#things could go wrong pretty fast | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inseobts · 2 days ago

Text

You around kids

fem!reader

characters: zoro, sanji, law, shanks and ace

tags: fluff, light comedy, established relationship, comfort, emotional bonding, humor

a/n: sorry it's all cramped but I reached tumblr's limits of blocks per post, so if you need a easier way to read this, click on the ao3 link!!

words count: around 2.2k - 3.4k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Zoro:

The sun is warm but not too hot. A soft breeze plays with your hair as you walk beside Zoro through the busy town streets. The island is new, full of life and color, and the crew has scattered to do their own things. Nami went shopping, Sanji chased after ingredients... or maybe girls, and Luffy? Who knows.

You, on the other hand, just wanted a calm day. A nice walk. No drama. Zoro didn’t have any plans, so he chose to stay with you.

“Didn’t feel like wandering off,” he said with a shrug “Plus, you always get lost.”

“I do not!” you argue with a little laugh.

“You got lost on the ship” he says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, bumping his arm lightly with your shoulder “That happened once. And you’re the one to talk???”

Zoro just grunts, amused, and keeps walking beside you. His hands are in his pockets, his swords resting at his side like always. He walks with that usual lazy confidence, but you can tell he’s relaxed.

Then, you hear a small cry. Like a kid. You stop walking “Did you hear that?”

Zoro lifts his head “Yeah.”

You both follow the sound, turning down a quieter street. And there, near the side of a fruit stand, is a small boy. He can’t be older than five. His face is red from crying, his small hands wiping at his eyes. He looks scared.

“Hey, sweetie,” you say gently, kneeling in front of him “What’s wrong?”

The boy looks up at you with big teary eyes “M-Mommy’s gone…”

“Oh no,” you whisper “You got separated?”

He nods fast, then suddenly throws his arms around you. You nearly fall back from the sudden hug but Zoro puts a hand on the back of your head, gently, just to keep you balanced.

Zoro’s eyes widen. You glance up at him, then back down at the boy. He’s shaking.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay...” you say, rubbing his back “We’ll help you find her. I promise.”

The boy doesn’t let go. He clings tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear too.

Zoro scratches the back of his neck “You sure about this? We could find a guard or something.”

You give him a look “Zoro, he’s terrified. Would you want a stranger dragging you around if you were five?”

He sighs “Fine. So we’re babysitters now.”

You smile a little “Just until we find his mom.”

Zoro folds his arms, watching the boy with a face that’s trying very hard not to be soft “What’s his name?”

You turn to the boy “Sweetie, what’s your name?”

He sniffs “Kenji.”

“Okay, Kenji,” you say with a warm smile “I’m Y/N and this is Zoro. He’s kind of grumpy, but he’s nice.”

Zoro makes a sound like a scoff, but he doesn’t argue.

Kenji peeks up at Zoro “You have swords…”

Zoro raises a brow “Yeah. Don’t worry. I only use them on bad guys.”

Kenji nods seriously, then looks back at you “You’re really pretty…”

Your face heats up a little. Zoro frowns “Kid, don’t start.”

You laugh, standing up slowly as Kenji keeps his little hand in yours “Alright, let’s find your mom, okay?”

Kenji nods, still holding onto you like you’re his lifeline.

Zoro walks on your other side, still acting cool but every now and then, you catch him glancing down at the kid. And maybe, just maybe, you see a small smile on his face. Just a little one.

You’ve been walking around the town for a while now, asking people if they’ve seen Kenji’s mom. A few shopkeepers shake their heads.

Some say, “Sorry, haven’t seen any woman looking for a kid.”

You try the market square next. No luck there either.

Kenji’s small hand is still in yours, holding tight like he’s afraid to let go. His other hand rubs at his eye now and then, but he’s not crying anymore. Still, he stays close. You’re like his safe space now.

You glance down at him “Kenji, do you remember where you last saw your mom? Were you near a shop?”

He shakes his head slowly “I was looking at fish. Then I turned and she was gone.”

“Fish,” Zoro repeats “That narrows it down to…everywhere.”

You sigh “We’ll keep looking.”

Kenji tugs on your hand “Are you tired? I can walk by myself.”

Your heart melts “I’m okay, Kenji. But thank you.”

Then suddenly he reaches out and grabs Zoro’s hand too and you both freeze. Zoro stares at the small hand holding his, like it’s some kind of bomb.

Kenji doesn’t notice. He just keeps walking like it’s the most normal thing in the world, one hand in yours, one hand in Zoro’s. As if he’s done it a hundred times.

You glance at Zoro, and your face gets warm. Really warm. This…looks kind of cute. No… more than cute. It looks like… a little family.

Zoro’s eye twitches. He knows what it looks like too.

A woman passing by gives you a soft smile “Oh, what a sweet family.”

You nearly choke “Oh! We’re not—uh—we’re just helping—”

Zoro mutters under his breath, “For the love of… please don’t let anyone from the crew see this.”

You whisper back, “Why? Afraid they’ll think you’ve gone soft?”

He scowls “They will. And they’ll never shut up about it.”

But he doesn’t pull his hand away from Kenji’s. Not even when the kid swings his hands a little. You try not to smile too much, but your cheeks still feel hot.

“Y’know,” you say after a moment, “you don’t look that grumpy right now.”

Zoro gives you a side-eye “Say that again and I’ll let you get lost on purpose.”

You grin “Worth it.”

Kenji suddenly asks, “Are you and the sword guy married?”

You and Zoro speak at the same time.

You: “W-what? No!”

Zoro: “Hell no!”

You look at Zoro kinda offended by his tone.

Kenji tilts his head “But you look like it…”

Zoro lets out a long sigh “Kid, you really trying to make my day harder?”

You can’t stop laughing now. Even Zoro, after a beat, smiles just a little. Just enough to make your heart do a little flip.

The sun’s still out, the breeze still nice and you still haven’t found Kenji’s mom, but…you’re doing okay. And as long as the kid keeps walking between you and Zoro, hands held tight, maybe it’s not such a bad way to spend the day.

Kenji’s hand is still snug in yours, and Zoro hasn’t pulled away from the other side either, though his eye twitches every few minutes like he’s trying to pretend it’s not happening.

You’re still wandering through the streets, asking around and scanning every corner for a woman calling out for her son. No luck. Then suddenly, Kenji tugs at your hand and mumbles, “I’m hungry…”

You pause “Oh… right. You haven’t eaten anything.”

Zoro groans immediately “We don’t have time to stop and eat. We’re looking for your mom, remember?”

Kenji’s bottom lip quivers “But… my tummy hurts…”

He rubs his stomach with both hands now, giving you the most tragic look you’ve ever seen. You’re done. Defeated.

“Zoro,” you whisper, “he’s so cute. Let him eat.”

Zoro crosses his arms “He’ll survive. Kids bounce back.”

Kenji grabs your arm again “Please… just a snack?”

Your heart melts into a puddle “Zoroooo…”

Zoro looks at you and you’re doing it too… That look. Eyes wide, soft voice, the tiniest pout. Now both you and Kenji are staring at him like abandoned puppies in the rain.

He curses under his breath “You guys are teaming up on me.”

You say nothing, you just keep pouting. He rubs his face like this is physical pain “Fine. Fine. Twenty minutes.”

Kenji jumps up and cheers “Yay!”

You smile up at Zoro, wrapping your hand around his arm “Thanks, babe. You’re the best.”

He groans again, but you catch the way his ears turn a little red. You head toward a food stall nearby, and as soon as you do, you hear a loud voice call out “Oi! Zoro! Y/N!”

You both turn and there they are.

Luffy and Sanji, carrying way too many bags and snacks.

Sanji’s eyes go wide when he sees the kid. He drops his bags “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

Kenji looks up at you, his mouth full of fried dough “Who’s the loud guy?”

