touches his daughter, who has stopped crying and looks at them with wide eyes. The same hazelnut eyes like her father. Those hazel eyes that made y/n fall in love with Oscar.

He kisses her cheek again, the same nurse who helped her give birth to her daughter asking her name.

''Oliva.'' Is the only thing she managed to say, too full of emotions. She is so happy that she forgets about the pain throughout her body.

After a few minutes of admiring Olivia and releasing all the stress they had accumulated, Oscar is forced to take Olivia in his arms to give her her first bath.

Meanwhile, the nurse comes back to prescribe a little more painkillers and check that everything is in order.

🏎️_ _ _ _ _

After less than a week in the maternity ward, Olivia is finally able to return home with her parents. Oscar drives his two princesses home, watching over Olivia through the rearview mirror every minute. Y/n is next to him, half asleep. Even though the nurses were there to help and support her after Olivia's birth, she was still terribly exhausted.

Once home, Olivia is hypnotized by all the new stuff she discovers. She quickly cried, the thing she has done the past few days. Her mother takes her in her arms, rocking her tenderly. Both new parents go to Olivia's news bedroom.

''Do you think she's hungry?'' Oscar asked her, not knowing what to do. ''You want me to prepare her a bottle of milk?'' He does his best to be there for his princess.

Y/n sit on the rock chair that Nicole gave her. ''I'll try to breastfeed her.'' Oscar looked at her, a bit stunned. She had already told him that she was afraid of doing that. And when they were in the maternity ward, she only did it two or maybe three times. But he let her do it. She does what she wants.

''You want me to leave? For more privacy?'' Maybe she's ashamed to do it? Oscar is afraid of making her uncomfortable. ''No it's ok. You can stay. It's not like you've never seen my breasts.''She chuckles, but baby Olivia doesn't have the same opinion and starts crying again, demanding something to eat.

Oscar sits on one of the many chairs available in the room and watches y/n do it. Her large t-shirt allows her to easily take her breast out through the collar and Olivia doesn't wait any longer to nibble her mother's nipple. At first, Y/n makes a bit of a strange face. It's normal actually, she's in a little pain because she's not used to it. And the feeling is horribly weird.

Oscar admires them, stars in his eyes. How beautiful are his two princesses.

Olivia finishes drinking and quickly finds herself asleep in her mother's arms. Oscar gets up and picks Olivia up, placing her in her crib. Y/n gives him a hug, placing her head on his shoulder. They both watch their little baby sleep peacefully for the first time in her crib.

After a few minutes, Y/n goes away. Oscar follows her, his hand rests on her lower back. He slowly closed the door behind him, already watching his daughter sleep through the baby monitor.

''I'm going to take a shower.'' She kisses the corner of his lips, already heading towards their room. ''Can I join you?'' She looks at him, hesitant. ''Uhm.. what if Olivia cry?'' Oscar doesn't insist, finding her explanation logical.

He goes back downstairs while she is already starting to undress in the bathroom. She doesn't take the time to look in the mirror, not wanting to see horror right away.

In the shower, she soaps herself without looking where she puts her hands, too afraid. She prefers to keep her eyes closed.

She wraps the towel around her chest and gets out of the tub. Once in front of the mirror, she can no longer avoid herself. She has to face it. She takes a deep breath and unties the knot holding the towel, placing it on the sink.

She wants to cry.

How did she go from a woman worthy of a Victoria Secret fashion show to such a...fat woman? Well.. fat is a big word. That's how she sees herself. But actually, it's just the beauty of a pregnant woman. Her breasts are no longer firm, they are sagging. She kept some of the belly that she had accumulated when Olivia was still inside her. She has stretch marks all over her hips, on her stomach and her thighs.

She can't hold it back and cry softly, disgust with herself.

She's so busy crying that she can't hide her tears when Oscar comes into the room. He always had the habit of entering the bathroom without warning her. She does it too. It's not like they've never seen each other naked. But this time, she wished they had gotten into the habit of knocking before entering the bathroom.

He comes in without saying anything, gets closer to her. She doesn't move away, looking at him through the mirror. He places his hands on her hips, caressing them tenderly. His head rests on hers and he watches her body through the mirror.

''It's hard, isn't it?'' She cries even more, hiding her face with her hand. He takes her in his arms and she crying against his shoulder.

''I hate myself. I was so beautiful before, so stunning.. and here I am now. Fat with scars everywhere on my body.''

''Listen to me, Y/n. This is a very difficult period for you, your body is still adapting to your pregnancy.'' He kisses your head. ''You're still the sexiest and hottest woman for me.'' He makes her chuckle against his shoulder.

''Now get dressed while I take a shower and wait for me in bed, ok?''

She nodded, putting on her pyjama and heading outside the room.

She wrapped herself in the bed, her eyes already heavy. She barely remembers Oscar joining her and warping his arms around her before she falls asleep.

[iouinotes]

Heartbeat | Seth Cohen

pairing: Seth Cohen x female!reader

show: o.c California

warnings: kissing, arguments,

summary: Seth is your best friend and he's trying everything to win Summer's heart. You on the other hand would do anything to win his heart and make it beat for you.

author's note: I'm probably the last person on earth who hasn't watched this series. But hey, new potential for ff. By the way, please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks his voice sounds like Dylan O'Briens...

The way I love him is like the waves on the open sea on a beautiful day.

While the sun shines on my skin and my bikini slips slightly, revealing my sun-kissed skin, I try to secretly look at him.

The way his brown curls are wet from the blue sea or how his muscles tense as he pulls his shirt over his head.

I hear a sigh of relief escape from his mouth and have to giggle to keep myself from laughing at his swimming trunks.

Showing one of his cartoon characters, red and dark tones that highlight his pale skin even more.

And when he turns his head and smiles at me, relaxed in a way, as if there were only the two of us in the whole world, he has never looked more beautiful to me.

"Are you daydreaming, sunshine?" Oh, his teasing voice and that look in his eyes- what wouldn't I give to finally have him for myself.

"You'd like to know, Cohen." I grin slightly at him as I answer him. His raised eyebrows and the heat around us make my head spin.

"Okay, let me guess. Are you thinking about the party tonight at my parents' house and what you want to wear?" For a moment he looks out to the sea, reassuring himself that we are safe, until he finally lies down next to me with his arms outstretched above his head.

Rolling my eyes, I quickly answer him.

"Girls don't just think about parties and dresses, idiot." His brown eyes, which are now looking at me invitingly, make the butterflies fly around in my stomach.

"But was I right?" When I try to turn his head away with my hand, he holds mine tightly. But immediately afterwards he strokes my skin tenderly and my thoughts need a moment to sort themselves out.

"Whatever. And just because you started it, I'm going to wear my new blue dress. The one I brought to your room earlier, remember?" The triumphant smile on his face is worth every single word.

For a few seconds, all I can hear is the cries of the seagulls and the sound of the waves. I'm almost starting to doze off when his voice rings out again.

But this time my joy is dampened by his next sentence.

"Today is the day, you know? I'm pretty sure Summer will at least remember my first name by the end of the night." The sinking of my heart feels almost too painful to answer to him.

What else did I expect? Summer has been on his mind for years, every minute of the day since he first saw her.

Seth, on the other hand, has been in my heart since the first time we met. On a rainy day at a skate park, while I was just lost and he was practicing his tricks.

To this day, I can remember the moment when his brown eyes became the most beautiful sight in the world for me.

Nothing has changed ever since.

"Yeah, sure." It's always the same. His never-ending crush on her, the ever-growing hope that is destroyed with each and every one of her withering glances. The dejection in his eyes, as if his happiness would melt away as soon as she was near him.

I can never do anything about it. Because no matter how many times she ignores him or puts him down, her attention is the spark in his heart that never extinguishes.

Because what can I do? Summer is pretty, sassy and popular in our social circle. She makes every boy weak in the knees, worshiping her even though she never shows serious interest.

Seth is blind to it too, he just wants her attention. That she remembers how his name is.

I know his name. His favorite comics. His hatred towards bad movies or his nervous habit of talking endlessly without it making actual sense. I know his sarcasm, his heartbreaks, and his commitment to dreams.

But that doesn't seem to be enough. Because when he looks at her, he sees the sun. I, on the other hand, am a small star that doesn't shine bright enough to be noticed.

So as we fall into silence and I try to suppress my sadness about my unrequited love, he hums softly next to me.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

When we return from our little trip at sea, the sun is almost setting. My gaze falls to the floor and as I listen to his excited voice, I wonder how it would feel to hold his hand.

As we walk up the stairs to his room and I greet his father as I pass, I recognize the look in his eyes as he opens the door for me.

"Oh come on Seth. It can't be healthy for you to think about her for every free second of your day." With a sigh, he throws himself onto his bed with his back showing to me.

"I just wonder why she doesn't see my potential. I would be a great boyfriend."

Yes, for me.

"That's probably because you follow her around like a lost puppy. Compared to the water polo guys, that's a drastic difference."

When I carefully take my dress down from his door that I hung there a few hours ago, his eyes clouded with pity follow me.

A little ritual for us before every big celebration. Getting ready together, like boyfriend and girlfriend. But I immediately push the thought away.

"But everyone likes puppies. At some point she'll look at me and realize that we would make a great couple." Shaking my head, I pat him on the shoulder.

"Everyone has their dreams, Cohen." I meet his gaze as he thoughtfully glances back at me, suddenly meeting my eyes with a newfound interest.

"What are you dreaming about?" The curiosity in his my voice makes me smile.

"Well, it may be a bit cheesy but I wish for… a person." At my words his eyebrows raise and as he sits up straight, I suddenly feel constricted.

"One person for...what? Carrying your bags while you're shopping? I'm already in charge of that." Laughing, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I didn't mean that. Even though that's nice, no argument there. No, I mean a person with whom I can experience my first times. You know, the first date, the first romantic kiss. The first vacation shared together...the first time sleeping together, feeling each others heartbeates. That's what I dream of."

As I finish my last sentence, I look at his face. See his rude stare and his open mouth.

"Wow, I- I didn't know you wanted all this so much." Shrugging my shoulders, I turn around to stroke my blue dress. Trying to hide my heated cheeks.

"It's not going to happen anytime soon anyway, so I guess I'll just have to keep dreaming." The silence that follows is almost painful.

"Nevermind. Also, we only have an hour left to get ready. We'd better hurry." He roles his eyes at my attempt to change the subject.

"You say that every time and you always beg me for another five minutes at the end." As I take off my sandals, he narrowly avoids a pair I throw at him.

"Be quiet, Cohen."

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Kirsten had outdone herself. The decorations, the guest list, the food selection. It was all perfection.

As I look out the window of Seth's room, I repeatedly brush a strand of hair out of my face. My heart beats faster with each passing second of silence and I feel my cheeks turning pink as Seth comes out of the bathroom.

The black suit, a red tie and the neat curls. This view is even more perfect than the one outside.

You'd think I'd be able to hide my attraction to him better by now, but when I audibly catch my breath, he looks at me critically.

"What? Does that scream my-mother-picked-out-my-wardrobe too much?" The crooked grin on his face makes me think dramatically long about my answer.

"Everyone knows you're a mama's boy, so it won't hurt your aura." The hand that comes to his chest as he sucks in air makes me giggle.

"Damn, that was mean. But do you think Summer likes mama's boys?" As soon as he says her name, it’s sounding like a prayer from his lips, I try not to show my disappointment on my face.

"Seth-" I sigh, trying to pull myself together. After all, he's still my best friend and I don't want to hurt his feelings. Even if it means hurting my own.

"What?" Innocence swims in his eyes and again, I wish I could tell him the truth. Instead, I continue to play matchmaker.

"I know best how much you want to impress her. But please trust me when I tell you that it always brings bad luck when one person loves their partner more. There has to be a balance." But my words don't seem to have any effect.

"I will bring balance to the force-" The laughter that escapes from his throat makes me shrug my shoulders a little more relaxed now. He knows he got me, when I can’t seem to stop smiling.

"Nerd. Come on, Skywalker, it's time we both show up at the party." Nodding, he closes the door and as we step out onto the bright terrace with the sun shining on us, I feel peaceful.

Unfortunately, the feeling only lasts two hours. Or more precisely, until Summer, the beautiful, graceful, mean Summer, enters the Cohens' house.

Since that moment, I have had an overexcited, confused, useless boy next to me who can't stop embarrassing himself.

"Do you think I should get her something to drink-" I interrupt his speech for the first time in three hours.

"If you don't stop this right now, I swear I'll never ever surprise you with comic books again." The threat actually makes him close his mouth.

"Why are you in such a bad mood? Do you need a drink?" If he hadn't said it so sarcastically, I would have found the question sweet.

"Seth, I can handle a lot of things in our friendship. Your never-ending sarcasm, your inappropriate jokes or your ability to always say the wrong thing to people. Hell, I can even deal with your love for cartoon characters and your obsession with video games on a daily basis. But talking about Summer every second of the day, twenty-four hours a week? That has reached my limit."

While I try to keep my voice low, the confusion is written all over his handsome face.

"But who else should I share my despair with? You're the only one who's really interested in what I have to say." His words hurt a part of my heart that I cannot describe.

"Exactly. I'm interested in you. Not how pretty Summer looks or what Summer just said, did, or might do in the future." For the first time that evening, he actually seems to understand what I'm talking about.

"So...change of subject?" Relieved, I have to start smiling lightly.

"Yes, please." As we smile at each other at that moment, it feels, for once, like I have his full attention.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

As soon as I open the door to the ladies' room, I wish I could immediately turn around and leave.

In front of the mirror, her face looks at me skeptically.

I try to act like she doesn't bother me, even though there are so many things I'd like to say to her.

"Aren't you that girl who's always with Steven?" I look at her, clearly confused.

Rolling her eyes, she continues. "The nerd with the brown curls, his parents own the house, I heard."

"His name is Seth." She shrugs and applies her lip gloss. Her eyes alternately focus on me and the mirror in front of her.

"Whatever. Are you together?" I feel heat rushing to my face and as I try to answer relaxed, she seems to see right through me.

"What- together? No- we're friends. Just friends." As she turns to me now, she raises her eyebrows almost disinterestedly.

"Really? Then why are you looking at him like you're in love with him?" I turn away from her curious stare and try my best not to let my nervousness show.

"You must be mistaken. He's my best friend." As she stands two steps ahead of me, I don't know what to say.

"That doesn't mean you don't have feelings for him. What about him?" Sighing, I can't try to deny it any longer.

"He doesn't." When I see compassion in her eyes, I start to like her a little.

"Then change that. He's just a boy. Show him what he's missing out on. A little skin showing, a few compliments. He won't realize what's happening until he's begging you to let him kiss you." I look at her, laughing, and for a moment I dare to dream.

"What if he likes someone else? How can I keep up?" With elegant steps she walks past me and opens the door.

"Then you have no choice but to outdo her."

When the door closes, I am left alone with my thoughts.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

As Seth loosens his tie, I am still deep in thought.

After my conversation with Summer, the party was over quicker than expected. Seth and I watched some of the guests, joked about the age difference, had two glasses of expensive wine and had the time of our lives.

All without talking about Summer again.

Now that I'm here in his room and we're getting ready for bed, I'm unsure about my next steps.

I usually sleep on his bed while he puts his mattress on the floor. Since we were little, this has been our approach to spend the night together.

However, tonight I want it to be different.

As I remove the clips from my hair and the makeup from my face, Seth talks incessantly about the latest Legion comic.

It's reassuring to listen to him like this while I think about my next steps.

We usually change separately, there's just a certain intimacy in being so open and showing yourself in your underwear.

But Summer said I have to go for it. Why do I listen to her? I don't know to be honest. I just think I should seize this moment of courage.

So I stand up and breathe in gently, trying to behave as inconspicuously as possible.

I slowly take off my dress and as it falls to the floor, Seth's head turns in confusion towards the noise.

"What have you dropped now- oh" I can literally see his eyes double in amazement and he almost chokes on his words in surprise.

I have to smile when I notice how he can't stop looking at me in my lace underwear.

1:0 for me.

"Are you still breathing, Cohen?" When I see him swallow, I turn my back to him. His reaction is so intoxicating that it fills me with renewed confidence. As my hair brushes my back, I finally hear his chatter.

"What- yeah- I'm just- I'm fine- are you fine? Has it gotten warmer in here? Are you warm? It seems so, otherwise you wouldn't be undressing in here. God, no girl has ever undressed in front of me." Laughing, I pick up one of his shirts with the stupidest designs, but there's still nothing I'd rather wear.

When I put it on, it covers me down to my knees and as soon as I turn around, I meet his gaze.

"We're not nine anymore, Seth. I think our friendship can handle us changing in front of each other." As I walk towards him, his gaze wanders along my legs.

"Er- sure. Of course, no problem. I- what?" My fingers slowly stroke his shirt, carefully grasping his tie as I begin to untie it completely.

"Do you think we can go to sea again tomorrow? This time we are not under any time pressure." I feel him stiffen slightly under my touch as he tries his best to stay cool. Well, as cool as Seth Cohen can be.

"Sure- maybe around one o'clock? Ryan is probably doing something with Marissa anyway. Doing god knows what- wait. I shouldn’t say his holy name out loud, when they are doing certain rather unholy stuff. Why am I saying this? I just mean, that we can both sleep in, I guess. And we can stay awake a little longer tonight." When his tie finally comes completely loose, I gently place my hands on his chest.

I meet his gaze as I raise my head, now so close to him. Our faces are only inches apart. I can see the brown in his eyes and the blush that adorns his face as he stops rambling.

"Yeah? What do you want to do?" Maybe this is the moment he finally realizes that Summer isn't the only one who exists in this world.

Maybe he'll finally notice me now.

"Teach me how to flirt?"

Did the world just stop turning? Or is it just my heartbeat that has stopped? Just with his words, just with the way he looks at me.

As if he no longer wanted to shy away from this tension between us.

"Flirting is an art, Cohen. I don't know if you're capable of pulling it off." His subsequent eye roll and the hand that he places pleadingly around my own make me reconsider my next actions.

At least now I can finally reveal my affection to him.

"Please, I'll go shopping with you. Even to the men's department so you can pick out my clothes. Just teach me." Surprisingly, I pause at his words.

"Even if I put sweatpants on you?" His face twists slightly.

"Yes, even if I have to wear sweatpants." I smile, brushing my hair back. As my eyes focus on his figure, a thousand thoughts race through my head.

"Okay. First step: your posture. I know how much you like to dramatically gesticulate your sentences with your hands, but you should avoid that when you're trying to flirt. You have to stay cool, confident. But still polite, not as if you don't care about the answer." Nodding, he listens attentively to each of my words, trying to understand the intention behind them.

"Like this?" I see him put his hands behind his back and stand there stiffly, his curious look ever present in his eyes.

I laugh and shake my head. "Not quite. Here, I'll show you." My hands move to his own ones, pulling them forward. Slowly I stroke his knuckles, but when I notice his opening mouth at my gentle touch, I let them go.

"Put them in your pockets. Stand up straight, but don't try to force it. Just relax." When he puts his hands in his pockets and stands with his foot slightly at an angle, he looks so carefree for a moment that I almost fall for the trick myself.

"Convincing enough?" Nodding, I try not to let the sight burn too much into my memory.

"Keep that up. Next important step. Your language, the way you speak. If you're going to flirt, it has to be seductive. You have to make me hang on every word that comes out of your mouth." As if I don't already do that.

As his eyebrows draw together, I see the confusion in his pupils and sighing, I speak up again.

"Try talking to me." I wait invitingly for his next move.

"Hey, uh what's going on?" When he doesn’t speak any further, I intervene.

"Okay, maybe I should show you how to do it first. Firstly, you need to try to initiate a conversation." I take a quick breath and try to relax my shoulders to prepare myself.

As I wrap my fingers around his collar and slowly stroke down his shirt, I see him swallow.

"Did you enjoy the party?" I try to maintain eye contact with him while keeping my voice a little quieter and giving more meaning to my words. I can literally see the gears turning in his head.

"I-I did?" When he stops speaking, I put my hand on his chest, circling the pattern of his shirt.

"Don't you want to ask me what I liked the most?" I see how he closes his mouth, trying to find the right words, as if he suddenly doesn't know how to talk to me normally anymore.

"What did you like best?" I smile sweetly, slowly sliding my fingers into his neck and playing with his brown curls.

My heart beats louder than ever, when I notice the expression on his face as I caress his hair softly.

"You."

It is this one moment when the world makes sense. When the eternal waiting, the torment of the last few years and the stupid boy in front of me finally makes sense.

Because his eyes wander to my lips and I feel his breath across my face as our bodies are drawn to each other like magic.

His lips almost brush mine, we are so close together that my mind is unable to think of anything other than his touch.

What it would be like to kiss him.

"Is this still part of the lesson?" His breathless voice makes me smile.

"Well, do you want it to end?" I have to laugh at his lips as he quickly shakes his head.

"What-what should I do?" I stand slightly on my tiptoes so I can whisper in his ear.

"What every princess wants from her fairytale prince. Kiss me."

He leans slowly into my touch. With every breath he takes, I can feel his arms sliding around my waist as his curls brush my forehead. He licks his lips uncertainly and when I look into his eyes, full of affection and the desire to kiss me, I fall in love with him even more.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this." Confusion adorns his features and I try not to let my strong heartbeat distract me too much when I finally tell him the truth.

"Waiting for what? Me?" Laughing, I close my eyes for a moment, reveling in the feeling of his closeness.

"It's always been you for me, Seth. When I said, "You're unbearable"? In my head, I wanted to spend every second I'm in this world with you. Or when I always roll my eyes when you stumble over your words, as if you're afraid it would bore me too much and I would stop listening to you. Because I would never do that. God, I practically hang on every word that comes out of your mouth."

As astonishment takes over his gaze, I feel a blush creep over my skin. What do I have to lose now?

When he answers, a loving smile adorns his face, coupled with a brief shake of the head.

"So I was unconsciously flirting with you the whole time? You know, step two?"

"You don't have to flirt with me for me to fall for you, Cohen. I fell already, hard."

His eyebrows rise, his nervousness changes almost abruptly to a smug expression.

"Is that so? Even though I talk about Captain Oats for two hours, when I was telling you his story from my childhood?"

"Why do you think I'm still here? No one would listen to that, not even me, if I hadn't been thinking about how good you looked in your sweater."

"Very shameless of you, Captain Oats would be disappointed by your little interest in his life."

"And would Seth Cohen be disappointed if I'm too interested in his life to pay attention to anything else?" Grinning, he pulls me closer to him.

"I'm pretty sure he'd be flattered." His lips hover over mine as his words cast a spell over my mind.

"Then I guess I should do that more often." Slowly, I push him back and let him fall onto his bed while his eyes roam over my body.

"Oh, definitely. You can do anything you want." Smiling sweetly, I move closer to him until I sit down on his lap. His hands find their own way to my thighs, stroking my bare skin.

“I can hear your heartbeat, Cohen. Are you nervous?“ I smile as I tease him, roaming my fingernails over his chest.

“I don’t do nervous. But indeed sunshine, my heartbeat is that noticeable, because you‘re making it beat faster. You‘re making my time on earth feel faster and I would‘t want it any other way.“ Smiling in the kiss, I stretch my hands around his neck.

Being with Seth Cohen isn't always easy, but I guess love isn't either.

[rrxnjun]

liebestraum [park jisung]

if anyone asked park jisung if he believed in ghosts, he would say yes– for he saw longing grow legs and follow him.

pairing: park jisung x fem! reader genre: summer break au. coming of age, slice of life, angst, fluff warnings: mentions of parents' divorce, swearing word count: 11k (11.190) playlist: liebestraum - franz liszt / the gold - phoebe bridgers / our summer - txt / could cry just thinking about you - troye sivan / burning love - elvis presley / if not for you - maneskin / we'll never have sex - leith ross / christmas kids - roar / raindrops (an angel cried) - ariana grande / ceilings - lizzy mcalpine / the loneliest - maneskin / about you - the 1975

a/n: this is mainly for you, liebestraum anon <3 thank you so much for being the most supportive friend, i really enjoy talking with you. hope the wait was worth it and hope the fic doesn't disappoint. i think that if it wasn't for you, this fic would never see the light of day HAHA

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the vinyl his aunt popped into the record player just a few minutes prior to leaving the room to get some tea for the guests that are arriving soon, Park Jisung wishes for the ground to swallow him whole and for the ceiling to fall down and bury him in the deepest depths of this house. His head starts to spin as he dives in deeper to the music, the classical tunes almost making him overthink more than he has before. He wonders what would happen if he just left the room, left his aunt’s house and ran away so far no one could ever find him. 

He finds himself fantasizing about stuff like this a lot lately. Listening to classical music– because of course his aunt listens to music from the 19th century, she’s almost as old as the composers themselves– he wonders what came through the mind of the author of the song when he wrote such trivial melodies.

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the vinyl his aunt popped into the player just a few minutes prior to leaving the room to get some tea for the guests that are arriving soon, Park Jisung drifts away to a soft slumber, deep enough to make him more tired, but light enough to wake him up when the doorbell rings and the obnoxious laughter of his dear aunt pierces through his ears.

His aunt wakes him up with a screech. Frankly, it hasn’t been that long since he’s fallen asleep and he truly doesn’t really know if it was his position on the floor that made her scream, or the fact that he’s embarrassing her in front of the guests by sleeping on the floor in the living room, but nonetheless, he’s quick to stand up and bow to the guests, trying hard to be respectful. 

His aunt nervously chews on the inside of her cheek. Her smile is a little too forced when she introduces all of them to him, but he tries hard to ignore the fact that she looks like an utter clown, pretending her house is a beautiful, welcoming shrine, because laughing out loud at her antics would surely do him no good. See, Jisung doesn't like to anger his aunt. It’s not that he doesn't enjoy the silent treatment she gives him, finally letting him breathe in the quiet– the feeling of suffocating escaping him for once in a while– but he simply just doesn’t enjoy it when she only glares at him and doesn’t speak more words than a single sentence announcing when the dinner’s ready. It only serves to make him feel more alienated.

“Jisung, these are my friends from university,” his aunt recites, sounding rehearsed, and he bets she acted out the scene in her head a thousand times before falling asleep last night, so it’s all perfect when the actual moment happens in real life, “their names are Jinyoung and Nayeon, they met in university and got married a few years later.”

He hums, scamming the adults from head to toe, noticing the neat way they present themselves. He wonders if this is how his parents looked to strangers when they used to visit their old friends. The truth is, they never looked as neat and as in tune with each other as this couple does in his eyes– but maybe he just wasn’t able to perceive them this way due to the image he made of their marriage when they were at home. 

Eyes traveling to the person behind them, the fringe falling to their forehead, he gets captivated by a mysterious look in their orbs, hands hidden in the pockets of their jacket. Jisung’s not too sure if his aunt caught him staring at the unintroduced guest– now, he will admit that he stared at the person, for they were a stranger to him and for no other reason– but he know for sure that they did, from how they squint their eyes at Jisung and offer him a teasing smile.

“Oh, and this is Y/N,” his aunt says, nudging the person closer to his nephew, as if to present a thing meant to solve all of his problems, “their child. They are staying for the summer, so I expect you two to hang out often, since you’re the same age and all!”

Looking at his aunt, a dead look mirroring his eyes, he hears the person– you– with a voice sweet but a little prickly, just like the smell of a Christmas tree his family used to have in their living room during December, ask a question that is easily able to beat him down to the ground in one second, despite not really knowing you long enough to be this affected by a single strand of words plastered together.

“Does this mean we have to be friends?” you say, eyeing his aunt. Jisung doesn't know if you two have met before, because he himself hasn’t been around his aunt this often, but the familiarity in your eyes tells him that this shouldn’t be your first time being around his aunt. He has no way of proving it, and since he doesn't care enough to ask, he may never actually know.

“That’s- that’s not what I was hinting at, but I’m sure you two would make good friends!” his aunt chirps, making him suddenly wonder if her friends even agreed on letting their child spend time with a boy they just saw for the first time, sleeping on the floor of his aunt’s living room. He doesn’t think his aunt actually cares about their opinion, though. He thinks she just desperately wants him out of the house sometimes. Truth be told, he doesn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault that he had to suddenly waddle into her house, eat her food and sleep in the spare bedroom for the summer– if he was in his aunt’s shoes, he’d want his comfort back as well. She didn’t ask for this. And he doesn’t even know why she agreed in the first place. “You are quite similar and have a lot in common, is what I meant,” his aunt finishes, and Jisung cringes under her gaze, because in reality, how could she even know? 

A sigh escapes your lips, eyes rolling as you look over at your parents and snicker. “Am I at least getting paid for hanging out with this loser?” 

“Y/N, watch your mouth!” your mother snaps, an apologetic look in her eyes. 

Truth is, though, the comment doesn’t affect him. At least not in the way it should– it doesn’t offend him, it doesn’t hurt. Instead, he grins, looking you dead in the eyes, already liking the foreign excitement in his bones that dares to make his life feel much more lively than it has while he was locked up in the spare  bedroom of his aunt’s house.

“I’m Park Jisung.”

Your lips widen into a cheshire grin, Jisung’s surroundings suddenly disappearing into thin air, the adults in their own universe now, not heard of and not seen. Staring you into your eyes for a heartbeat, another few words escape his mouth as a premise, unknowingly setting the tone for the two of you already.