Sanji points dramatically at Zoro “How could you?! You stole her away and now—now you even have a child?!”

Zoro blinks “What are you talking about? Do you know how kids are made?”

Luffy laughs “He looks just like your kid. You’re all holding hands and stuff. It’s so cute! You should make a real one!”

Sanji falls to the ground instantly “I’m dying. I’m literally dead. This is hell.”

You’re laughing too hard to speak.

Kenji, still chewing, leans over to Zoro “Are those your friends? They’re weird.”

Zoro sighs “You have no idea.”

Luffy crouches next to Kenji, nose almost touching his “Heyyy, what’s your name?”

“Kenji!”

“Cool name! You wanna be a pirate?”

Zoro grabs Luffy by the back of his vest and yanks him away “No recruiting children.”

Sanji stands back up, wiping his nose “Mon dieu… Y/N, if you ever decide you want real romance, you know where to find me.”

You smile sweetly “You’d have to fight Zoro for me first.”

Sanji turns pale, not because he’s scared but because you think of Zoro right away “…I’m good.”

Kenji tugs your sleeve again “Are they always like this?”

“Pretty much” you say with a giggle. Zoro mutters, “You get used to it.”

Even as the chaos unfolds, Zoro moves just a little closer to you. His hand brushes against yours again and Kenji, still holding your other hand, starts humming happily between bites.

After the chaos (and mild heartbreak) that was Luffy and Sanji, you wave them off with a tired smile. Sanji is still crying in the background. Luffy’s trying to steal a meat bun from someone’s cart.

“Bye, Kenji!” Luffy shouts cheerfully “Don’t forget to train so you can join my crew!”

“I won’t!” Kenji waves both hands like you’re sending off a ship.

You tug his sleeve gently “Okay, come on. Let’s keep going.”

Zoro mutters under his breath as you walk again, heading farther into the town “Out of everyone… they had to be the ones we run into.”

You smirk “Could’ve been worse.”

“No. That was the worst.”

“Even worse than running into ALL of them together?”

He gives you a sharp side-eye “Don’t push your luck.”

You giggle, swinging Kenji’s hand a little as you walk. He’s full now, calmer, but still sticking to you like glue. Zoro’s hands are back in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looks like he wants to complain, but he’s still here. That says enough.

Then, out of nowhere, Kenji tugs at your hand and looks up at you seriously “Miss Y/N? Can I call you Mama?”

You freeze. Everything around you stops. The breeze. The street noise. Even Zoro seems to pause mid-step. You blink at him “W-What?”

Kenji looks a little nervous now, like he’s not sure if he’s done something wrong “I know you’re not really… but you’re really nice, and you make me feel safe like my mama does. I miss her…”

Your throat closes. You don’t even know what to say. Tears prick at your eyes so fast you can’t stop them. One slides down your cheek before you can hide it.

You crouch down, hugging him gently, trying not to cry too hard “Kenji… I’m sure your mom misses you too. We’re gonna find her, okay? I promise.”

He nods, leaning into your hug.

Zoro is quiet behind you. For once, not a single sarcastic comment. When you glance up at him, you see that flicker in his eyes. Something soft. Something… careful. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. And somehow, that silence means more than words.

You’re walking again, slowly now. Kenji hums as he walks between you and Zoro, swinging your hands. He’s more cheerful after eating, even skipping a little. It’s almost hard to believe this is the same scared little boy from earlier.

Then you hear a woman’s voice, panicked and breathless “Kenji?! Kenji!!”

All three of you turn around, a woman is running toward you, her eyes wide with worry. Her hair’s a bit messy.

Kenji gasps “Mama!!”

He lets go of both your hands and runs to her. You and Zoro stop walking, watching as he throws himself into her arms. She catches him and falls to her knees, hugging him tightly.

“Oh, thank god,” she whispers, burying her face in his shoulder “I’ve been looking everywhere, Kenji, I was so scared…”

“I’m okay, Mama!” he says brightly “I wasn’t alone!”

You and Zoro stand quietly a few steps away, watching them hold each other. Zoro crosses his arms and says nothing. But his expression is… softer now. Thoughtful.

Then, Kenji turns and grabs his mom’s hand.

“Come on! Come meet them!” he says, tugging her toward you.

She lets herself be pulled along and gives you a teary smile “You… You helped him?”

You nod “Yeah. He was alone and crying. We couldn’t just leave him.”

She presses a hand to her chest, still catching her breath “Thank you. Truly. I don’t know what I would’ve done—”

She starts reaching into a small pouch “Please, I have a little money—let me give you something.”

You shake your head quickly “Oh no, really. That’s okay. We had… a good day, actually. He’s a sweet kid.”

Kenji beams proudly beside her. Zoro’s still silent, standing with that usual lazy posture.

The woman glances at him, hesitating “Are you sure? Maybe he wants—”

Before she finishes, Zoro shrugs “Y/N did all of it by herself.”

You glance over at him. That’s not true, you both helped. But he says it like he wants to make clear that the kindness was yours. You give him a small smile.

The woman bows slightly “Thank you both again.”

You nod, just about to say goodbye when Kenji suddenly throws his arms around your waist again.

You blink “Kenji…?”

He’s crying again. Quiet, but real tears, as he mumbles “Do you… have to go?”

Your throat tightens “Hey, don’t cry… You’re with your mom now. You’re safe.”

“I know,” he says, sniffling “But I don’t want you to go. I love you… you’re my best friend.”

Tears fill your eyes instantly. You hug him back, squeezing gently, as you whisper “I love you too, Kenji, you’re really brave, you know?”

He looks up at his mom “Can she stay with us?”

Her eyes soften “Sweetheart… she has her own life and friends. But maybe one day you’ll meet again.”

He wipes his face with his sleeve, still clinging to you. Zoro turns away slightly, trying to act like he’s not watching, but his ears are red and in his chest, something warm builds, quiet and slow.

You’re so gentle. So natural with children. And for the first time… He lets the thought sit. Maybe a future like that, with you, soft like this… wouldn’t be so bad.

Eventually, you say goodbye. Kenji waves and waves until he’s out of sight. You and Zoro walk in silence for a few minutes. Then… you feel something. Zoro reaches over and takes your hand.

You blink, surprised “Zoro?”

He doesn’t look at you, eyes straight ahead, face a little pink “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just… thought you might need it.”

You smile, squeezing his hand gently. A few more steps go by before he adds, quietly “You’d be good at it.”

“At what?” you ask.

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly “…Being a mom.”

Your heart skips as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye “Not saying right now. Just… someday. If you wanted that.”

You stop for a second, staring at him. He’s not blushing anymore. He’s serious.

You nod, eyes soft “With you… yeah. I think I’d want that someday.”

Zoro looks away quickly, but you see the tiniest smile on his face.

You let go of his hand and he turns to look at you surprised. But then you jump and put your arms around his neck as he grabs you by your waist to steady you.

You kiss him quickly but softly while saying “I love you so much Zoro, thank you.”

He’s still surprised but asks “What are you thanking me for?”

“To think of me when you think about your future.”

He blushes and starts to look away but you catches him saying “Of course I would.”

You smile as you let go of him and then take his hand again as you swing it and walk as you’re the happiest girl in the world, with your biggest smile one and humming a little cute song.

Zoro watches you all the time with the softest smile he ever had.

── .✦ Sanji:

The sun sets behind the island’s hills, painting the sky in soft orange and purple. You can already hear music and laughter in the air. The village is buzzing with excitement.

“We’re just in time for the Moonlight Festival” Nami tells everyone, smiling as a few locals greet her.

“They want us to join?” Luffy asks, his eyes already searching for food.

“Yes,” Robin says “They’ve prepared clothes for us. It’s part of their tradition.”

You glance around. The people here are wearing bright outfits, flowing skirts, golden sashes, beads, and flowers in their hair. It looks magical.

One of the village girls walks up to you, holding a folded dress.

“For you,” she says with a kind smile “You’ll look beautiful in it.”

Sanji’s eyes narrow, already hovering at your side “She always does” he says softly, brushing a hand across your lower back.

You smile and take the dress inside a small tent to change.

When you step out, the crew is waiting. Zoro looks away with a bored expression. Usopp whistles.

But Sanji… he freezes. His face turns red in two seconds. Then an elegant nosebleed.

“Oh my god, Sanji!” you rush to him as he stumbles back, heart-shaped eyes glowing like lanterns.

“You… You can’t just walk out looking like that, mon amour,” he gasps “I was not prepared. That dress—you… your everything—!”

You laugh “You’re so dramatic.”

“I am in love,” he moans, holding a hand over his nose “And now I’m dying.”

“Save it for later, lovebirds,” Nami rolls her eyes “Let’s go! The festival’s starting!”

The streets are glowing with lanterns. Drums beat in the background. Kids are running around with flower crowns. You hold Sanji’s hand tight as you pull him through the crowd.

“Wait, wait—look!” you gasp, pointing to a stall “Caramel apples!”

Sanji chuckles “Mon amour, you know I can make you better ones. Twice as sweet. Three times as shiny.”

“Yeah, but these are festival apples,” you grin, bouncing on your heels “It’s different!”

He groans playfully but fishes some coins from his pocket “Fine. Who am I to stop you from being adorable?”

You grab the apple and take a big bite “Mmm! Okay. Yours are still better.”

He smirks “Told you.”

You two stroll past more stalls. Roasted nuts, cotton candy, fruit juice in bamboo cups… you try everything. Sanji keeps spoiling you without complaint, even if he keeps saying, “You know I could cook all of this for you, mon trésor.”

You wipe a bit of syrup off his cheek with your thumb “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

You turn a corner and freeze “Sanji!” you gasp.

“Hm?”

“There!” You point to a game stall. Behind it is a giant plushie… a round, smiling bear with soft ears and a flower crown.

Sanji squints “You want that thing?”

“Yes! It’s so cute!”

But before you can step forward, a group of small kids run up.

“We saw it first!” one of them shouts.

“No way! I’m gonna win it!” another boy says, grabbing a ball from the counter.

You look at Sanji. He cracks his knuckles and smiles “A competition, huh?”

“Winner takes the bear!” the tallest kid says.

Sanji kneels to their level, grinning “Alright, little ones. You’re on.”

Sanji throws the first ball... Miss.

“Damn it—”

The ball bounces off the edge of the target, knocking over nothing but his pride.

“Too slow, old man!” the little boy cackles and throws his own. Miss.

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Oh-ho? You think you’re better?”

“I am better!” the kid huffs, grabbing another ball. Miss again.

Sanji leans in “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Your aim is trash.”

“So is yours.”

They go back and forth for the next minute. Ball after ball. Miss after miss. Neither hits a single target. Sanji’s hair is messier now, and the kid’s cheeks are puffed in frustration.

You cross your arms and bite your lip to stop laughing. Finally, Sanji steps back, hands on his hips.

“This game is clearly rigged.”

The kid points at him “You’re just mad because you lost.”

“You lost too!” Sanji snaps back, eyes wide.

“Only ‘cause you distracted me with your loud yelling!”

They both look exhausted and full of mutual respect…and mutual failure.

You walk up between them and say, “Okay. My turn.”

Sanji blinks “Mon amour, are you sure? It’s harder than it looks—”

“I wanna try.” you say, handing him the caramel apple you’re still holding.

You pick up the ball. It’s heavier than you thought, but manageable. You narrow your eyes, pull back your arm and… You knock over all three cans. Clean.

Sanji’s jaw drops. The little boy gasps so loudly, you think he might pass out.

The game keeper just laughs and hands you the giant plushie “Well done, miss!”

You grin and hug the bear tight “I did it!”

Sanji laughs, not caring at all about being shown up “You’re amazing!” he says proudly “Absolutely perfect.”

He kisses your cheek with zero shame “My talented goddess.”

But the kid… the kid is just staring at you now. Like something huge just clicked in his little brain.

“…What?” you ask, smiling at him “You can still try again, maybe there’s another plush—”

“I love you.”

You blink “Huh?”

“I don’t know why,” he says, completely serious “But I do.”

You stand there with your plushie, speechless. Sanji snorts so hard he has to turn around to hide his laugh.

“Is it the bear?” you ask gently.

The boy shakes his head “It’s your face. And your power.”

Sanji is wheezing now “That’s a strong statement, mon petit rival.”

“I said what I said,” the kid replies firmly, hands in his pockets “If you break up with him, I’ll wait for you.”

You pat his head “Thanks, but… I don’t think that’ll happen.”

He sighs “Fine. But just know… you’re my first love now.”

Sanji finally turns around, wiping tears from his eyes “I’ve been defeated. By a child.”

You both laugh, holding hands again. You keep walking through the festival lights, one giant plush bear in your arms, and the chef at your side.

The night deepens, and the music slows down.

Soft lanterns float above the square, swaying gently in the warm breeze. They’re glowing in different colors as orange, pink, soft blue, like slow-moving stars. Couples begin dancing in the middle of the cobblestone plaza.

Sanji gently tugs your hand “Dance with me, mon amour?”

You grin and nod “Only if you don’t step on my feet.”

“I would rather die.”

He places one hand on your waist, the other holding yours with a practiced ease. His touch is warm and careful, like he’s afraid to break you. You sway together under the lanterns, the sounds of violins and laughter floating around you.

“You look beautiful in this light.” he says quietly.

You look up at him, smiling “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. This moment is soft. Sweet. Just the two of you… until…

“HEY, Y/N!”

Your head jerks up. You turn. A small voice echoes through the crowd.

Sanji’s brows twitch “No.”

Walking through the legs of villagers, holding something behind his back, is that kid.

Your jaw drops “How do you know my name?”

He stops right in front of you, puffing his chest like a tiny warrior “The idiot said it like five times while we were throwing balls. ‘You’ve got this, Y/N! Knock ‘em down, Y/N!’”

You blink “Oh… yeah. That sounds like him.”

Sanji coughs “You remembered that?”

The kid pulls out what he was hiding behind his back, a delicate, glowing flower. Its petals shimmer like they’ve been dusted with stardust.

“This is for you,” the boy says, holding it out with both hands like an offering “You deserve something this pretty.”

Your heart does a little owh at the sweetness “Aww… thank you.”

You take it gently, not wanting to crush it.

Sanji, meanwhile, stares at the flower. Then at the kid. Then at you.

He chuckles lightly “How… thoughtful.”

You glance at him “You okay?”

“Oh, me? Perfectly fine,” he says with a smile that’s way too tight “Just enjoying the sight of my girlfriend being courted by an eight-year-old.”

The kid looks up at him “Nine.”

“Ah, of course. My mistake,” Sanji says, voice calm but eyes twitching “A mature gentleman.”

“Way cooler than you.” the boy mumbles.

Sanji crouches down slightly, still smiling “You want a kitchen knife to go with that flower, mon petit rival?”

You step between them, laughing “Okay, okay, enough. This is getting weird.”

The kid sighs and shrugs “I’ll just wait till you’re single. No rush.”

“There will be no waiting.” Sanji grits through his teeth.

“Time is on my side, old man.”

“SHE’S MY AGE TOO!” Sanji yells irritated.

You nearly drop the flower from laughing so hard. You pat the boy on the head again “You’re really sweet, but I’m staying with the idiot for now.”

“Forever,” Sanji corrects “She’s staying with me forever.”