“Let’s hang out. Show me around. If I have fun, you get a tenner. If it sucks, you’re not getting paid for being friends with me. Deal?”

He doesn’t know if it was the money on the line, or if you saw something in him that interested you enough to keep on giving in. And after all this time, he doesn't think he’ll get an answer– it’s too far out of his reach, too far back in history. But somehow, in that moment, you took his hand and shook it, starting off something that made Park Jisung who he is today. The contact of your hand with his felt like electricity to the boy, the sudden courage disappearing right as he feels the softness of your palm, and when your eyes lock, he physically feels his knees buckle under him– that’s the effect you have on the boy.

Your roles are soon reversed when you’re brought back into reality by an adult’s voice, your hands losing contact as you break away, looking at your mother with a glare in your eyes.

“Look, Ms Park has a piano! Go and play something for us, sweetie.”

A pained sigh escapes your lips, seemingly already knowing you won’t get out of this no matter how hard you try or plead, slowly walking over to the instrument settled in the corner of the room, cracking your knuckles and humming to yourself, thinking of what song to play.

“Jisung plays too, actually!” his aunt chimes in, and he sighs, halting in his movements,

because one, he can’t play the piano, and two, the song rolling off your fingers is so beautiful, so melodic he secretly starts to hope that he did.

Park Jisung can’t believe himself in the very moment when he’s standing at the rocky beach with you, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck every few seconds in a poor attempt of calming down his nerves and the erracting beating of his heart. He’s only 18 and has no experience with girls, so he thinks this is the sheer effect of the fact that he can’t swim well and he’s afraid of embarrassing himself in front of you– he bets you’re not strong enough to bring out his drowning body out of the depths of the lake anyways, so it really must be fear that’s holding him down from undressing in front of you and jumping into the refreshing water. 

“Come on, Park Jisung, what are you waiting for?” you jab at him, a sharp finger pointing straight to his ribs. Your top is already off, a peach-colored bikini top catching Jisung’s attention that he instantly averts and focuses on the shiny water instead, worried he’d get caught if his eyes lingered a bit more. Again, Park Jisung is only 18 and he barely leaves the house– the only girl in a bikini he’s ever seen were the actors in the movies he watched on TV or the characters in the anime he once binged watched in the middle of the night, and those curves were drawn-on, on top of that. He doesn’t know what to do around a girl, and holding a conversation is suddenly that harder when his eyes keep drifting towards your body.

“I- I can’t really swim,” he mumbles out, another set of scratching his neck taking place, the slowly burning skin on the sharp sun making him shift in discomfort.

“Fuck’s sake,” a curse escapes your mouth, the word catching the poor boy off-guard even more, since he’s not used to anyone speaking in that tone around him– with the exception of his parents when they argue, of course, but he’d rather not bring up the memory– and his big eyes scan you again, surprised and almost a little worried of your next actions, “well, I’m not getting 10 pounds this way, am I? Didn’t know the uptown boy can’t swim…” you mutter under your breath before you shake your head in disbelief and shrug off your shorts, throwing the clothing towards the beach towel sprawled out on the shore.

Now, Jisung tries really really hard not to look at your bum. That would be really embarrassing– truly humiliating– and he’s a gentleman, of course. And it doesn’t make it better that the whole journey here, you were rambling about your day and about how bored you are in this little village, and he found the scrunch of your nose so adorable, because now he has the crushing reality dawning up on him that he’s 18 and finally having a sexual awakening. No, he won’t stare at your body. He’s simply not allowed.

“What are you waiting for? Are you gonna go into the water in your clothes?” you ask again, looking him up and down when he doesn’t move. 

“Oh, I was just thinking I could… you know, stay here and hang out by myself until you’re done swimming, or something…” he says, and the more words that spill out of his mouth, the more embarrassed he feels, because your gaze suddenly locks with his and you seem so amused by his rambling, you find his words so hilarious, he doesn’t miss a heartbeat before he sighs more-so to himself and takes off his shirt, clearing his throat awkwardly when he finds you staring at his naked skin.

“Glad you got the memo,” you muster up, shaking your head in disbelief and tying your hair up into a neat bun. “I swear it’s not that deep from the corners, you’re not gonna drown. Your aunt would kick my head off if I left you here to fry,” you mumble and Jisung hates how it sounds like you’re truly only here because you have to, because the more seconds he spends staring into your eyes trying to predict your next move, the more he wishes you were here because you were only slightly interested in spending time with the new kid in the village– him.

“Alright,” he mumbles, and when he’s finally only in his swimming suit, taking cautious steps and following you towards the water, he finds his anxiety levels rising, because the truth is, he’s never swam in a lake before. Sure, he’s been in pools– but those aren’t so scary. He can almost always feel the bottom of it under his feet and he knows they don’t get as deep. Surely, there is a little to no possibility of him drowning in a swimming pool. Lakes, however, are a different thing. He can’t reach the bottom, and if he does, the surface is disgusting and slippery and won’t help him to his feet– if he really got too stiff and panicked, he could die. And that’s perhaps what scares him the most as he takes the first step on the slick rock at the very edge of the water, the slight stumble of his feet only making him more aware of the reality that’s in front of him.

“You’re such a scaredy cat,” you tease him when you look at him from behind your shoulder, a grin on your face acting like a sucker punch towards Jisung’s gut. And the truth is, he’d be more relaxed if you just gave him a minute– to collect his thoughts, calm his erracting heartbeat as he’d tell himself that there’s nothing to worry about and that the water here truly isn’t as deep yet and the worst thing that could happen is that he lands on his ass, but you don’t give him a chance to do so as your hand slips into his– trying to steady him, as you walk deeper into the water.

Your soft hand in his, fingers intertwined, he finds himself holding on to you like a lifeline– because in his tragic imagination, you might as well be one– and the beating of his heart only gets faster when he gets painfully aware of the sweat pooling in the palms of his hand and the very apparent hesitance in his step. If you notice it, you don’t mention it– to which Jisung’s equal parts surprised and glad, and suddenly, his figure is waist-level in the water before he even has a chance to register it and your hand lets go of his, the momentarily hypnotization of your hold escaping him when he has to face you as he stands still in the cool liquid.

You’re staring at him with a flashy smile, expecting eyes waiting for him to react to you in any way– and when nothing comes, you must realize that he’s too starstrucked by your appearance to muster up anything coherent enough. 

“You alright there?”

He finds himself nodding, a hum escaping his throat to accompany his response. It’s not enough for you, though, and the truth is, Park Jisung should’ve been prepared for this, since even the two days of knowing you must be enough to get to know the true intentions of your actions– because you tease him again, and even though the boy gets sulky easily, he doesn’t seem to find himself paying it much mind.

“A cat got your tongue?” you snicker, shaking your head at him. 

For a second, Jisung debates on acting dumb– maybe more silence or a shrug of his shoulders would rile you up more, get you more annoyed– but he should’ve learned already that you’re always one step ahead of him, in more cases than one, when a splash of cold water hits his heated skin, making him hiss in shock.

Your laughter fills his ears as he watches you stand still in front of him, presumably not expecting much threat from the boy that’s barely able to move in the lake, but the angelic look on your face acts like a dopamine kick for the boy, vitamin D flowing through his veins as he reacts to your teasing with another splash of water, feet delicately chasing you around the lake, screeches coming out your throat like music to his ears on the sunny summer afternoon. 

The water fight ends with him tripping over a stone as he tries to run away from you, and the shock on your face is evident– Jisung finds himself feeling endearment at the hint of you worrying about him– when you rush towards the boy and lean over his body sitting in the water, Jisung’s worst-case scenario coming to life right in front of your eyes. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, a hand offered to him to get him back up on his feet.

And Jisung takes it, only to tug you down towards him, his body shielding you from the impact, but still hitting the ice-cold water of the lake. With your face only centimeters away from his, your annoyed, yet amused face causing him to grin, he finds himself laughing at your next remark.

“I take it as today’s worthy of a tenner then, Park Jisung. Having too much fun, aren’t you?”

To Park Jisung, summer feels like sleep and the humid air in his little room back home. He’s never really been anywhere on vacations or holidays, because frankly, with his father’s nature and his mother’s low income job, there wasn’t really much space to go somewhere and explore what it’s like to enjoy the summer heat instead of constantly angrily swearing at the weather. For that matter, Park Jisung never really enjoyed summer. He was always locked up in that small room, sometimes listening to his parents’ arguing– which he so desperately tried to ignore every time, but his heart did that weird hammering each time his father broke a glass or his mother raised her voice a bit louder than usual– and when his parents weren’t arguing, the house would be too quiet, making him overthink. 

To Park Jisung, summer feels like overslept afternoons and boredom. He doesn’t know any better, and he would even pity himself, but the truth is, he thinks that’s embarrassing. People have it worse, after all– he’s just a teenager with no life purpose. Just like any other, right?

So when Jisung arrives at his aunt’s place for the summer– no longer having to listen to his parents’ arguing, because after 18 years of his life, they finally decided to call it quits and drag their son to the only relative he vaguely knows for the time being, until they figure everything out– he expects nothing more from the old house than what he experienced his whole growing up. He expects overslept afternoons and sweaty pajamas clinging to his back, humid air everywhere and the weird hollowness in the pit of his stomach. 

To his surprise– and believe me, he didn’t really expect this at all– the summer before university is completely different, and he’s pleased with the change. 

He wakes up late one afternoon, because he doesn’t expect anything exciting to happen in the time he spends asleep anyway, and when he drags his feet to the kitchen, body tense and hurting from the weird positions he found himself sleeping in, his mind is instantly sweeped of all the haziness when he founds your figure in his aunt’s house, laughing at the radio host babbling through the device.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” his aunt greets him from the corner of the room, and he’s suddenly too aware of his bed hair and the fact that his clothing is all wrinkled and his face is puffy, because he feels your eyes on him and he hates to know that you see him in such state. Not that he’s any eye candy any other day, of course– he just thinks you could’ve seen him in a more presentable light, that’s all.

“G’morning,” he mutters as he scratches the back of his neck and looks around the room, trying to grasp the events of 1PM– barely morning anymore.

“If you woke up earlier, you could’ve gone with us,” his aunt chirps in from the stove, swirling something sweet-smelling in a big pot. Her face is fawned over with a glaze of sweat and even the wide-open window does nothing to get the air to clear out– Jisung thinks that’s just the magic of summer. It’s always too hot, and the only thing you can do is complain.

“Where did you go?”

“To the forest,” you smile at him, seeing as he takes a few hesitant steps towards your figure, “we picked berries and now your aunt’s making jam. A classic village-like summer activity, don’t ya think?” you chirp, tugging your hair behind your ear as you pick through the big bowl and put away the berries that don’t look as good, choosing to not include them in the jam. 

Jisung hums in agreement, still a little confused, as he takes another few steps around the room. Looking over his aunt’s shoulder, he sees the blood colored liquid boiling at the stove, the air even sweeter right above the steam, and he suddenly wonders if this is today’s activity. Looking over his shoulder at you, dressed in shorts and a tank top, he shrugs to himself– if it means that you’ll be over at his house the whole time the jam’s being made, he doesn’t mind helping out in the kitchen. 

“Can you wash these?” you ask, pointing towards the bowl full of berries. He nods to your order and takes it over to the sink, carefully splashing water over the fruit and making sure each piece is clean– he doesn’ want to embarrass himself in front of you. Frankly, he doesn’t know what’s going on or how exactly jam is made, but you seem like you’re a regular in those activities– he doesn’t want you to think he’s a city guy with no knowledge of how the world works. Because that’s kind of true, but you don’t have to know that.

Bringing the bowl over to the table again, he watches as you look up at him from the next bowl you’re currently sorting through, raising your brows in question at his stare. The boy almost wants to look away from being caught, but he figures it’s too late anyway, so he challenges you and waits for you to jab at him or roll your eyes. 

Instead, you pick up one berry from the bowl and press it up against his lips, an innocent smile playing with your features as you wait for him to eat it, looking at him with expecting eyes.

“Delicious, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely magical,” Jisung replies, overly-exaggerated, seeing you grin. He steals himself another berry from the bowl, escaping from the playful slap you want to give to the palm of his hand, before he sits on the chair opposite of yours, silently watching you doing your task.

“Now, today’s events might not be as exciting, so you can save your next 10 pounds, but once your aunt’s hands get tired, you can take over and stir the jam while it cooks,” you explain, teasing him with your little inside joke– you’re not actually getting paid for hanging out with him. Not really, although Jisung did buy you ice cream on your way home from the lake the other day. So in a way, you are. Just not with real money.

“So fun!” he says, watching you as you roll your eyes.

The truth is, he doesn’t care much about what he does during the day. As long as you’re present, he’s satisfied.

To Park Jisung, summer feels like overslept afternoons, his little humid room back home and boredom. This afternoon, the smell of berries, the sound of the radio and your bubbly laugh when you tease him joins the mix– and he thinks those overpower the grudge he has against the season with such measures he prays every day feels like summer from now on.

The room is kind of chilly when Jisung rests his back against the tall bookshelf– the side of the furniture, so the shelves aren’t uncomfortable against his back– eyes glued to the pages of the book. He finds himself too immersed in the story to notice anyone coming into his aunt’s living room, too occupied with the sentences to hear the shuffling of your feet as you drag your legs across the house. His aunt always lets you in with no questions– you only knock on the door and smile at her when she opens it, slickly jumping inside and finding who you’re looking for in one of the few rooms of the house– more often than not, you catch Park Jisung off guard, but he is starting to get used to the euphoric surprise.

Jisung is an avid reader. He’s liked books since he was little, and it was the only thing he found himself spending money on growing up. When the amount of books he could read in one month became too big for him to keep buying more and more prints, his mother took him to the town to get him his own library card.

After looking through the bookshelf in his aunt’s house, he was surprised– and a little annoyed– at the fact that there were only romance books in store. He already finished the copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy he brought with himself when his parents sent him off, and he didn’t really think of bringing more. Finding his aunt’s bookshelf was like finding a treasure, only if the contents weren’t so disappointing. Still, a romance book is better than no book, he thinks, as he picks a familiar one up and sits on the floor, immersing himself into the story.

“What are you reading?” he suddenly hears, head snapping up to see you watching him from above, eyes skimming through the words.

“A book,” he responds, voice low, before his eyes are back on the pages.

“I can see that, genius,” you snicker, situating yourself next to him and resting your back against the bookshelf, “what book is it?” you pry more, and even though you are almost always the main object of Park Jisung’s attention and thoughts, this time, you are set to the second place as he continues to read the novel.

You are rewarded with silence, a thing that makes your brows furrow and a sigh escape your lips. You’re not used to this kind of treatment, it seems, and when the interested teenager doesn’t give you his time of the day, you have no other choice but to ask for it yourself, no matter how embarrassing it might feel. You’re okay with biting it down– you know he won’t try to tease you about it anyways.

“Jisung, give me attention,” you simply say, jabbing your finger to his thigh.

“I’m reading.”

“I came to visit you!” you act offended, an over-exaggerated sigh escaping your lips.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Jisung mumbles, still reading through the pages, although his focus is now a little thrown-off.

Giving yourself a few seconds to think, chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug. “Okay, then. Read it out loud, so I’m entertained too.”

“It’s the middle of the book, Y/N–”

“Come on, I read The great Gatsby before anyway,” you say as you nestle a little in your place, resting your back flush against the shelf again, “read for me so we don’t sit in silence,” you order.

Jisung spares you a glance, a second of eye contact enough for him to be convinced, huffing before he averts his eyes back to the book and clears his throat, reading aloud. 

He doesn’t like to be the center of attention. He doesn’t like it when everyone’s eyes are on him and he feels them watching, he absolutely despises the fact that he’s the only thing you’re focused on as he reads through the words and his voice shakes a little at each passage. He feels his face heartening and sweat slowly forming on his forehead, each of his fingertips tingling with the fact that he’s the only thing you’re paying attention to right now, your only object of interest.

“He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete,” he reads, and when he feels your head resting on his shoulder, your soft hair tickling the sensitive skin of his neck, he almost jumps out of his own skin and crawls under the ground, because somewhere along the way, he admits in shame, in his imagination, you turned into the main character.

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the vinyl you popped into the record player just a few minutes prior to leaving the room to get some tea from his aunt, Park Jisung no longer wishes for the ground to swallow him whole and for the ceiling to fall down and bury him in the deepest depths of this house. He listens deeply to the music– the loud guitars and the ringing of the drums, so dearly reminding him of the beating of his own heart that involuntarily matches the song somewhere between the verse and the chorus– and when you slip back inside, carrying a tray with two mugs in the very middle, Jisung’s eyes unconsciously watch you as you walk through the space. It’s a weird parallel that makes him snicker.

“Why are you just laying here?” you nudge him with your leg, his figure limp on the floor. “We didn’t come here to lay around, little boy.”

“Just give me a few more minutes,” he hums as he nods, looking at you from below, the curves of your face and the glow on the tips of your cheekbones making his heartbeat stummer for just a beat, an excited glint in his stomach making itself known when you grin at him and your eyes bear into his with an uncertain feeling of mischief and playfulness.

“Are you mentally preparing, or something?”

“Something like that,” he admits, sighing to himself when you offer him a hand and beg him to stand up with your eyes, your skin soft under his touch when he hosts himself up and stands aimlessly in the middle of the room.

You stand in front of him, stiff, for only a few seconds. The eye contact you share makes Jisung feel electrified, but he doesn’t find himself averting his gaze– he’s too scared that you’d find him cowardly, or too shy to meet your glances. And even though it might be true and your whole existence is of exciting importance to the boy, he doesn’t want to show it to you so bluntly, so he chooses to bury those hints and stand his ground, waiting for you to look away first. He didn’t expect you to take it as a challenge– but when his still body annoys you a bit too much, he earns himself a bump to his shoulder, the contact of your tightened fist making him break into a victorious grin.

“Move!”

Jisung takes a step to his left, seeing as you roll your eyes at his teasing manner– normally you’re the one taking the lead in playful banter, but he’s feeling bold today, energized with whatever spirit– and you notice, hating the way he has the upper hand over you for once, deciding to once again take the matters to your own hands and lead him through the situation, grabbing him by his hand and strongly pulling him towards either side of the room, rolling your hips in your place and jumping around, laughing when he doesn’t seem to obey your strategy.

“Jisung-ah! You promised,” you pout, the soft demand in your tone making the boy sigh in defeat and roll his eyes at you, because if you’re good at something, it’s using your words and taking advantage of his weakness for you. And so he does what you want him to, finally holding you more firmly when his hands miraculously find your waist and he dances with you to the rock music– jumping around and twirling the two of you in the middle of the room, because there aren’t many dance moves you can do to this kind of music unless you’re really skilled– and there it is, the wide grin settling onto your face, like a sweet, sweet reward to the boy.

Because even though you really wanted to have fun with Jisung– to get the promised tenner, you said– your mum didn’t let you go to the party in town, no matter how hard you pleaded and tried to reason with her that Jisung’s gonna be there with you to protect you. His aunt knew better than to believe the claim– if there’s someone needing protection, it’s her nephew, and being the one that’s supposed to do the job might be too much pressure for the poor boy. 

And when you pouted and mourned about the fact while breaking the news to Jisung yesterday afternoon, he found himself promising you that you can have your own party at his house, dancing around and having even more fun listening to his aunt’s outdated records and drinking chamomile tea that’s surely better than whatever alcohol they are serving in the town.

He’s not a good dancer. The music is not his cup of tea. But hearing your laughter piercing through his eardrums whenever he dips you down or does a silly dance solo just to impress you with his playfulness, he finds himself being content.

He hasn’t laughed this hard in a long while. He says it’s because of your outrageous ideas.

Deep inside, though, he knows it’s because of your sole presence.

“You already finished The Great Gatsby?” you ask, your soft voice cutting through the solemn wind. Jisung glances up at you from his spot next to your figure, the two of you sitting under the tree behind his house, silence enveloping you two like a blanket, only disturbed by the chirping of birds and cicadas in the distance. 

He nods. “I’m a fast reader,” he snickers.

“You must have liked the book,” you mumble, your head falling to his shoulder as you nestle in your place a little, the book in your lap still open as you engage in the conversation with him. You’re wearing a summer dress, your bruised knees on full display, and something about the air smelling like strawberries makes him think and wonder of the fact that this feels a little too much like a date, but he’s too afraid to let the thought ring out loud.

“Not really,” he states, “I don’t like romance novels.”

“You don’t?” you ask, the statement taking you off guard.

“No.”

“Why?”

“They’re not realistic,” he mutters under his nose.

“You don’t believe in love?” you ask, your eyes locking with his in a curious manner. The more he bears his eyes into yours, the more he watches as the glimmers in your orbs swim around and hypnotize him, the more he wishes he could say yes, the more he yearns to tell you that he does, he always has and he always will believe in love, but smiling to himself, more out of despair than out of anything, he shakes his head in disapproval and sees the shadow casting over your face, breaking him.

“Why?” you ask, the tone of your voice almost hurt, as if it was a question of life and death.

“Because… it doesn’t seem real. It’s all an illusion, a chemical reaction, even, it’s- it’s not forever, you know? It messes with your brain and makes you feel dizzy for a while, and then after a while, you realize you don’t feel the same anymore and it was all just a lack of judgment. I don’t think love exists,” he says, “or at least, I don’t think it can last.”

Your eyes watch him with a newly found sense, something in your brain turning fast as you chew on the inside of your cheek, and he can see it in your eyes– you want to disagree with him, you want to tell him that he’s stupid and silly and he doesn’t know anything, he’s just too burdened with what’s going on in his life and that he judges everything by the image of love that was fed to him by his parents; the love that didn’t last, the love that didn’t exist– but you don’t say anything along those lines, maybe in a quiet understanding, knowing it won’t change his mind, knowing it’s not your place to tell him otherwise.

Instead, you only bear your eyes back into the pages of your book and sigh. “I disagree. Because, Jisung, tell me,” you say, sighing before you continue, “how could it not be real, when everyone writes about it? When everyone sings about it, yearns for it and so desperately wants it? How could it not last when this book is older than any of us, yet it’s still considered one of the most trivial parts of romance?”

He watches you from above, the crown of your head now in his point of view when he listens to your voice. “You should be kissed often, and by someone who knows how,” you read, “isn’t that beautiful, Jisung? Isn’t that love? Don’t tell me it’s all an illusion.”

Your eyes don’t meet his when you speak those words. Not able to focus back on his own reading, he becomes painfully aware of your head on his shoulder again, the soft tickling of your hair against his neck– and he finds himself thinking that if love is an illusion, a chemical reaction, a lack of judgment, even– if love doesn’t last, if it’s all just a drunkenness that makes him dizzy, he doesn’t mind. 

At the end of the day, what matters might just be the present moment. And if this doesn’t last, he’s content with how he’s feeling for you now– even though it might fizzle out, he’s grateful for the things you’ve taught him.

Park Jisung’s summer is filled with him staring at you in your summer dress, with him watching you when you ramble on and on about something that makes barely any sense in his brain, with you dancing around the room and playing the piano in his aunt’s living room, the melodies sometimes lullying him to dreams filled with your scent and your voice calling from him when he wakes from his slumber.

Your face is the image that fills his brain when he thinks of sunny days, and somewhere along the way, he stopped trying to conceal the subtle infatuation he has over you, for you no longer tease him for his gentle stares and allow him to admire you in silence.

Today, much like all other days, he finds himself in your company. Sitting in the meadow, side by side– you convinced him he’d like the sight, but he finds himself watching you smile instead– the smell of strawberries fills his nose when you take out your lip balm and put it on, your soft lips suddenly glistening with the moisture, a pinkish tint like a subtle overlay over your smile. Indulged into the motion, Jisung can’t seem to look away, and he could play it off as him so desperately wanting to know if the lip balm tastes as delicious as it smells, but suddenly, all he can think about it how he wants to kiss you and how if he doesn’t look away soon, he won’t be able to control the urge.

But Jisung’s always been too weak when it comes to you. Eyes glued to your lips, still talking about philosophical themes the boy could never wrap his mind around, never in a million years, the stream of words is suddenly cut off your lips when he presses his against them, tasting the sweetness off your skin. And his suspicions were correct– the lip balm is as tasty as it smells, yet, even better than he could expect, tasting more of strawberries dipped in honey– but in his mind, the sweetness you and not the lip balm, and when your palm meets his cheek and holds him in place, he feels close to falling apart right in your hold, a fragile pot full of love and affection for you only, eyes pressed shut from nerves.

He doesn’t think he’s a good kisser. It’s his first time and he never really thought about the action before– never had the opportunity or the right person to prompt the thought into his head. He tries hard to ignore the thought of him being bad at the action, because he doesn’t want to ruin this memory for himself, and as you pull away for a heartbeat and then press yourself into him once more, he finds himself forgetting the time, space and the whole universe– there’s only you, you, you.

And he could lie to himself and convince himself that he kissed you just to taste the strawberries on his tongue, but it’s far from the simple reality– he kissed you just to kiss you.

Not thinking of the future this holds to him, not thinking of the fact that one day, you’ll have to say goodbye. Not thinking of much more, not expecting any difference in your dynamic. Deep down, he doesn’t even really want things to change– he likes the stillness, the security it holds. He kissed you just to kiss you– it was that simple. The desire was too strong to hold back. It was gentle, it was sweetness, and he found himself wondering how come it took him such a while.

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room with you, listening to the silence ringing in his ears and making his brain wander, Park Jisung wishes for the ground to swallow him whole and for the ceiling to fall down and bury him in the deepest depths of this house. He hasn’t felt like this in a while, too enchanted with your presence to realize the weight of the situation, too immersed in the blissful unknowingness than paying attention to the stresses that even brought him to his aunt’s house in the first place, but his head starts to spin as he dives in deeper to his thoughts, letting the fear swallow him. He once again wonders what would happen if he just left the room, left his aunt’s house and ran away so far no one could ever find him– it’s a familiar tale now, but he’s never really quite reached the end.

“What are you thinking about?” your voice breaks him out of the tense slumber, his eyes growing wide as he snaps his head to watch you next to him, your orbs filled with tender care and worry. The outside world is slowly turning into a little less vibrant one, the summer nights growing colder with the undeniable fact of the season ending soon, autumn taking its place and Park Jisung’s own departure slowly burning at the tips of his toes. 

He doesn’t like to think about it, but it’s inevitable. Maybe he should pay it more mind. 

“Home,” he mumbles, squinting his eyes as he turns his head back straight and watches the spiderwebs in the corner, the weight of his words making the atmosphere thicker. “It’s not gonna be the same,” he adds, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

The silence doesn’t go away as your hand envelopes his, your fingers playing with his in a calming manner, yet still having a playful aura to it as you tug on the joints of his fingers and wave them around in the air, eyes focused on the way his palm fits into yours. “Isn’t that a good thing?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he answers. 

And it’s true. He doesn’t know– fights and anger and bad temper is all he’s ever known, all he’s ever been used to. The silent treatment and the petty arguments are what raised him, and now that it’s gone, he wonders if it’s gonna make him feel better. The truth is, sometimes, feeling like this can feel essential. It feels safe to be so miserable, for when the bright times of him and his parents being okay and getting along happened, he’s always felt unsure, like the storm was about to happen each time; like he couldn’t be happy for long, because it felt uncomfortably unsafe, having the hunch that it’s gonna get bad again any time. Feeling numb was safe. It couldn’t get worse than that– it’s what made him comfortable with his sadness. 

And if it’s true that it’s gonna be better now, just because his parents are gonna be separated and they’re not gonna be in contact, is it really okay for him to feel happy about that? Is it really the end? The calm after the storm of his childhood and growing up? And is it okay to feel secure in loneliness? To feel okay with seeing his mother wither away and his dad turning to alcohol every time he visits him in his new house? Because he can picture it now– he sees it clear as day, that this is how the situation’s gonna end up, and he doesn’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you mumble, a poor attempt at soothing the boy.

He finds it hard to believe you. Sometimes he thinks you know everything– you’ve seen so much and taught him so much and told him so much about the world. But can you really know anything about a situation you’ve never encountered? 

Still, his hopeless heart swells at your words, the comfort of your hand in his guarding him to reality. He thinks he made you up sometimes– he longed for something to comfort him so hard and for so long that the longing grew legs and followed him around, brightened up his withering days. 

“I’m scared to come home,” he whispers, the tone barely audible in the so still room. He’s scared of what he’ll find. Sometimes he thinks he’s scared of the silence, for he was brought up in violent screams and doors always left a bit open– just in case. Is it going to be fine for him to find peace after the violence?

You lean up and watch the boy with eyes bigger than the whole universe, a soft smile playing with your features when your fingers trail the curve of his cheek. Jisung watches your lips and dreams of them on his, but there’s no use when you only trace the arch of his cupid's bone with the pad of your thumb, voice barely louder than a whisper, as if confiding him in a secret. “You’re gonna be okay.”

And with that, you’re gone. Like a dream. Your touch fades and your scent is forcefully dragged away from his nose.

After a few seconds, you play the piano for him again. He recognizes the song to be the same one you played on the first day you two met– and he wonders if it’s your favorite, or if you just don’t know how to play anything as well. The melody is often slow, romantic and idyllic, but builds into an intense complexity. Towards the end, the initial melody returns, bringing a sense of resolution and tranquility. He doesn’t know the name of the song– he’s never heard of it before meeting you– but in his soul, the feelings of love, longing and enchantment remain as he listens to the harmonies and passionate melody. 