“Yeah, yeah. For now…” the boy says, walking away into the lantern lights.

You turn to Sanji, still giggling “You were jealous.”

He raises a hand, dramatic as ever “I can’t believe he kept insulting me. I was not jealous. I was threatened.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He sighs “Okay. I was… mildly unsettled.”

You lean up and kiss his cheek “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

He smirks again “And you’re always cute. But please… no more nine-year-old rivals.”

The music quiets. The stalls are closing. Lanterns start floating into the sky, some by string, some released into the wind with wishes written on paper. The villagers begin gathering near the beach and hilltops.

You stretch your arms with a happy sigh, the big plushie still tucked under one arm “It’s almost time for fireworks, right?”

Sanji nods and gently takes your hand “Follow me, mon love. I found us a better spot. Private. High up. Just us.”

“Romantic?”

He grins “Always.”

He leads you up a narrow path behind the main square, through a line of trees. A few lanterns hang along the way, giving the path a warm glow. Eventually, you reach a small wooden platform, almost like an old lookout. There’s a railing, a perfect view of the sky, and just enough space for the two of you to stand side by side.

You lean against the railing, wide-eyed “This is perfect…”

Sanji steps behind you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder “I know. Just like you.”

You snort “Cheesy.”

He kisses your temple “True.”

Just as the wind picks up slightly and you snuggle closer into his arms…“Hey!”

You both turn your heads.

It’s the kid. Again.

Sanji groans, stepping forward “Are you following us now?”

The boy crosses his arms “I think destiny wants me and Y/N together.”

Sanji points at him “She’s literally standing here with me, holding the bear I helped her win—”

“I pushed you to give up and her winning it, so technically I helped too.”

“You called me ‘trash’ and insulted me!”

“And yet… here we are.” He spreads his arms as if the universe just proved his point.

You lean on the railing, grinning like an idiot while they go at it again “I feel like I should get popcorn for this.”

The kid puffs up his chest “You’ll thank me when we’re married one day.”

“I am going to faint.” Sanji rubs his face.

You laugh softly, eyes crinkling with joy. The two of them are so dramatic in their own ways… Sanji with his poetic French curses, and the kid with his over-the-top confidence.

But then the sky explodes into light.

You gasp and rush toward the railing, hands gripping the wood. Fireworks bloom above the hills, one after another, bursts of gold, red, green, and silver painting the night. Some twinkle, some crackle, some swirl in spiral shapes like dancing stars.

“Whoa…” you whisper, completely forgetting the chaos behind you.

Then, beside you, another small gasp. You glance down. It’s the kid.

His eyes are wide. His mouth slightly open in wonder “They’re… huge.”

“Is this your first time seeing fireworks?” you ask.

He nods slowly “Yeah. They’re… kinda magical.”

You smile, your face glowing with the same light reflecting in the sky “Right?”

Behind you, Sanji watches the two of you from a few steps back.

You’re both standing at the railing, heads tilted up, eyes full of wonder, soft smiles on your faces. The flower the kid gave you is tucked in your hair. The bear still in your arms. And somehow, in that one moment, you and the kid… look similar.

Same joy. Same spark. Same heart.

Sanji feels something shift in his chest. Not jealousy. Not annoyance. Something deeper. Warmer.

He pictures this moment again, but years in the future. You, at the railing, holding a small hand. Your child’s hand.

Their eyes lighting up like yours. That same smile. That same awe. And he’s there too, arms around both of you. His future, clear as the fireworks above.

You turn around and catch his gaze “Sanji?”

He blinks and smiles softly “Sorry. Just… thinking about how lucky I am.”

You raise an eyebrow “Because we won the bear?”

“No,” he says, stepping forward to join you at the railing “Because I get to watch you fall in love with everything.”

You rest your head on his shoulder again, your free hand finding his.

“With me?” The kid says.

“NO! DROP IT!” Sanji yells at him but then they both smile and keep watching the fireworks as they keep blooming. And Sanji is already planning forever.

The last firework bursts in a shower of silver and gold, lingering like a sparkler in the night sky. Then silence.

Soft cheers rise from the village below. The glow fades, lanterns flickering low. The magic of the moment hangs in the air for just a little longer, like it doesn’t want to end.

You sigh, still holding Sanji’s hand “That was perfect…”

Next to you, the kid is still staring at the sky. But the fireworks are gone now, long finished. Yet he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His eyes are wide, his mouth just barely open. He looks like he’s still inside that wonder.

You smile at him “Hey… by the way… What’s your name?”

He blinks, like he’s waking up from a dream “Oh. It’s Tama.”

“Nice to meet you, Tama.” You kneel down a bit so you’re closer to his height “What do you wanna be when you grow up?”

Without hesitation “A pirate.”

You laugh softly “Really?”

He nods, proud “A brave one. With a big ship. I’ll visit all the islands with weird animals and floating rocks and treasure.”

Sanji smirks beside you, hands in his pockets “Then I guess we’ll keep being rivals even out at sea, huh?”

Tama gives him a sharp side-eye “I’ll have to steal y/n from you and out-pirate you.”

Sanji grins “Try me, mon petit.”

You giggle and ruffle Tama’s hair gently “Well, I hope we meet again when you’re out there chasing dreams.”

Tama glances up at you “What about you? What do you want to be?”

You pause. It’s not something you really think about. You look over at Sanji… messy blond hair, gentle smile, the way he’s still looking at you like the stars are in your eyes instead of the sky.

You shrug “I don’t care what I become. I just want to be with Sanji forever.”

Sanji freezes for a moment.

Then, he lets out a quiet breath, like someone just handed him the whole world.

His voice is soft “You’ll never have to wish for that, mon amour. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tama watches you both. He’s quiet. No more smug grins or snappy lines.

Then, slowly, he nods. He tucks his hands into his pockets and gives you a small smile, real and warm “Then it’s good the idiot is so persistent.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Hey—”

Tama doesn’t look at him. He’s looking at you “You’re really happy. I can tell.” His voice is calm now, like something inside him understands something bigger “So… I’m okay with it.”

Your heart softens “Thank you, Tama.”

Then, without fully thinking, you smile even wider and say, “Sanji, I hope our future baby is going to be like him.”

Tama blinks, clearly unsure what to say to that. Maybe even a little embarrassed. But he nods slowly, lips pressing together in a shy smile.

Sanji stops breathing.

He stares at you, completely still, as if the fireworks just restarted behind his eyes. That sentence… so casual, so soft… hit harder than anything tonight. Our future baby...

You’re thinking about it. About a future. About family. And not just that. You’re thinking about it with him. His heart squeezes in his chest.

You’re here, in his arms. You’re in love. And you’re imagining a child with his smile and your eyes, running around somewhere under the same stars.

You turn and see the look in Sanji’s eyes.

He’s smiling, but there’s something deeper behind it. Something full. Something that says, I heard that.

You just smile back, knowing he doesn’t need to say a word.

Tama shrugs and turns around “Don’t get too comfy though. I’ll be cooler than him someday.”

Sanji puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close “We’ll be cheering for you… maybe.”

Tama waves over his shoulder, heading back toward the village, lantern light flickering around him.

You and Sanji stay a little longer at the lookout, arms wrapped around each other, the flower still in your hair, and the last warmth of the fireworks still in your hearts.

The festival is over. But something even better stayed behind with you…

Love. Peace. And the promise of forever.

── .✦ Law:

The sea is calm. The deck is quiet. You wipe your hands with a towel and step out of the infirmary for some air. A peaceful day. For once.

“GUYS! GUYS!! I’m back!!”

Bepo’s voice booms from the ramp. You glance over, blinking. Law appears from the hallway behind you, arms crossed and already frowning. Penguin and Shachi pop their heads out of the engine room.

“Why are you yelling?” Law asks, sharp.