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the song you play for him on the piano, so many words unsaid but hanging in the air, Park Jisung closes his eyes and feels a stray tear rolling down his cheek. The air smells of autumn when the breeze flows into the room through the open window, making the hairs on his arm stand up in attention, and his head starts to spin as he dives in deeper to the music, the classical tunes almost making him overthink more than he has before. He wonders what will happen if you left the room right now. If he’ll ever find you, wherever you are.

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the song you play for him on the piano, so many words unsaid but hanging in the air, Park Jisung closes his eyes and lets himself fall into a soft slumber, the same way he did the first time you walked through the door to his life. During the sleep, he dreams of love.

Park Jisung opens his eyes on the last day of summer and feels coldness seeping into his bones. It’s not cold yet, the season hasn’t even ended, but there’s something about the aura of the morning that makes him crawl in his own skin and dread the day in front of him. After today, he’s supposed to come back home– he’s going to leave everything the summer taught him behind, in this little village, with his aunt he’s grown to adore more than he initially thought he could. It’s kind of depressing, if you really think about it, but Jisung would rather not think at all.

He sits up on the bed, burrowing his head into his palms and huffs heavily at the thoughts running through his brain. He’s not a morning person, sure, but he thinks perhaps his sudden mood change is the result of something completely else– something he doesn’t yet know and can’t quite put his finger on, can’t quite name.

Standing up and walking out of his room, naked feet in contact with the hardwood floor, the clique of the door feels unusually cold against his hand when he reaches for it, opening it and getting ready to face the day. He hasn’t said goodbye to you yet, but he knows he’ll have to today. It’s the last opportunity before he walks out of summer break for real, the last opportunity to see your smile and to hold you in his arms like he always yearned for whenever you were in his close proximity.

Yet, as he gets ready to take the first step out of the room, his feet come to contact with something sharp, a block-like object waiting for him outside of the door. Squinting below his toes, he finds a book on the hard tiles, picking it up and moving it closer up towards his nose. Reading over the title and the author’s name, his heart drops to his stomach, an unreasonable feeling of fear settling in his fingertips as he turns the page and reads through the contents, something scribbled on the first, worn-out page of the book catching his attention.

To my Jisung. Think of me when you read through the pages. You said you didn’t like romance novels, but I know you’re secretly a sucker for them. Always in your heart, Y/N.

A kiss mark in bright red is settled below the inscription, the lipstick stain he rarely ever seen you wear does nothing else than makes his heartbeat quicken and his fear intensify. He doesn’t have it confirmed yet, but in the depths of his mind and soul, he already knows– he knows it’s too late and you didn’t say goodbye before you left.

Still, his feet act before his brain does, his blurry vision ignored when he runs out of his aunt’s house and makes a jog towards the one you were staying at through the summer break. He puts on the first pair of shoes he finds at the doorstep and takes off, his aunt’s concerned yells ignored as he clutches the book to his chest, something about the beaten edges reminding him of the fact that it’s the one you always read in the shade under the single tree in the whole meadow, and it’s confirmed when he gets to your house– your parents’ car nowhere in sight, the windows shut and everything so intensely lonely.

And that’s when he allows himself to break– to fold at the grass in front of your house, to open the book and randomly find the sentence you quoted to him once, breaking his heart into a million different shatters. “You should be kissed often, and by someone who knows how,” he reads, and when his eyes trail over the next pages, he sees each one annotated, words scribbled on the sides of the pages, pretty quotes underlined. You left a piece of you with him, for him to keep, and he should feel lucky, for he has something to remember you by even though you’re long gone, but he just can’t get past the melody you played on the piano replaying over and over in his brain, reminding him that 

you left without a goodbye and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do once he moves back home and you’re not going to be there, and oh how badly he wishes you kissed him for the last time yesterday, for he can’t remember how your lips felt against his anymore and he fears he may never feel the way he did when he was kissed by you ever again. 

Rustling through the book, there’s a lone sheet of paper tucked behind the last page. Slowly walking home, head hung low, his eyes scanning the music sheet, the title of the song sits unfamiliar on his tongue when he repeats it under his breath like a broken mantra made to bring you back. 

He promises himself to learn how to play it on the piano one day, just so he could hear it again. There’s an inkling feeling in him that the song might be important.

Wobbling through the classroom, happy that the bell finally rang and he can go home, Park Jisung hears his name called from the mouth of his Creative writing professor, much to his dismay, making him stop in his tracks and follow his voice with a low sigh. It’s Friday and it’s raining outside, meaning that if he won’t catch the last tram home, he’ll have to run through the rain without an umbrella, and that really wasn’t on his checklist for the week.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he hates this class or his Creative writing professor in the slightest. It’s quite the opposite, really– this class serves good to his vivid imagination and the daydreaming he practices every night before sleeping and sometimes even when he takes a long shower. His professor is nice as well– young enough to understand the minds that are filling the classroom, only getting his master’s degree recently– but still mature enough to lead the class in a way that makes everyone respect him in a healthy way. But today, on a rainy, gray Friday, after the last class of the week, Jisung really doesn’t feel like talking to Mr Kim in the slightest.

“Did you want to talk to me about something?” Jisung asks as soon as the classroom empties itself out and he is standing face to face with his professor. The man nods, taking his glasses off and putting them onto his desk, quickly turning around to his student again and only starting to talk once he makes sure the classroom is completely empty, just to stay confidential.

“Yes, I did,” he says. Humming under his breath as he turns around again, he searches through the papers sitting on the desk, seemingly looking for the ones that belong to Jisung, and clears his breath as he faces the boy again and furrows his brows at the writing on the paper.

“Is something wrong?” Jisung asks, full of concern. The truth is that the Creative writing class is one of the only classes that maintain his grades below the lowest level– the one that gets you kicked out of the university– and the face his professor’s currently making is surely not a one that seeps of satisfaction. It’s only natural for Jisung to feel worried, because with how badly he’s doing in Physics, he surely can’t afford to get a bad grade even in a class that’s supposed to come easily to him.

“No, no,” Mr Kim shakes his head in a hurry to quickly calm his student down, “it’s just…” trailing off, his eyes swiftly moving across the letters Jisung finished writing a few weeks ago, just a day before handing the first part of his assignment in, reading the first few lines over one more time. Jisung finds himself feeling irritated and frustrated, for his professor should be the one that’s good with words, but in this situation, he feels like he’s not telling him anything. 

“What is it, then?” he asks, diving straight in. If he gets it out of him now, he might even catch the last tram, as long as he runs to the tram stop… 

“Look, Jisung. What I’m going to tell you now might not make you happy, but I think it’s crucial for you,” he says, looking kindly, yet still firmly at the boy, “your writing… I like it. Quite honestly, I find it phenomenal. You have a way with words that just… when you explain feelings, you go into depths and details, and I find that really interesting from a boy like you.” 

Jisung doesn’t know what the premise of his words are, and the sudden praise catches him off-guard, since he thought he’s going to get scolded. Furrowing his brows and muttering low words of appreciation, his professor continues with his little ment, finally clarifying his intentions. “But I have an issue with this,” he says, pointing to the papers in his hands, meeting eyes with Jisung again, “it’s not that it’s bad. Not at all, I said what I said, I really find your writing the best in this class. However, I think it lacks something.”

Stepping from one foot to the other, Jisung chews on the inside of his cheek, confused. “And what does it lack, sir?”

“Emotion,” he deadpans, looking straight into his eyes. The words surprise him, making him furrow his brows at the explanation, mumbling in confusion.

“But… but you just said I describe emotions well?” 

“That’s true, Jisung, however… Your works are full of emotion, but I don’t think those emotions are yours. You’re describing something you don’t feel, something you don’t understand, and that makes me feel like you’re trying to sell me something you’re constantly having to make yourself believe is real,” Mr Kim answers, switching his tone into a more considerate one, “I like your imagination, I like the plot, however, this all means that your writing lacks any real depth.”

Jisung gasps at the harsh words, the reality of them making him sink a little in his place. “I thought a lot about the plot and the intentions of the characters, I really don’t know what I did wrong–”

“If this was any other student in this classroom that handed in this work, I’d praise them for outdoing themselves. It’s good. It’s almost perfect, I’d say, and I mean that. But when it comes to you, Jisung…” he trails off again, trying to find the right words, “I think you can do better. I know you can do better, only if you actually cared a bit about the things you write. Did you enjoy writing this? Did you like this work?” 

“I… I did- I think I do?” he stammers, answer sounding almost like a question, 

Mr Kim stares at him for a while, almost as if he’s trying to make the boy realize the lies he’s telling from his own mouth right now, but when it doesn’t come, he just sighs and offers him the papers, watching the boy take them into his hold and stare at him, completely oblivious.

“Jisung, you’re writing like you have to do it. It doesn’t mean anything to you. At least this story doesn’t. And you know, I can see it in your words, it’s- you’re describing everything so deeply and so beautifully, but at the end of the day, you don’t like or care for anything you write, and that’s why it feels extraordinarily empty,” he says, watching the boys eyes widen and his lips form into a pout, nodding softly at his professor’s words.

“Does that mean… I’m gonna get a bad grade on my final assignment?” Jisung asks, lost.

Sighing, Mr Kim shakes his head and gazes at his student with eyes like an endless pool of honesty. “I want you to hand in something else. Don’t worry about getting in the deadlines, I’ll wait for you and grade this at the end of the semester. All I want is for you to write a story that means something to you. Don’t worry about the prompt, even, if that’s what’s making you feel limited. Just make me believe what you’re writing, Jisung.”

Nodding, Jisung finally understands the whole point of what his professor is telling him. Truth be told, Mr Kim is right– he does not care a bit about the story he wrote. While he can admit that he did a good job on it, he did well at writing about ghosts– the prompt for this semester’s final work (they focused on horror and mystery in literature this year)– he is ready to throw the papers into his drawer and never think of them again, for he just wrote what he was supposed to without giving it any minor significance. He might have described the emotions of the characters well, he might have used pretty words and astonishing abbreviations, but at the end of the day, if someone asked him how much the story he wrote means to him, he’d tell them that it mattered to him no more than a homework he had to complete.

“I understand, Mr Kim. I’ll… I’ll try again,” he says, nodding.

He’s rewarded by a gentle smile coming from his mentor, an expression full of understatement and honest care for his student. Taking a step back from him and leaning on the desk, the professor hints that he can go now, offering him one last sentence of condolence before he sets him out of the classroom.

“I’d hate for your talent to go to waste, Jisung.”

Smiling, although a little tight-lipped, the boy slowly walks to the door, nodding one last time before he leaves. “I’ll try not to disappoint, sir.”

The halls of the university are dark due to the stormy clouds shielding the sun from offering the light to the world. Sighing and checking the time on his phone, Jisung notices that he missed his last tram and the only way he can get home now is to jog through the pouring rain. Opening the glass door of the university building, grunting as he puts the hood of his jacket over his head, he runs through the falling raindrops, still thinking of the words his professor told him in the classroom just a few minutes ago. 

Not looking in front of him as he runs, his body bumps into someone, making him utter honest, yet quick apologies as he jogs off after making sure the person is okay and didn’t drop anything, hating the way wet clothing sticks to his skin, making him feel almost a little claustrophobic. In the frantic hurry to get home as soon as possible, the boy doesn’t notice he dropped something on the floor–

the papers containing the latest story he wrote for the final assignment of his Creative writing class. Sitting in a puddle, somewhere in the middle of the street, the letters wash away with the afternoon rain, metaphorically erasing everything he wrote and didn’t care about in the past, moving him forward into a new direction.

Still, he looks behind his shoulder, ready to collect them from the ground just in case he might need them for something in the future, only to find the back of the person he just bumped into running away, a stack of white, water-stained A4 papers in their hands. Their walk is all too familiar to Jisung, the back of their head reminding him of something he’s experienced in the past, the sway of their hips and the jolt in their step making warmth erupt in his stomach at the fond memory that makes itself creep back into the boy’s head.

“It can’t be…” he mumbles.

The thought still fresh in his brain, the speculations making thoughts run around his mind faster than the speed of light, he opens up another Word document on his laptop as soon as he takes off his shoes in his mother’s new apartment, fingertips on fire. To write about something he cares for? Putting his everything into words that would mean something to him? It doesn’t seem as difficult right now.

Ghosts. The topic he found difficult to write about, for he’s never experienced anything paranormal before. He only tried to mimic everything he’s read about. 

If anyone asked Park Jisung if he believed in ghosts, he’d tell them yes, however– for he has seen longing grow legs and follow him. 

To write something he cares about, he decides– he’ll write about you.

He’ll write about the summer that even now, after so many months, feels like a dream.

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Hey there! Hope everything's going great

Sooo I had a request:

I had this thought about what if s/o and op men had a little argument on something and they decide to give silent treatment to each other for a while, they still do stuff together like going shopping for stuff with the crew but this little incident happens where a guy flirts with s/o infront of their partner and she (yep female s/o) says she's single XD

Like a headcanon on how they would react to this? It can be a funny one

I'd specifically like sabo, law, zoro and coby for this!

Thank youuuu so muchhhh if you'll do this take care! ^^ ♡

I included Ace in this as well because I love him. Sabo, Law, Zoro, Koby, Ace.

Warnings: arguments, threats, almost violence, heartbreak, hurt/comfort,

Word Count:1720

     Your fights never got this bad, never got out of control like this. Normally, you were able to work it out, or at least take some time to cool down first. But you’d both been in a bad mood, both said things you shouldn’t have, both been rather stupid to be honest. It should have been a minor argument, should have been simple grumbling followed by comforting hugs and cuddles, maybe a nap. Instead, it had ended up with you both storming off in an even worse mood than you’d already been in, it had ended with you both giving each other the silent treatment, and with extremely high tensions whenever you were together. Few, if any, of your friends said anything, not wanting to get caught up in your fight or be on the receiving end of your wrath, but the tension was getting uncomfortable… well, more uncomfortable. A simple shopping trip with the others, that’s all it was. Get some supplies, look around, it wouldn’t be the two of you alone, so it’s not like it would be uncomfortable silence the entire way, you could both talk to someone who wasn’t each other. It had been while you’d been in a clothing shop, looking at various clothes that he approached you. Tall, handsome, with a gorgeous smile.

     “Hey there, beautiful. Noticed you looking at these. If I may be so bold, I think this would look much better on you.” he said, holding out a beautiful dress. Running your fingers over the fabric, you smiled, you did look good in this color, maybe it was worth at least trying on.

     “Tell me how I look?” you asked, taking the dress, the man following you towards the dressing rooms. As soon as you stepped out, the man was taking your hand, kissing the back before helping give you a little spin.