“I got everything!” Bepo shouts, jogging up “But also—uh—”

He’s carrying something. No. Someone. It’s a kid.

A little girl, maybe five years old, wrapped in one of Bepo’s spare coats. Her hair’s messy, face pale. No shoes. She looks completely terrified.

Shachi stares “That’s a child.”

“Bepo,” Law growls “You didn’t…”

“I had to!” Bepo pleads “She was hiding behind crates in the market. All alone. People walked right past her. Like she wasn’t even there!”

“So you picked her up and brought her here?!” Law’s tone spikes.

“I couldn’t leave her! I asked around, but no one knew her. No one cared! She wouldn’t talk to anyone but me!”

The girl looks around fast… strangers, loud voices, sharp tones. She panics.

Her eyes lock on you, maybe because you’re the only woman here at the moment, maybe because you’re not yelling, and suddenly she jumps out of Bepo’s arms.

“Wait—!” Bepo yells.

Too late. She runs straight to you and throws her arms around your waist, hugging you like her life depends on it.

You freeze.

“Woah—hey, hey,” you say softly, instinct kicking in. You crouch down, hands gentle on her arms “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She buries her face in your chest and doesn’t say a word. Everyone is staring.

“Y/N,” Law says, voice low “Do you know her?”

You shake your head “Never seen her before.”

“Then why is she hugging you like that?” Penguin asks, confused.

You rub her back carefully “She’s scared. She saw someone safe. That’s all.”

Law narrows his eyes, crouching beside you.

“Kid,” he says quietly, “what’s your name?”

“…Mimi.” she whispers.

“How old are you, Mimi?”

She holds up five fingers without looking up.

“Do you know where your parents are?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you remember anything?”

She shrugs.

Law stands up “Fantastic.”

“I don’t get it,” Shachi says “Why would she run to Y/N? Just randomly?”

“She doesn’t know me,” you say, still holding Mimi gently “She was just scared.”

“She’s still shaking,” Bepo murmurs “I think she really was in danger.”

Law opens his mouth to reply, but footsteps thunder up from below deck.

“Ikkaku!” Penguin says as she appears, out of breath.

“Captain!” she gasps, holding up a tablet “Emergency Marine alert. I just picked it up from the city’s comms.”

“What kind of alert?” Law asks, tone serious.

She flips the screen around “They’re searching for a missing child. Classified level. No name. No photo. Just this—”

She swipes again. A blurry snail-cam image. It’s Mimi. Wearing that same coat.

“…Shit.” Law mutters.

Everyone stares at the screen.

“Why are the Marines looking for a five-year-old?” Shachi asks, stunned.

“Classified level? That’s not normal” Penguin adds.

Ikkaku reads off the report “Orders are to retrieve the child alive. No reason listed. But every local base is on alert. They think pirates might have taken her.”

Mimi stiffens. She presses closer to you.

“…Bad men,” she whispers “Mama said they’d come…”

“Mimi,” you say softly, “do you know who the bad men are?”

She shakes her head quickly “The marines… that I had to run. Mama said… find someone kind. Someone who felt safe.”

She looks up at you then. Big, frightened eyes.

You smile gently “You found me, don’t worry.”

Law steps beside you, staring down at the kid. His hand brushes yours.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, “She can’t stay on deck.”

You nod.

“She stays below, for now” Law says, turning to the crew “And no one talks about her. Not a word. We figure this out before the Marines come knocking.”

Bepo lets out a breath “Thank you, Captain.”

Law glances back at you and Mimi “Don’t thank me yet. This is trouble.”

“She’s just a kid,” you murmur, carrying her gently as you stand “We’ll protect her.”

Law’s voice softens “Yeah. We will.”

The door closes behind you both with a quiet click. The hallway outside Law’s quarters is silent now. You and Law stand inside the dimly lit room, away from the crew, away from Mimi.

He leans against the desk, arms folded, hat on the surface next to him. His jaw is tight. You’re pacing.

“She’s five, Law,” you say “Five. And terrified. You saw her face.”

“I know what I saw,” he replies, coldly calm “But she’s not just any kid, Y/N. She’s being hunted by the Marines. That’s not normal.”

“She didn’t ask to be hunted,” you shoot back “She didn’t choose any of this!”

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice rises slightly.

You stop pacing “Then why are you looking at her like she’s a problem?”

He straightens “Because right now? She is. She’s a risk. For all of us.”

You flinch.

“Oh, great,” you say, sarcasm slipping in “Glad to know your heart’s still functioning.”

His eyes narrow “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not twisting anything! You’re acting like she’s a ticking time bomb!”

“I’m being realistic!” he snaps “You always do this—take in strays without thinking!”

You freeze. The words echo. You always do this.

Your chest tightens “Then is that what I am to you?” you whisper “Some stray you took in?”

Law’s expression shifts instantly “What? No—”

You shake your head, stepping back, voice low and bitter “Forget it. I’m done.”

He moves toward you “Y/N, wait—”

“No,” you say, turning for the door “You wanted to be realistic? Fine. Be alone with your logic. I’m going to be with the actual human being we rescued.”

You slam the door on your way out.

You sit cross-legged on the floor of the small guest room, paper and colored pencils spread out between you and Mimi. She holds a red pencil in her small hand, tongue poking out a little as she focuses hard on drawing something.

You force yourself to smile “That’s a very good cat, Mimi.”

“It’s you” she says, showing you proudly.

You laugh gently “Oh! I’m the cat?”

She nods “You were soft when I hugged you.”

You pause “That’s… really sweet, actually.”

She looks up at you “Are you mad?”

Your smile fades “Why would you think that?”

“You left fast. Like Mama did… when she was mad.”

Ouch.

You set your pencil down and reach out, tucking her hair behind her ear “I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

“Then who?”

You sigh “Just… someone I love. We said some things we didn’t mean.”

She nods like she gets it “Mama and Papa did that too. Then they’d be quiet for a while. But after, they hugged a lot.”

You smile faintly “Maybe we’ll get there.”

Mimi turns back to her paper “Do you think my Mama’s okay?”

Your heart aches “I hope so, Mimi. I really do.”

You pick up a blue pencil and draw beside her in silence for a while. The sound of coloring fills the small room. For a little while, it’s peaceful again.

Even if your chest still burns with anger and something else you don’t want to admit yet. Not hurt. Just… disappointed.

The hallway outside the guest room is quiet now.

Right now, it’s just you and Mimi, surrounded by colored pencils and messy drawings. She laughs when your stick figure ends up with five arms. You giggle along, your mood slowly softening.

“Look!” she says proudly, holding up her latest masterpiece. It’s her, you, and what might be Bepo if you squint. You’ve all got huge smiles and stars around your heads.

“That’s amazing,” you say, genuinely impressed “Did you make me taller than Bepo?”

She nods “Because you’re strong.”

Your heart actually hurts a little at that “You’re the strong one, Mimi.”

She looks up at you, eyes wide and happy. It’s the first time she’s looked this light since she came aboard. Something warm blooms in your chest. You don’t say it aloud, but this feels… right.

She deserves moments like this. You both do.

There’s a soft knock at the doorframe. You turn and Law stands there. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just… watches.

You see his eyes flick to Mimi, then back to you. The scene freezes him. Like he’s seeing something he wasn’t ready for. Like he’s seeing you with a child in your lap, laughing, gentle, bright. Like family.

You look away first. Mimi doesn’t notice. She’s too busy coloring in the sky purple.

Law jerks his head toward the hallway, silently asking for a word. You hesitate.

Then slowly stand up, brushing your hands off “I’ll be right back, okay?” you whisper to Mimi.

“Okay.” she says without looking up.

You follow Law out into the hall. The door closes behind you, soft and careful. He runs a hand through his hair. He looks… tired. And guilty.