     “You look dazzling. I was wondering, if a beautiful woman like you would perhaps join me for dinner? That is, unless you’re already taken.” he said, giving you another thousand watt smile. You hesitated for a moment. The two of you hadn’t talked in well over a week, or had it been longer? You were both too busy fuming to keep track, still stubbornly refusing to talk to each other.

     “No, I’m single and I’d love to accompany you.” you said with a soft smile.

Sabo

Head immediately whips around to look at you.

Heartbroken and angry.

Single? Was this your way of breaking up with him?

Immediately marches over, tells the guy you’re actually taken and then drags you away.

Pulls you somewhere secluded so you can talk.

Totally pins you to the wall.

Calls you both stubborn and says that the fight was stupid.

He’s angry because of the guy but he’s also super scared of losing you.

Pulls you close and holds you, telling you you’re his and that he won’t let some stupid fight change that.

If you don’t apologize for the fight or want to break up, his heart will 100% shatter.

He’s lost enough, you were the ray of sunshine in his life, he can’t lose you too.

Doesn’t actually say anything though, just walks away.

You can’t tell if he’s angry or sad from the way he leaves.

Won’t talk to anyone unless necessary for days and completely avoids you.

So, so heartbroken, absolutely cries when he’s alone.

Thinks he has to be strong for the Revolutionary Army though, so will put on a smile around others.

If you both apologize.

Refuses to let you go after that, if you let him, he’ll absolutely carry you everywhere, but if you don’t, he won’t let go of your hand. At. All. 

Super possessive all day.

Pulls you into his room to sleep with you. 

I hope you don’t have to get up in the middle of the night, because he won’t let you go.

Seriously, wrapped completely around you, holding you tight, you just are not going anywhere.

Steals or buys all sorts of gifts for you. Anything he thinks you might like. 

Even if you’re both at fault, he’s trying so hard to make up for the fight.

Law

Excuse me, what?

Straight up shambles the guy away, like as far as his room will allow. 

Super duper pissed.

Demands to know why you said you were single.

If you say that you’re breaking up with him, his heart will break. 

Not even kidding, will storm off to the Polar Tang, lock himself in his room and cry. 

If you say someting like ‘he was acting like you weren’t together anymore’, he’ll freeze up

Had he really been that stubborn and stupid?

Shambles you both back to the ship and holds you close.

Tells you that he can’t lose you.

Surprisingly sweet. Is this really your Law? Because he’s being way too affectionate.

Absolutely makes it up to you. Takes you back out shopping, if you so much as look at something with vague interest, he’ll either buy it or steal it for you.

Takes you out to a very nice (secluded) dinner that night. Holds you close all night, like, I hope you don’t mind sleeping in his bed with his arms wrapped around you, because it will happen.

Doesn’t let you out of his sight the entire time you’re docked.

Zoro

Almost slices the entire store (and the guy) into pieces.

You’re WHAT?

So, so, so angry.

Also scared, though he won’t admit it.

Scares the guy away.

Picks you up, throws you over his shoulder, and takes you back to the Sunny.

You can’t tell if he’s more angry or hurt as he looks at you.

Simply states that you’re his.

If you tell him you aren’t and that you’re breaking up with him.

Just storms off.

Goes to his gym and starts working out to try and blow off some steam.

Spends an unusual amount of time in the gym from now on. 

Can’t look at you because it hurts too much. 

Still totally loves you.

He doesn’t even insult Sanji for days.

If you forgive him.

Wraps his arms around you and holds you close.

Just stays like that for a while.

Keeps an arm wrapped around you all day as you go shopping.

In so much debt to Nami now because he borrowed so much money.

Isn’t able to buy you everything you look at, but if you express any sort of desire over it, he’ll buy it.

Keeps you close for weeks. He’s training? Well, I hope you wanted to watch him work out. He’s taking a nap? You’re taking a nap too. 

I hope you don’t mind sleeping in the boy’s dorm because Nami absolutely will not let him sleep in the girl’s dorm.  

Koby

Immediately rushes over to you.

Are you serious? Does this mean you’re breaking up with him? He’s so, so, so, so sorry.

Completely ignoring the guy as he takes your hands in his.

Eyes are so hurt and scared and a little desperate. 

Begs you to forgive him.

If you break up with him.

Absolutely starts tearing up then and there.

Quietly walks away as he starts crying. Returns to his room and starts sobbing. 

Beats himself up for getting into the fight in the first place. 

SO different from his usual self!

Just super quiet and downcast. 

It’s like he reverted back to when he was working for Alvida but without the hope for something better.

His rank and abilities totally suffer because of how heartbroken he is.

Like, everyone is wondering, is this really the same Captain Koby?

Does eventually, sort of bounce back, but is super focused on only work.

If you forgive him.

Clings to you, just wrapps you in a huge hug, apologizing over and over.

Still crying a little but so, so relieved. 

Buys. You. Everything!

Seriously, I hope you plan to look at the ground the entire time, because if you even glance at it, he’s buying it, trying to make things up to you.

Even if he knows it’s both of your faults, he doesn’t care, he feels like he needs to apologize and make it up to you. 

Spoils you rotten for weeks.

A little meek around you for a bit, but does perk up and return to normal after a bit. 

Cuddles with you whenever possible. Like, if he has even a minute to spare, he’s got his arms wrapped around you. 

Ace

Literally lights on fire as he stalks over to the man.

Almost lights the guy on fire.

Not sure who to feel more sorry for. Ace for feeling so scared and heartbroken or the man for being so terrified.

Pulls you away immediately. 

As soon as your somewhere secluded, he wraps his arms around you and doesn’t let go.

Apologizing over and over.

Please don’t leave him, he’ll do anything, whatever you ask.

If you don’t forgive him. Stands there in stunned silence while you walk away. 

100% crying.

So, so despondent as he walks back to the Moby Dick. 

Locks himself in his cabin, refuses to come out.

Barely eats and Thatch has to deliver it to Ace because Ace won’t come out. 

Nobody hears his sobbing, but it’s a miracle he doesn’t die of dehydration. 

You were the best thing to happen to him.

You think he was depressed over his past before?

1000x worse now.

Absolutely thinks he’s trash for losing you.

Doesn’t necessarily bounce back, but returns to his commander duties again.

If you forgive him.

Holding you even tighter.

Can’t stop himself from crying into your shoulder.

So, so scared he was going to lose you.

Once he manages to gather himself together again, he takes you back to the ship. 

He doesn’t buy you everything but that’s because he just wants to hold you.

You spend the entire week simply cuddling with him. 

Will not let you go. Eating dinner? You’re in his lap. Sleeping? He’s holding you tightly like a teddy bear. Just relaxing? He’s cuddled up with you.

I hope you don’t need to train, because he won’t let you go long enough to do so.

Whitebeard eventually has to order him to return to him commander duties because he’s so busy clinging to you.

[ticklishfiend]

A Joint Effort (Good Omens)

(lee!crowley / ler!aziraphale)

Summary : in which aziraphale and crowley created tickling together many years ago (alt. and reminisce on it many years later)

a/n : lowkey this is very conversational abt tickling but i do (personally) love a fic that discusses the topic :D there is tickling tho dw LOL i just wanted to write some tickly dialogue

word count : 4065

hope u enjoy! pls consider giving a reblog if u liked it <33

. . .

A lot of things went through Crowley’s mind as he gazed at that all too familiar lake. Mainly all the times he and Aziraphale met here to discuss their “private affairs,” a secret team-up only one angel, one demon, and dozens of ducks could know about.

More recently it was all that dreary “end of the world” business he’d quite frankly prefer to Men In Black himself out of remembering (by the way, what a fantastic film that one was, the humans couldn’t have been both more far off and somehow right on the nose with it). The lake was lucky it was still so pretty after all these years, otherwise he’d have stopped visiting after everything resolved itself some time ago.

Humans had a phrase for what he tended to do alone on the bench. “People-watching,” they call it. Such a funny phrase considering it’s technically been his job since the creation of man itself. Maybe that’s why he enjoyed doing it so much. Technically, it’s kinda what he was made for.

He listened as a man adjacent to him across the lake was thinking and thinking his little head off. The man pondered over a woman, a lover Crowley presumed, and apparently how good their date had gone last night. Crowley noticed him fiddling with something in his pocket. Oh yes, a ring. What a disgustingly adorable tradition.

Crowley tapped his ring finger against the bench with an unknown impatience.

He saw that close by, a woman made her way towards the man (ah wait, it’s the woman, he could hear the man’s heart rate pick up and blood sloshing towards his cheeks, kinda gross how their bodies betray them), her hand finding his as she laid her head down on his shoulder. Crowley’s throat made a funny sound as he crossed his arms.

Crowley didn’t care much for the conversation, much more of an observer than a listener. Out of habit, he almost sent an evil little miracle their way, a “no” from the woman catching at his fingertips and becoming clenched in his fist. Actually…this might be the first successful proposal he’ll ever witness. He can hear the yes before she’s even said it, so much love radiating between them it's like radiation to his skin.

But he wants to see this play out. Just because he actually can now. Yeah…trying new things and all.

So it plays out just like the movies. He gets down on one knee, she cries, yadayadayada, blahblahblah. But this time, Crowley can actually feel it. This isn’t like seeing it through the screen. Those emotions become one with the air, making the whole park’s atmosphere thick and sugar-scented. It makes his skin crawl. Or he got goosebumps. He can't tell for sure, maybe it’s all one and the same.

He keeps watching the couple, telling himself he’s invested like one would stare at a car crash (even though nothing about this is a wreck at all, it’s a tad beautiful and Crowley knows this, but there’s still something so wretched about how his eyes stay glued to that spot across the lake).

They keep giggling and kissing, snapping a few photos of the moment and basking in each other. The man lifts the woman and twirls her around, her sun dress twirling with her and making the scene look so…ugh, romantic.

Or…just romantic. Maybe there’s no need to groan so hard at that.

Then the woman does something that snaps Crowley out of his little haze (call it jealousy and Crowley will treat your legs like snap peas). She pokes and squishes around her new fiancés sides, and said fiancé begins to giggle. The woman gave the man a tickle.

Tickling is far from a new concept to Crowley. Actually, he may have had a little hand in creating it. It wasn’t his idea exactly, he didn’t sign off on the paperwork or anything, but let’s just say laughter wasn’t the first possible noise option. He thought it’d be a bit more creative if there was less screaming in hell from time to time.

Most people would probably assume tickling came straight down from above, a place of innocence and love and, yeah, laughter. Others may even say it’s a hellish creation, but those tended to be the ones that drew the short end of the ticklish stick (that is to say, they’re probably really fucking ticklish).

But honestly, this one was kind of a joint effort. Is the paperwork technically written on a heavenly scroll? Sure, yeah. But who was the one that signed off on that scroll in the first place?

Well, Aziraphale did always have such an obnoxiously perfect signature.

Near the beginning, Crowley had overheard some demons discussing new torture methods for the humans to use on each other, something easy that required less machinery on their part. One brainstorm talked of the humans being able to do nothing but poke at their enemy to get them howling in pain.

And, well, Crowley thought that sounded laughably absurd.

So the next time he saw Aziraphale on Earth, he gossiped like usual. Talked of how stupid it sounded, how the humans would get so out of hand using it they’d never get anything productive done. And of course, Aziraphale agreed (though he was at first quite shocked a demon was against any brainstormed torture method, no matter how ridiculous).

Together they devised a little scheme. Nothing major, just something to beat the demons to the race. They had to though, right? It’d just be stupid to ruin something as precious as humanity over a few pokes.

So, instead of screaming in pain, the humans would scream in laughter. It wouldn’t hurt, unless the human was too rough of course, and really the worst it could do was embarrass the victim (except when Crowley snuck in that sometimes they may wet themselves, as a silly little gag. Aziraphale may have been too distracted trying to find a mysterious, strangely itchy dark feather in his garments when he wrote that one). It was such a silly invention, and Aziraphale even felt a little embarrassed bringing it to Gabriel, but oh how the other angels adored it. It was a new game for their humans to play, to occupy and fill the time of their short useless existences. It was a perfect time-waster.

And so became tickling. A joint project created by Crowley and Aziraphale, one of the first little schemes they pulled together that only dipped their toes into everything that came after. And now Crowley got to watch as his invention created a positive memory for some random romantics at his favorite park.

It was weird. He’s never felt funny about tickling before, but since he and Aziraphale have gotten rather…um, close recently, seeing this couple be all flirty and affectionate and tickly was making him feel funny feelings about it he’s never felt before.

He’s not blushing. That’s a human thing. He’s just…warm.

Crowley shakes his head, emptying his mind of all that weird mushy shite. He brings his eyes back to the couple, seeing them kiss and talk and bask in each other’s otherness. Part of him made that happen, in some cosmic butterfly effect sort of way.

Maybe everything is a circle, just as they say. Like it’s all meant to be. One particular word stings at his tongue, he’s heard it a thousand times before out of Aziraphale’s mouth when the subject of a great plan is brought up. He’ll just have to save it for when his angel comes back around.

…

—( alt : s2 ending never happened and crowley goes back to the bookshop afterward and everything is fine and dandy and happy :D )

…

The bell above the bookshop’s door rang a familiar chime when Crowley stepped through, announcing his presence to the one and only being it should matter to. He practically beelined for the drapes, figuring it far too bright for a cozy bookshop even with his sunglasses on.

Crowley heard behind him the soft angelic clunk of each foot making their way down the staircase, the room brightening on its own as Aziraphale made his way down.

“Well that wasn’t a very long outing,” Aziraphale rounded into the main area, cup of tea in hand. “Did something happen?”

Crowley dusted the drapes with his hands, “Such a worrywart, you are,” spinning around and brushing his hands as he met eyes with the one on his mind all afternoon. “The park just got boring, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, “Excuse me for noticing that you’re home earlier than usual,” he muttered, taking his next sip with attitude. “But since you’re back so soon, maybe we could…hang out, as the youth say,” he smiled that thin-lipped smile, and Crowley groaned in the back of his throat, following Aziraphale towards the back room (yknow, the one with the couch that Crowley can stretch his legs on as long as he needs and nothing ever feels uncomfortable).

“Grahk, angel, there’s a reason that only the youth should be saying these things. Sounds…unnatural, on your tongue,” Crowley plopped down on his favorite couch, his hand in Aziraphale’s (he’s not even sure when that happened, but who is he to complain?) leading him down to the spot next to his. Aziraphale did a wiggle as he sat, like getting the cushion ready for him.

“I like integrating new shortened language into my vocabulary,” Aziraphale pouted behind his cup.

“Helps me understand everyone better.”

Crowley tutted, “Okay, well, one: it’s not called “shortened language” anymore, you boob. They say slang now. If you don’t even know the word slang, you definitely shouldn’t be using it in the first place,” Crowley propped his feet up on Aziraphale’s lap, the only acknowledgment of his position being Aziraphale’s zero hesitation in using his shins as an armrest. “And two: you already have the most extensive vocabulary on the planet. You can know all the words and phrases you like, but I doubt you’re in dire need of any new ones to use.”

Aziraphale sat his glass down on the coffee table, leaning against Crowley’s legs. “I think you’re just jealous. Envy is one of the seven sins, correct?”

Crowley merely huffed, throwing an arm against the couch’s own and propping his cheek against his hand. He gazed a bit longingly at the angel, who seemed more interested in picking lint off his trousers at the moment. “Saw something at the park I thought you’d like.”

Aziraphale’s ears perked, but more or less remained focused on grooming Crowley’s pants. “Oh?”

“Want you to guess.”

That caught his attention, an annoyed glare thrown Crowley’s way. “I hate this game.”

“Naaaah you love it. Cmon, guess.”

“I’ll at least need a hint, Crowley. It could literally be an infinite number of things,” Aziraphale sat back against the couch now, finally interested in the conversation even if he continued with the annoyed charade, hands folded on Crowley’s shins. “At least tell me if it’s good or bad. You know how I hate bad surprises.”

“It’s good, trust me,” Crowley grinned. “Has to do with something we created a looong time ago. I’m talkin’ B.C, baby.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised, really curious now.

“We created it?”

“That we did, angel.”

Aziraphale hummed, fingers fidgeting with the fabric, before gasping in excitement, “Was it a chihuahua?”

Crowley’s own eyebrows shot up at that, nearly having forgotten they created that wretched animal.

“Oh but they’re so cute, Crowley, look at how tiny!”

“Fine, but that thing’s gonna be a beast, I don’t care how little it is.”

“Heheh, no but good guess,” He chuckled, sliding his glasses off and tucking them into his front pocket. His hands mimicked Aziraphale’s, fingers crossed but against his chest. “One more hint: I saw some very…giggly humans.”

It took him a moment, but finally Aziraphale grinned, giving Crowley’s knee a few squeezes and delighting in the squeak and kick against the other arm of the couch. He giggled as he watched Crowley turn pink and grumble. “That may be one of my favorite things we created together.”

Crowley shoved his glasses back on as if hiding, more embarrassed than he’d like to admit. “You’re ridiculous for miracling that shit into me all those years ago.”

“I only did it because you did the same to me!”

Crowley chuckled, regaining his confidence to reach over and squeeze at Aziraphale’s side, relishing in the angelic giggles.

“Well obviously. I’m a demon. Had to mess with my angel somehow.”

Aziraphale pushed his hand away, his smile remaining with pink cheeks. “Yes, but an angel is nothing without an even better miracle than yours. We both know you got the worst of it,” Aziraphale said, throwing wiggly fingers in Crowley’s direction when he tried to argue, “Don’t make me tickle your ribs and prove it, Crowley. We don’t want a repeat of—“

“Say it and I’ll pluck each feather off your back and go to town on those ears of yours.”

Aziraphale just grinned, retracting his fingers and letting his demon relax as he held his hands up in defeat. Aziraphale sort of has the high ground here anyway, considering their differing levels of sensitivities; he’ll just bring it up later.

“So you saw some people in a tickle fight, then?” Aziraphale tipped the conversation away from them, a little wary of the threat. “Quite a public spot for something we made to be so embarrassing, don’t you think?”

Crowley waved a hand, “Aaaaah they don’t all find it embarrassing. The guy seemed too happy to care, anyways,” he said, scrunching his nose. “He had just proposed.” Crowley said the word like there were worms crawling under his clothes.

Aziraphale gasped, “Oh how lovely! You should’ve congratulated them, Crowley!” He whined, knowing Crowley too well, sensing there was no way he had given them a proper congratulations. Aziraphale hated missing out on precious human moments like that.

Crowley smiled at his enthusiasm, “Don’t worry, angel. They’ve got each other for that sappy shite.”

Aziraphale huffed out a happy giggle, giving Crowley’s leg a little shake and pat. Crowley always found it gross how giddy the angel got over others happiness. It made his heart and belly feel funny, maybe he was going into cardiac arrest or something. Well, not literally of course, but maybe like metaphorically.

“So the newlyweds had a little tickle tussle in the park? Oh that’s just precious,” Aziraphale held his hands close to his chest. “Thank you for letting them have their moment, dear.”

“Whatever, just didn’t feel like working too hard today,” Crowley sniffed, leaning back against his arms. “Yknow, the guy seemed to be loaded with those tickly nerves. I don’t blame that girl one bit for going at ‘em. Kept making these funny noises and wigglin’ like a worm. It was honestly very amusing to watch.”

Aziraphale grinned all smug. “Weeelll…”

Crowley frowned. “Well…what?” Aziraphale just shrugged, giving Crowley a quick up and down. Crowley shot up, pointing a finger, “No. That is not how I am.”

“All I’m saying is, if you can’t blame her for tickling her husband because of his funny reactions…weeeelll…” Aziraphale giggled, throwing shaky arms up in defense when Crowley leaned forward.

“Keep at it,” Crowley warned, throwing his legs off Aziraphale so he could corner the tittering angel into the couch, “And I swear, I will have jars of ticklish angel tears to display on my shelf,” he poked Aziraphale in the chest, awfully close now. “I’ll make sure you discorporate with a smile.”

Aziraphale gulped on a giggle.“I-I was merely…Crowley, come on now, I’m teasing,” he stuttered out. Crowley was right up in his face now, a smile that may as well be fanged making Aziraphale’s voice quiver. Crowley was eating up the sight.

“Yeah? Well so am I,” Crowley grinned in his face, glasses falling to the tip of his nose so Aziraphale could see the endearment in his yellow eyes. Aziraphale sighed, bringing a hand to the demon's chest. Crowley leaned into the touch, humming contentedly as he started relaxing against Aziraphale’s form.

He curled up against the angel’s side, Aziraphale’s fingers playing at his cheek. Crowley pressed his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder, mumbling, “It’s not my fault you’re a literal God-gifted tickler.”

“Mm, well it isn’t my fault you’re ticklish enough to break my vessel’s nose—“

“Okay, fuuuck you, I thought we weren’t bringing that up, you twit,” Crowley flicked Aziraphale in the temple, “Also, it quite literally is your fault I’m this ticklish. Prick.”

Aziraphale kept a frown after having his face assaulted like that, “I feel like you’re just asking for it now. Insulting and flicking me as we talk about how horribly ticklish you are. Yes, quite a wise decision on your part, Anthony.”

Crowley pressed his face further into Aziraphale, mumbling something incoherent that probably made no sense anyways. Something like, “your mum’s horribly ticklish…” but who's to say. Aziraphale caught on with a giggle.

“Oh is that it?” Aziraphale asked, squeezing Crowley’s shoulder.

“Is what it?”

“Do you want me to-“

“No. Fuck you.”

“Are you sure? Because it sure seems like-“

“Noooo.”

Aziraphale held back a laugh, trying not to embarrass Crowley so much he fled from the scene. Instead, he just slid a hand up Crowley’s side, decidedly not tickling. Crowley tensed under him, his hand squeezing tighter on Aziraphale’s lapels, but made no move to leave.

“I used a word before,” Aziraphale tapped one finger against the clothed side, not ticklish but definitely threatening. “Envy. Is that what you’re experiencing, Crowley?”

Crowley tried to grumble, but it sounded more like a whine with his face smushed into Aziraphale’s coat.“Wha’ would I even be…envious of,” Crowley muttered. “S’all stupid. Not the proposal, that’s for damn certain.”

“Oh no, surely not the proposal,” Aziraphale used his one finger to scritch gently. Crowley tittered in his throat. “I wonder what else I could be talking about, hm?”

Crowley was vibrating. He could feel how warm his face had gotten against the coat, hating himself for it but refusing to leave. This was…this was something. “Beats me,” he shrugged, but quickly brought his arms back down when he felt Aziraphale’s hand trail up even further, fuck. He growled, “Sssstop.”

“Stop what?” Aziraphale pinched once, and Crowley growled. “If there’s something on your mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Hhmmhhmmhehehmm,” Crowley hummed a whine, squirming in Aziraphale’s hold. Part of him desperately wanted to sprawl out onto his partner's lap and let the angel have his ticklish way with him. The other part of him was screaming to push Aziraphale away, tell him off for being so silly and stupid. He didn’t actually think Aziraphale was stupid in the slightest, but fuck he couldn’t really think of anything worthwhile to say with Aziraphale’s fingers doing that to his lower ribs.

He didn’t do either of those things, though. Instead, he stayed curled into Aziraphale’s side with fingers also curled right on that spot that made Crowley feel all…all squirmy.

“Crooowleyy~,” Aziraphale sang into his ear, smiling against the shell of it as Crowley jerked and snickered in giggly fluster.

“What do you waaaant??”

“Did that couple make you think some…” Aziraphale pinched a quick line from Crowley’s ribs down to his hips. Crowley choked out a surprised giggle, body arching with a flinch. “…ticklish thoughts?”

“You’re such a dihick,” Crowley slapped Aziraphale’s hand, barking a laugh when he just squeezed his hip in response.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“…mmmmm no.”

“Crowley. You’re pushing into my fingers.”

“Shhhut up!”

“Admit it and I’ll get this over with,” Aziraphale said, abandoning his fear of embarrassing Crowley too much as it seems he was actually enjoying that part of it now. Who knew demons were so fond of being a little flustered?

Well, probably not most demons. But, come to think of it, when has Crowley ever been like “most demons”?

“I can’t, angel,” he whined, words a bit breathy as Aziraphale has switched to gently, slowly clawing at the clothed skin. It wasn’t enough to make him laugh, but damn if it still didn’t tickle like hell. If anything, this was probably worse. He can’t use the excuse of, “well I can’t talk when you’re tickling me!” because really, Aziraphale wasn’t. Not yet at least. Now they both knew he just can’t talk because he’s too flustered, and isn’t that a horrifying thought in itself.

“I never realized you actually liked it,” Aziraphale said genuinely, but his tone really made it sound like a tease.

Crowley shook his head, “I d—“ he bit down on his rebuttal with a growl, the word ‘don't’ falling down his throat. By now, they both knew that wasn’t true. No sense in fighting it, he guessed. “I didn’t know.”

Aziraphale made a surprised sound. “Really?” He gave a scribble to Crowley’s side, longer than the usual ones, and Crowley whined through a giggle.

“Uuugh maybe. Just when…whehen the couple—when they wehehere—Angehel I can’t speheheak when you’re—!” Crowley squeaked when Aziraphale started pinching up and down, giving focus to that little spot below his ribs. He couldn’t keep his giggles down, falling into breathless, flustered laughter as Aziraphale actually, finally started to tickle him.

“Too ticklish for words, Crowley?” Aziraphale teased on purpose this time, bringing his hand up, up, up to tickle a single finger in the hollow under Crowley’s arm. Crowley spasmed, choking out high pitched giggles as he squirmed and tried hiding his face even more into Aziraphale.

Aziraphale merely brought his other hand in to play with his exposed ear, bringing Crowley’s smiling face out as he jerked his head around to defend.

“Nohoho! This can’t be fffffuhucking fahahair-!” Crowley agonized, his laughter all over the place in pitch.

“I suppose not, considering I have quite the advantage here. More ticklish and enjoyable for you? What a pickle, my dear,” Aziraphale said, giggling as he heard the words come out of his mouth. “Aha! A tickly pickle! Isn’t that funny, Crowley?”

Crowley cackled as he shook his head around madly. Words weren’t easy when Aziraphale’s hand moved from his ear to his previously untouched side, pinching and squishing at the devastatingly sensitive hip bone.

“Refute it all you want, but with how hard you’re laughing you must think I’m very funny,” Aziraphale said, digging both hands into Crowley’s hips while dodging a headbutt to the nose.

Crowley’s mind felt like tangled wire. The tickling, the teasing, the knowing that he’s enjoying every second of it (and tickling and teasing him for exactly that). He’s been tickled before, been tickled by Aziraphale a few times in the past, but this was…it’s different.

They’re closer now, closer than they’ve ever been before. They know each other so intrinsically and still manage to learn new things about each other every day. Today’s discovery just happens to be Crowley’s apparent love for being tickled silly by his favorite angel, and he’s having trouble coping with the embarrassment of that when Aziraphale’s hands won’t leave his fucking hips alone.

“Yohohou-! AHA—! You’re diabohoholical! Ffffuhuhucking wanker!” Crowley insulted through hysterical giggling, squirming and kicking as his hips were tickled to the nub.

“Oh? Does someone want me to go back up to the ribs?~” Aziraphale’s hands finally left his hips, but slowly scribbled their way back towards his awful rib cage. Crowley thrashed with a cackle, it doesn’t even tickle that much on his sides but even the thought of those fingers back on his ribs has his stomach feeling ticklish on the inside.

“You dohohon’t—! Dohon’t have tohoho—ahAHAha nohohoho-!” Once those fingers found his ribs on both sides, Crowley gave up all the fight he had in him. He melted into Aziraphale’s side, merely squirming and twitching as he let his ribs be plucked by angelic hands. It was a torturous bliss he never expected himself to be found in.

“A ticklish demon,” Aziraphale cooed, leaning down to press his nose into Crowley’s hair. When Aziraphale talked now, it felt like the words went straight to Crowley’s brain, vibrating through the skull and making his neck scrunch. Crowley wanted nothing more than to let his angel play with him, and Aziraphale loved doing just that. “My proudest creation.”