“I deserved everything you said earlier” he starts.

You don’t speak yet.

“I was angry. Not at you. At the situation. At how helpless it made me feel. It reminds me a lot of when… nevermind.”

Still, you wait.

“I wanted to do something. So I called in favors. Checked restricted comms. Dug deep.”

You lift your eyes to meet his “And?”

“I found out who her mother was,” he says “They were living on the outskirts of a Marine-controlled zone. Poor. Invisible. Perfect targets.”

Your throat tightens.

“She died,” Law continues “A week ago. Protecting Mimi. Marines were already closing in. Her mother fought back alone. Got her daughter away. Then…”

He trails off.

You stare “…Mimi saw that happen?”

He nods “But I think she doesn’t remember it. Or won’t. Trauma like that… it can block memories completely. Especially in kids.”

Your back presses to the wall “She… thinks her mom is still out there.”

“I know,” he says quietly “I was hoping she was. I wanted to go find her. Bring her here. Give Mimi the ending she deserved.”

You press your hands to your face “God…”

Law steps closer “I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”

You lower your hands slowly, voice shaking “You thought I’d fall apart?”

“No,” he says “I thought I would.”

That makes you look at him.

“I saw you with her just now,” he says “And I thought… maybe we could give her something close to a family. Not perfect. Not planned. But something.”

Silence hangs heavy for a second.

“I’m sorry,” he says again “For the fight. For what I said.”

You nod slowly “I was mad. But I never stopped trusting you.”

He reaches for your hand. You let him take it.

“She’s all alone now” you whisper.

“Not if we stay” he says.

You squeeze his fingers “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s been three months since Mimi came aboard. She doesn’t cry at night anymore. She doesn’t flinch when someone raises their voice.

She laughs. Loudly. She steals snacks with Penguin, watches Shachi build models, draws on Bepo’s fur while he naps, and sometimes, when she’s really sleepy, she crawls into your bed without saying a word and snuggles between you and Law.

You and Law never talk about it, and neither does the crew, but everyone sees the way Mimi holds your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world. The way Law makes sure she eats, takes her medicine, wears a coat when it’s cold, even when he grumbles about it. The way her drawings now always have three people in them.

You, her, and Law.

She knows the truth now. She remembers it all… her mother, the chase, the moment she lost her, the fear. It came back slowly, in pieces, but she never fell apart.

She held on. To you. To him. And now it’s time.

You found a safe place for her, a quiet island far from Marine eyes. A good family who knew her mother once, who wants to care for Mimi like their own. A home with books, and warm food, and other children. It’s the best chance she’ll ever get.

She knows it. She understands.

But even understanding doesn’t make it easy.

On the third-to-last day, you find Mimi sitting with Bepo in the garden space at the top of the sub. She’s holding her sketchbook.

“Hey,” you say gently, sitting down beside her “Can I see what you’re drawing?”

She turns the book around. It’s you and Law again… only this time, she’s drawn herself in the middle, holding both your hands. Above you is a sun with a smiling face.

Your chest aches.

“I like when we’re together.” she says, matter-of-fact.

“I do too.”

She leans against your arm “You’re not mad, right? That I said yes to going?”

You pause “Never. Mimi, we want you to be safe. That’s what matters most.”

She goes quiet for a second “But I’ll still miss you. A lot.”

You stroke her hair softly “I’ll miss you too. Every day.”

She looks up “Do you think Captain Law will miss me?”

You smile “I know he will.”

That night, Law finds you alone in the infirmary, pretending to organize the medical supplies. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed.

“You’re avoiding me” he says.

“No I’m not” you lie instantly.

“Y/N.”

You sigh and sit down on the cot “I just… don’t know how to say goodbye.”

He walks in, quiet, and sits beside you “You don’t have to.”

You glance at him.

“We’ll find a way to see her again,” he says “Even if it’s just from a distance. I promise.”

Your eyes sting “She’s the best thing that ever happened to this ship.”

He nods “She’s one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

You look at him, surprised.

“I didn’t think I could… do this,” he says “Feel like this. But she made me believe in something again. She made me remember if Corazon and even understand him more now.”

You reach out and take his hand “She made us a family, didn’t she?”

Law squeezes your hand gently.

“And we’ll let her go,” he says “Because that’s what family does. We protect them. Even when it hurts.”

The crew stands in a quiet line on the deck.

Bepo is the first to kneel down, huge paws gentle as he hugs Mimi tightly.

“Don’t forget me” he says, voice shaking.

“I could never.” she whispers, burying her face in his fur.

Penguin gives her a pack of candy and awkwardly pats her head “Eat this when you miss us, okay?”

Shachi kneels next “We’ll miss you, shrimp. Stay awesome.”

Ikkaku lifts Mimi’s little hand and presses a friendship bracelet into her palm “For luck” she says, smiling even though her eyes are red.

Everyone says their goodbyes. Everyone hugs her.

You stand back, next to Law, holding your breath. Watching. Trying to stay calm. But your chest feels tight. Your hands shake and Law, quiet and steady beside you, notices. He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches out and takes your hand in his. Warm, grounding. Solid.

You glance down, surprised. He never does this in front of the crew. Your fingers curl around his slowly. It helps. You’re grateful.

Mimi turns at last and walks up to you both. Her steps are slower now. Her smile is gone. And when she reaches you, she breaks.

Her small arms wrap around your waist so hard it knocks the air out of you “I don’t wanna go.” she sobs.

You drop to your knees and hold her, tears falling fast “I know, baby. I know.”

“I wanna stay with you. And Law. And Bepo and everyone. I don’t want a new house.”

“I know. But this is the safest place. It’s what your mama wanted. And we’ll still love you. Always.”

She shakes her head, crying harder. You don’t want to let go. You really, really don’t. And Law… he just stands there, quiet, one hand resting gently on your back as you cry into Mimi’s hair.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s there. Holding you up in the way he always does.

When you finally pull away, your eyes meet his and he gives you the smallest nod. You nod back.

It’s time. Mimi turns to him slowly.

She throws her arms around his legs without a word. Law stiffens.

Then, very awkwardly, he kneels and hugs her back. His movements are a little stiff, unsure, but he doesn’t let go too quickly.

“I’m gonna miss you, Captain Law” she mumbles.

“…I’ll miss you too.” he says, voice low.

You blink. You’ve never heard him say that out loud.

When she lets go, her eyes are red and puffy, but she wipes them on her sleeve like a little soldier. Then she walks with the woman who came to get her, toward the small transport boat.

But just before she steps down the ramp, she stops, turns around, wipes her face and yells, loud as ever “HEY!”

Everyone jumps.

“If you ever give me a little brother or sister,” she says proudly, “I better get to meet them! I’ll be the best big sister in the world!”

Dead silence. Your jaw drops. Law’s eyes widen just slightly.

The crew turns to look at you both and absolutely loses it.

Penguin snorts. Shachi wheezes. Ikkaku starts clapping. Even Bepo chuckles behind a paw.

You and Law look in opposite directions at the same time, completely red-faced, avoiding each other’s eyes like it’s life or death.

“I… what…” you stammer.

“I didn’t…” Law mutters.

Mimi waves from the ramp, beaming “BYEEEE!”

And with that… she’s gone. Leaving behind stunned silence, a warm sea breeze and a very awkward question neither of you has ever asked before.

The door to Law’s studio closes behind you with a soft click. The sound of laughter still echoes faintly down the hall as the crew keeps joking about Mimi’s parting gift.

You and Law don’t say a word.

You wave a hand dismissively toward the corridor like go away, and Law rubs his forehead in quiet frustration as you both walk deeper into the room.

You drop onto the old sofa with a dramatic sigh. Your legs flop over the side “That kid really knows how to drop a bomb” you mumble into a pillow.