. . .

a/n : hope u enjoyeddd it was very fun to write lol. pls consider liking and reblogging!! happy holidays <33

[mieeaahhh]

How I view all for the game characters but it’s just pictures! (Updated version + some useless head-cannons)

Renee Walker

-Andrew helps her whenever she re-dyes her hair

-transgender mtf 🗣️🗣️🗣️

-he has a few smaller tattoos other than the wings on her back but she got them in ‘hidden’ places

-is really bad at video games

-has a pet rabbit named Barney that lives back at home with her mum

Allison Reynolds

-has been collecting shoes since she was thirteen and has a matching pair for every single outfit she owns

-her love languages are gift giving and acts of service

-has a diary that she still uses from when she was eleven

-she has one of those ‘upside down smiles’ or whatever it’s called

-low-key had an emo phase but if you bring it up she’ll post your home address and card information on social media. How? A magician never reveals his secrets🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

Neil Josten

-desperately needs braces but couldn’t care less about getting them so his teeth are messed up

-can do that frog blinking thing

-can cook and is actually really good at it but doesn’t enjoy it

-he would’ve been a chronic scooter kid if he grew up like a normal person

-has the face of someone with zero thoughts, eyes wide and face flat

Andrew Minyard

-the only reason he doesn’t wear his glasses is because he actually lost them years ago and doesn’t want to admit he can’t find them anywhere

-when he was a little kid he was actually really shy

-when his nail varnish chips he just paints back over it instead of taking the rest off before hand and it’s usually kinda messy

-since he has smoker lungs™️ whenever he’s sick it actually sounds like if a teenage boy going through puberty smoked twelve boxes a day

-only got piercings because Aaron had them and he thought they looked cool and he only really started finding his ‘style’ after moving in with Aaron and Nicky

Kevin Day

-has the LOUDEST snore ever but denies that he snores at all

-the foxes all tease him and have inside jokes about his ‘crush’ on Jeremy

-almost everyone and their mother has numerous videos of his drunkenly singing his heart out and it’s usually something like bohemian rhapsody or some basic ‘white chick’ music

-in the nest his hair was always trimmed and neat but when he left he let his hair grow a bit and just left it to flop around and do its own thing

-will literally stop, drop and roll in tears if a spider goes near him

Aaron Minyard

-growing up he was considered a ‘crybaby’ by a few people because he cries or gets teary when frustrated/angry

-has fallen out the bed so many times it’s ridiculous and then will wonder how he wakes up with random bruises (my other post about his weird sleeping🗣️🗣️🗣️)

-has a fear of cats

-Aaron’s eyesight is a lot worse than Andrews

-Randy often asks Matt to invite Aaron over during the holidays and stuff once Matt and Aaron become closer (they are best friends idc)

Seth Gordon

-he likes when Allison is the big spoon but that’s a secret for them and them only

-had a pet hamster named Jerry who ran away when he was a kid

-DAHLIA PIERCINGS🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

-he was the sibling that turns off the lights and holds the door closed to scare his siblings

-Allison was the first (and last) girlfriend he was truly inlove with

Matt Boyd

-gives THE BEST hugs🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I mean like lifting people off the ground in big bear hugs kinda hugs🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

-buys flowers for Dan everytime he goes to the shops

-he and Andrew do become somewhat friends at some point

-he the best at video games AND board games out of all the foxes

-he has very subtle freckles in his nose

Dan Wilds

-GUMMY SMILEEEEEE!!!!!!!

-she and her work sisters used to do secret Santa every year and she was known for the best/most meaningful presents

-she’s one of those people who hit when they laugh

-her favourite Disney princess growing up was Snow White

-she is absolutely COVERED in beauty spots/moles

Nicky Hemmick

-used to be very lanky before joining the foxes but ended up gaining some muscle after awhile

-he doesn’t like his hair being played with but he LOVES playing with other peoples hair

-has a resting worried/shocked face and the foxes find it hilarious

-would rather go bald than eat chocolate cake

-acts like the world is ending and his immune system is shutting down whenever he has a cold

[cowgurrrl]

Guuurrllll I don’t even know why I’m about to hurt myself but here we go:

Joel realizes on Baby girls birthday that she is a year older than Sarah and he reflects…just something really emotional that is going to make us all cry. Please and thank you

Thank you for the request honey and I’m so sorry it took so long!! I hope you like it 🫶

Fifteen

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (but this is all Joel and Charlie)

Author’s note: this image made me think of the girls and I almost cried so I had to add it

Summary: Charlie turns 15 [1.5k]

Warnings: teenage angst, discussions of deceased loved ones, Joel being the biggest girl dad you’ve ever met

The heat inching away from the mountains is the first indication Charlie's birthday is nearby. The second is the countdown Joel inevitably creates, announcing every morning how many days until his little girl's birthday. She loved it for the first few years she actually cared about her birthday, but with the teenage years crawling along, she finds it less and less endearing each year. Nothing, not even teenage angst, could stop Joel Miller from celebrating his daughter. 

Still, Charlie's different this year. She's distant. Every time you bring up her birthday, she shuts you down in that teenage way that makes you feel like you've done something wrong just for asking a question. You cry to Joel about it, and he soothes you, but it still hurts when it's the night before her birthday, and she hasn't so much as told you what she wants for dinner. 

Joel wakes up in the middle of the night for no particular reason. He looks around the room like he's forgetting he had something to do but can't remember it. You're sleeping peacefully next to him, and he kisses your cheek before padding down the hallway. He peeks his head into Charlie's room and finds her bed unmade and empty, but instead of panicking, he has an idea of where she might be. He's found her out there several times in the past few years and always tells her to stay in bed, but she never listens. The anxiety in the back of his head dies down at the sight of Charlie's curly head on the back porch.

"You better not let your mama catch you out here this late." He says, his voice deep from sleep, and Charlie jumps at the sound. She sighs in exasperation as Joel saddles up next to her.

"Sorry. I just couldn't sleep. I wasn't sneaking out or anything." She admits guiltily, and Joel nods, staring at her. Watching her mind work silently like this makes it hard for him to believe that someone so beautiful, smart, witty, and kind ever could've come from him. But when she meets his gaze through the low light of the back porch, she's all big Miller eyes and a crease between her eyebrows. "Why are you out here?"

"Dad Senses were goin' off." He shrugs, and Charlie laughs a little. 

"You do not have Dad Senses."

"No?" He asks, and she shakes her head. "Then, how'd I know you were out here, smart ass?" When she's quiet, only a smile pulling on her lips, he nudges her with his shoulder and makes her laugh again. "Huh? I can't hear you." 

"Alright, alright. Whatever. Maybe you have Dad Senses." She relents, and Joel bows his head graciously.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" 

"Don't know," Charlie sighs. "Just can't stop thinking." 

"Bout what?" He asks gently, and he watches her guards come down. For years, Joel has had this innate talent to get his daughters to talk to him about the hard stuff. You were always jealous because it took a little longer to get the girls to talk to you, but he could get them to spill secrets in no time. You blame it on the fact that he was always meant to be a dad. 

"D'you think she's gonna be okay?" She asks so quietly Joel almost misses it. "Like with my birthday and stuff?"

"That's what's got you all tore up?" He's not malicious in his tone. He's just shocked. Charlie stays quiet and he takes a deep breath before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. "Honey, your mama is one of the strongest people I know. She's gonna be just fine. We're never ever gonna be sad about somethin' like your birthday, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"So, you're gonna be okay?" She asks, looking up at him, and Joel furrows his brows in confusion.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I'll be older than her." The fact hits him hard enough to make him hold onto Charlie a little tighter in case he stumbles. He knew this day would come when you found out you were pregnant. He knew it would happen when she turned one and when she became a year older than Jane ever was. He knew it would happen. So, why does it feel so unexpected? 

Maybe because he'd been holding a torch for Sarah all these years, counting the missed birthdays as if he could see her age with them. Maybe because he got so caught up keeping his family safe, he stopped thinking about her fifteenth birthday. Maybe because he was learning to take it day by day, to memorize his daughters' features and laughs, to dance in the kitchen with his wife, instead of waiting for a second shoe to drop and his undeserved soft life to be ripped out from under him. Whatever the case, he tries to recover quickly and kisses Charlie's forehead.  

"You know, when you were born, your mama and I used to have these long conversations bout what you'd be like when you got older. She told me stories bout Jane, and I told her bout Sarah, and you'd just lay there sleepin' or playin' with Ellie," he says wistfully. "And even after all that talkin' and plannin', you are still beyond our wildest dreams. I mean, we knew you'd be amazing, but shit, kid. You really take our breath away." Charlie laughs a little at the praise, and it's enough to give Joel a second to take a shaky breath. 

"And even when you were so little, we worried bout you and what tellin' you bout your sisters might do. We even talked about maybe not ever telling you bout them, but that didn't seem right," he shakes his head, and Charlie makes a face at the idea of never knowing about her sisters. "But, the one thing we knew we could agree on was that we never ever wanted you to feel bad for being the one who survived, and I'm sorry that that's what's happened."

"It's not that…" Charlie sighs. "I guess I just struggle. Knowing I'm here and they're not and how much you wanted them to be here." 

"I get it. We struggle, too, but we wanted you to be here just as much as we wanted them. You know the stories, so I won't repeat 'em, but your mama and I were really, really young when we had Sarah and Jane. And it would've been easy to walk away or make a different decision, but we loved them. They were a part of us, and, of course, we miss them, but that doesn't take away from our love for you and Ellie. We want and love all four of our girls, but it… it just wasn't in the plans that you'd get to meet each other." 

"Am I… do I…" she struggles before mumbling a quiet 'fuck it.' If you were around, he'd reprimand her, but because it's just them, he lets it slide. "Do I remind you of Sarah?" She asks, and Joel smiles. 

"Sometimes. "

"And Mom? Do I remind her of Jane?"

"Yeah. She's said a few times that you've done things she did."

"Is that a good thing? That I remind you of them?"

"Of course it is, but, baby, you're so much more than just a reminder of them. You're your own person with your own thoughts, feelings, and opinions, and we love you for that. We love you for so much more than just bein' a reminder, and I'm sorry if that got lost along the way," he squeezes her hard like he's trying to press the words into her. "So, yeah, I might be a little sad bout your birthday, and I might think bout Sarah, but I'm so happy that you're gonna be fifteen." His voice catches on the age, and he shakes his head at the night sky. 

"You're gonna be fifteen, but yesterday I was lyin' on the couch with you so your mama could get some sleep."

"Daddy," Charlie scolds, but it's too late; tears are already falling down his cheeks, and she's already chuckling at him. She steps back and wipes away his tears with a soft smile on her face that isn't completely him or you but a mixture of something new and perfect. "No more of that, alright? You're gonna make me cry."

"I can't make you any promises."

"I know," Charlie says as she wraps her arms around Joel and hugs him tight. She's just tall enough that her head fits under his chin, and she can hear his heartbeat. "I don't need promises." She says. There, on the porch, amidst the fireflies and cicadas of late summer, the clock strikes midnight, and Charlotte Elaine turns fifteen in her father's arms. They don't know it yet, though. Joel still wears a broken watch, and Charlie is in the season of youth where she has nothing but time, so why would she care about it? Why should either of them care about it?

They have time.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha

[irlcades]

parksborn rambling <3

(this was so rushed so if theres inconsistencies or things don't make sense, thats why)

nobody in harry's life had ever given him proof that they loved him. his father always showed him the exact opposite of love, preferring to spend his time berating harry for every little thing, never failing to remind him how much of a disappointment he is, how unworthy he is of being part of the osborn legacy. his mother did love him, but she was gone before harry could even understand what the word meant.

the countless flings he had, the partners who claimed they didn't want him for his money, just him (but who would ever really want harry for anything but his money and status?), had cried and moaned out 'i love you' as they kissed their way down his body, only to leave before harry woke the next morning. and harry was fine with that. he was happy, as long as he got to be held and cared for and worshiped even if it was just a moment of fleeting desire and desperation, even if it was just pretend.

after getting out of the hell that was boarding school, he was quick to start gallivanting all over the world, never staying in one place for long, before moving onto the next. he met more people, had more hookups that left him battered and bruised the next day (which, again, was fine, because he was realizing that maybe he didn't deserve to be treated gently), and drank more than he ever had in the past. and his life was Okay.

and then norman osborn was dying, and asking his one and only son to come back home to see him. harry didn't want to go (he did want to go, more than anything, to see if maybe he would finally get an apology or at least any positive acknowledgment from his dear old dad), but he begrudgingly said yes, that he'll be there in the next 48 hours.

the reunion, obviously, did not go as he had hoped. while he had prayed that maybe he would get a sign that norman did actually care about him, all he got was the usual disappointment spiel, and the news that he too had the same disease norman was on his deathbed for. harry wanted to cry, but he wouldn't. he's not sure he could, especially in front of norman.

norman dies shortly after harry leaves, and he's immediately thrust into meeting after meeting since he is the new ceo of oscorp, and this whole mess of a company is his to figure out now. and he's tired, just wants to relax, maybe chug a few bottles of whiskey and─

peter parker wants to see him.

he's skeptical at first, of course he is, his thoughts immediately going to 'maybe he just wants money, he probably doesn't even wanna see me, just wants to see how much i'll give him'.

and he's wrong. he is so wrong.

because this beautiful, beautiful boy (harry's not ashamed to admit that yes, he's only aware of his attraction to men because of peter) in front of him is asking how he is, if he's okay, that he's here for him, and harry wants to turn him away. because he knows peter will stop being worried and stop caring once he realizes how rotten and broken harry is. but he doesn't.

harry gets his best friend back, at least for a little, before 'the osborn curse' is the only thing going through his mind.

they fight, harry begging peter to get spider-man's blood because 'that's the only thing that can save me pete please', peter refusing because 'what if it doesn't? we don't know that it will, and i'm not taking that chance. not with you'.

they kiss. they don't talk about it.

the situation just gets more and more messed up, spider-man visits him, refuses to give harry his blood, harry has a breakdown, discovers that the people at oscorp are fucking insane, using his name for experiments he supposedly approved of, then they want him out, planning to overthrow him as ceo of his own goddamn company.

he loses his mind again, turns into this monster in an attempt to save himself (he's pretty sure he killed someone in the process), and peter's spider-man, and peter's ex-girlfriend is here, and he almost kills her, and then everything just stops.

it's apparently a week later when he comes to again. he's in a room that's too fucking bright, a hospital room he assumes, and he's hooked up to a variety of machines. and peter's asleep in the chair next to the bed harry's in, their hands intertwined.

it takes harry a minute to find his voice, a whole minute just to pathetically croak out, 'peter?'

peter wakes, makes eye contact with harry for the first time in what feels like forever, and just breaks.

'fuck, you're awake. oh my god, har, they didn't know if you'd wake up, and i was so scared, because i really can't lose you, man. not again, 'cause i just got you back, and i missed you more than anything, and i'm sorry for everything that happened, but you're cured now, which is good, and you're gonna be okay and─"

peter eventually runs out of breath from rambling, and harry lets out a wheezy laugh.

'missed you too, pete.'

peter smiles at him, harry smiles back.

they kiss. and they kiss again. and again. and again. and again. and again. and again until they are just laughing against eachother's lips, harry pulling away to look at peter.

peter stares right back at him, cupping his cheek, his smile never leaving his face.

'i love you. so much. so fucking much, har. don't want you to leave ever again.'

and harry tenses. because people have said it before, and have never meant it. but something about peter makes him want to believe what he's saying.

'are you sure? 'cause dude, i'm a fucking mess, and─'

peter kisses him again, shutting harry up. it's a longer kiss than just their pecks from before, a kiss that if it could be translated into words would say,

'i'm sure. i'm here. i love you.'

peter pulls away this time, resting his forehead against harry's.

'i'm 100% sure, i swear, i've never been more sure of anything ever. and i'm gonna spend the rest of my life proving that to you, okay?'

it's not much of a question, more of a promise, one that peter's forever going to keep.

'okay.'

it doesn't matter to peter that it takes years for harry to fully believe it, that it takes him two to say it back, that it takes him ten to say yes to peter's marriage proposals, that it takes him fifteen to be ready to start a family. the only thing that matters is harry osborn is loved, and he knows it.