Law says nothing. He just walks toward his desk and sits down heavily, glancing at a stack of papers that definitely aren’t important right now.

“…So…” he says.

You raise an eyebrow, still hiding in the couch.

He clears his throat “Have you ever… uh. Thought about… you know.”

You peek at him “About what.”

He doesn’t look at you “A kid. Of your own.”

You squint “Why are you talking like that? You sound like Bepo when he ate spoiled mochi.”

He shoots you a look and you laugh, then immediately groan and hide your face in your hands.

“Oh god, I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this.”

“You didn’t answer” he says.

You peek through your fingers at him “Did you think about it before?”

He shrugs one shoulder “No. Not seriously.”

He stands up and walks over. He kneels in front of you and gently pulls your hands away from your face, exposing your cheeks and all the heat blooming in them.

His voice is soft “But now… I don’t hate the idea.”

Your heart skips. Your mouth opens and for once, no teasing comes out. Just a quiet little truth.

“…Same,” you say “If it’s with you.”

His ears go red. He clears his throat again, standing up abruptly like you just slapped him with a compliment.

“Don’t say stuff like that so easily” he mutters.

You laugh, covering your own red cheeks again “You started it!”

He turns back to his desk, muttering something under his breath.

You’re not sure what he’s thinking. But his shoulders relax a little while his hand lingers on the edge of his chair, like maybe he’s imagining what another little voice in this room might sound like someday.

── .✦ Shanks:

The sun is warm on your shoulders. The smell of grilled fish, sea salt, and cheap beer fills the open-air restaurant. You’re sitting beside Shanks, your legs draped over his lap, one arm around his broad shoulders. He’s laughing loud, one hand resting on your thigh, a bottle in the other.

The Red-Haired Pirates are noisy,talking with full mouths, yelling jokes across the table, getting into friendly fights over who gets the last crab claw.

You’re smiling, head leaning against Shanks’ shoulder, completely relaxed. Then you notice a woman, maybe in her twenties, carrying a small kid, probably two or three years old, on her hip. She’s standing near the entrance, eyes scanning the place fast, like she’s searching for someone. Her brows are drawn tight, lips pressed together.

“Shanks…” you murmur, nudging him with your elbow.

He follows your gaze.

She spots you. Her eyes go wide with something like hope. She walks fast toward your table, clutching the child tighter, muttering “excuse me” as she passes the crew. The little one, a girl, blinks up at everyone with big sleepy eyes. She stops right in front of you.

“Hi,” she says, out of breath “I—Sorry to bother you. I know who you are. You’re Shanks’ crew, right?”

You blink “Uh, yeah. That’s us.”

The woman shifts her weight, bouncing the kid gently “I know this is weird. Really weird. But I—I need help.”

Shanks straightens a little beside you. His arm slides behind your back but he stays quiet, letting you speak first.

“What kind of help?” you ask slowly, looking from the kid to her.

“My babysitter canceled last minute. I’m already late for work—I’ll lose my job if I don’t show up. It’s only for a few hours. Please,” she pleads “I don’t know anyone on this island, and you… well, I’ve seen you in the papers. You’re not bad people.”

You open your mouth to answer, then close it.

The little girl is chewing on her own shirt, blinking at you with big brown eyes. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair’s tied up in a tiny puff.

You glance at Shanks. He’s watching you with that gentle smile of his. His eyes are soft. He doesn’t say anything, he just squeezes your hip lightly, like he’s telling you, Your choice.

“I don’t know anything about kids.” you say, voice low, nervous.

“You’ll be fine,” the woman says quickly “She’s easy. Doesn’t cry much. Her name’s Emi.”

The little girl makes a tiny sound, like she’s trying to say something but decides against it.

You look at Shanks again. He smiles wider.

“I’ll help you,” you say finally, sighing “Only for a few hours.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” the woman breathes. She kisses the kid’s forehead and whispers something into her ear. Then she hands her over to you.

The moment Emi’s in your arms, she goes still. Warm and small. A little heavy. She smells like soap and bananas.

The woman gives you her name, a quick “I’ll be back before sunset.” and then she’s gone.

You sit there frozen. Shanks looks down at Emi in your lap. Then back up at you.

“You look terrified.” he says, chuckling.

“I am terrified.” you whisper.

“Want me to hold her?”

You shake your head slowly “No… I think I got this.”

Then Emi sneezes on your chest.

“Okay,” you groan “Maybe not.”

Shanks is already laughing.

At first, Emi just… sits there. On your lap. Quiet, blinking, nose still a little runny. She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t move much either. Just holds a tiny stuffed rabbit in one hand and sucks her thumb with the other.

You’re stiff as a mast. Shanks drapes his arm around your shoulders, whispering in your ear, “You’re holding her like she’s a bomb.”

“I’ve held swords with more confidence...” you mutter back.

He laughs, soft and deep, and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear “Try putting her on the bench next to you. Let her get used to everyone.”

You do. Emi shifts to sit beside you, rabbit clutched to her chest. She peeks around the table. The crew watches her like she’s a sea monster that just learned to smile.

“Hi, Emi!” Lucky Roux waves with a toothy grin “Wanna try some pineapple?”

She buries her face in your side.

Yasopp chuckles “You sure she’s not scared of you, Y/N?”

“She should be.” you say dryly.

But over time, it changes. Slowly. Emi starts pointing at things on the table. A shrimp. A spoon. A shiny gold coin someone dropped. You tell her the names. You offer her a piece of soft bread, and she takes it with two hands like it’s a treasure.

An hour later, you’re wiping jam off her chin with a napkin and helping her clap to Benn’s bad humming of a lullaby tune. She giggles when you make a fish face at her. You giggle back. And Shanks is quiet. He watches.

Not in a smug or teasing way. He’s not smirking. He’s not laughing with the others when Yasopp says, “Look at this! Y/N’s got the mom vibe going strong!”

He just… looks.

You glance at him and find his jaw a little tight. His drink untouched. His gaze heavy on you and the child. Like he’s thinking hard about something he doesn’t want to say out loud.

“Captain?” you ask softly.

He blinks, like he’s been pulled out of somewhere far away “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

He nods. Too fast.

Roux leans over with a grin “Hey, Shanks. You gonna put a ring on it if she starts popping out mini Shank’s?”

Everyone laughs.

You feel your face heat up, heart thudding a little “Oh my God—can you all shut up?”

“I want to marry her.” Shanks says suddenly.

Silence. Everyone stares.

You slowly turn to him “What?”

He meets your eyes. His voice is even, but his expression is… different. Calm on the surface, but his eyes are darker than usual “If she wanted that too. Yeah.”

You feel Emi rest her head on your arm, yawning, rabbit smushed between her face and your side.

You’re not sure what to say. The crew fumbles between teasing and trying not to look too shocked.

Shanks finally looks away, picking up his drink again.

Benn watches him for a long second. Then quietly says, “Alright, alright. Let’s not scare the kid, huh?”

And just like that, the noise starts up again. Jokes. Laughter. Loud plates. Big bites.

But Shanks doesn’t joke anymore, and you don’t miss the way he keeps looking at you like there’s something he’s not saying. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

Then everything fall falls apart when Emi gets bored.

One minute she’s snuggled against you, soft and sleepy, her rabbit tucked under her chin. The next she’s on her feet, running full speed down the middle of the open-air tavern, arms flapping like wings.

“EMI!” you shout, scrambling to follow her.

Your drink spills. A spoon clatters to the ground. Shanks laughs under his breath and gets up with you, already moving.

She darts under a table where two drunk fishermen are playing cards, crawls past their feet like some kind of tiny demon, and pops up between a tray of grilled squid and a candle.

“I got her!” Yasopp calls out, lunging, but Emi ducks and keeps running, laughing wildly now, barefoot and fast.

“She’s gone feral!” Lucky Roux howls.

“Shanks!” you bark, spinning around helplessly “Stop laughing and HELP!”

He grins, but there’s warmth in his eyes as he moves quickly, circling the tables “Aye aye, sweetheart.”

You try one side, he takes the other.

“Emi,” he says, crouching low, voice gentle, like he’s speaking to a scared animal “Hey, baby girl. Wanna play a game? It’s called Freeze. Can you freeze?”

She stops. Looks at him. Wobbles on her feet.

You sneak up behind.

“Gotcha!” you grab her mid-spin, lifting her up like a sack of potatoes.

She laughs and squeals, legs kicking.

“She’s a slippery one.” you mutter, holding her close, out of breath.

“I like her spirit,” Shanks says, grinning as he brushes a strand of hair from your face “She reminds me of you.”

You squint at him “You’re not funny.”

The crew starts clapping. Yasopp whistles. Roux raises his mug “Now that’s a team, huh? Look at them. Mom and Dad of the year.”

“Oh, please—” you start, but Shanks just reaches for Emi’s little hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Teamwork, right?” he says softly to her.

She nods. Then sneezes again. Right into his chest.

You burst out laughing this time and say “That’s karma.”

He wipes it off with a napkin like it’s nothing.

You sit back down together, Emi now curled in your lap again, finally tired. Shanks stays close. Not just beside you but with you. Helping. Watching. Smiling softly when Emi dozes off. But he’s still quiet. More quiet than usual.

Your eyes keep drifting to him. The way he’s looking at the girl. The little frown he doesn’t even know he has. The way his hand rests on her back like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He used to be like this with Uta. And Luffy, too. Soft. Present. Gentle.

You haven’t seen that part of him in a long time. You missed it.

“You okay?” you ask under your breath, while the crew starts arguing over dessert.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then finally, “Yeah.”

You stare at him a little longer “Are you lying to me?”

He smiles, but it’s not the usual cocky grin. It’s smaller. Tired.

“I’m not sure what I’m feeling,” he admits “Just… thinking, I guess.”

You squeeze his hand “About what?”

He shrugs, looking down at Emi “About a lot of things.”

And now you are quiet, because something in your chest shifts. Soft. Strange. Familiar.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like you’ve already given him something he thought he’d never have again. Or maybe it’s the way it suddenly feels… real.

You. Him. And this small, chaotic moment that makes everything else disappear.

The sun starts to dip, painting the sky in gold and peach.

You’re still at the tavern, Emi snoring softly on your shoulder, her little fingers tangled in your hair. Shanks sits beside you, quiet. His arm rests behind you, not touching, just there.

And then she returns. The woman bursts through the crowd, her apron flying, face flushed with panic. The moment she sees you, she stops, hands over her heart like she might collapse.

“Oh my god—thank you. Thank you so much,” she breathes, almost crying as she rushes to you “I’m so sorry I took so long. I owe you my life.”

You wave a hand gently “It’s okay. Really. She was good. A little fast—like, sprint-across-the-rooftops fast—but… I had fun.”

Emi stirs and opens her eyes.

“Hi, baby.” the mother coos, arms outstretched. The little girl shifts toward her sleepily, and you pass her over with care. For a second, Emi resists, her hand still reaching for your shirt.

Your heart squeezes a little.

“Thank you again,” the woman says, eyes filled with real gratitude “If you’re ever on this island again, please come find us. I mean it.”

You smile, brushing some crumbs off your lap “Of course. Be safe.”

You watch them go, mother holding daughter close, disappearing into the market crowd. And then it’s just… quiet. Too quiet.

The crew starts packing up, joking softly, but there’s a change in the air. A stillness you don’t like. You look at Shanks.

He’s already looking at you.

Not grinning. Not teasing.

Just watching you with that faraway softness in his eyes, like you’re a slow dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. Like maybe, for a second, he saw something more than just this moment.

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his.

He squeezes back but doesn’t say anything.

The walk to the ship is slow. The crew’s laughing again, arguing about who drank the most, but it’s like the volume’s been turned down. You and Shanks trail behind.

Still no words. Not one.

That night, the sea’s calm. The stars are out. You’re both in your cabin, door closed, boots off.

You lie on your shared bed, watching him stand at the window, shirt half unbuttoned, red hair catching the moonlight, and you’ve had enough. You sit up.

“Alright, Red,” you say, crossing your arms “What’s going on in that dumb, beautiful head of yours?”

He looks over his shoulder, startled “What?”

“You’ve been quiet ever since Emi left. You’ve said maybe ten words total. And I know you. That means you’re thinking. Hard.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck “Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Nope.” You crawl across the bed toward him, poke his side “Try again.”

He sighs “It’s… complicated.”

“So is your face, and I still look at it every day. Try me.”

That gets a small laugh out of him.

You press your forehead to his back “You don’t have to hold things in with me, Shanks. Not the serious stuff. Not the scary stuff. Especially not the stuff that makes your eyes look like that.”

He turns slowly, leaning against the window. You slide your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you too, finally. Breathing in.

“Seeing you with her,” he says softly “With Emi.”

You wait.

“I kept thinking about Uta. About Luffy. About how fast it all went. How I blinked and they weren’t mine to hold anymore.”

You don’t speak. Just hold him tighter.

“And then… I saw you. Just being there. Caring for this tiny stranger like it was nothing. Laughing with her. Holding her. And something in me just… ached.”

You tilt your head up “Ached how?”

He looks down at you, eyes serious now “Like I wanted that with you. And I didn’t even know how much until I saw it.”

The words settle deep inside you.

“You’d be a good father.” you whisper.

“You’d be the best mother.” he says back instantly.

Silence again, but this time it’s full. Of possibilities. Of truths unsaid until now.

“I didn’t say anything,” Shanks adds, brushing a hand through your hair, “because I don’t want you to think I expect that from you. Or that I’m pushing it. I just… couldn’t stop seeing it.”

You lean in and kiss him slow. No rush. No pressure. Just soft and sure.

When you pull away, your voice is warm and quiet “Then keep seeing it. I don’t mind.”

You kiss him. Long, soft, deep.

The kind of kiss that says more than either of you can find the words for. His hands settle on your waist, grounding you, holding you like you might drift away if he lets go. And when you finally break apart, you stay close. Forehead to forehead. Breathing the same air.

Now it’s your turn. You exhale shakily “I always saw you with Uta. And Luffy. The way you held them, talked to them, made them laugh… the way they looked at you.”

Shanks closes his eyes, lips pressed together.

“I used to watch from the deck,” you continue softly, “and I’d think… that. I want that with him. Our own little chaos. Our own quiet moments. Our own family.”

His grip on you tightens just a little. His thumb strokes your hip, slowly.

“I never said anything,” you admit, voice quieter now “Because I thought… maybe you already had your turn. Maybe being a dad again wasn’t something you wanted. Like, maybe Uta and even Luffy were your ‘once in a lifetime’. And I didn’t want to be selfish.”

Shanks pulls back just enough to look at you fully, eyes wide, voice rough “Selfish? Y/N… You have no idea how wrong you are.”

You blink.

He cups your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek “If anything, I was scared you didn’t want that. I never wanted to put that weight on you. My name. My crew. My life.”

You both laugh a little, soft and breathless. And then he says it “I’d love to see a little you run around the ship.”

Your heart does a full spin in your chest. You both collapse back onto the bed, side by side, hands tangled together, staring at the ceiling like it holds the future in its stars.

“I think she’d be loud.” you say, smiling to yourself.

“She?” Shanks grins “You’re already picking sides?”

“I just know. She’d talk back to Benn by the time she could crawl.”

“She’d steal Yasopp’s sake and blame it on Lucky Roux.”

“She’d steal your cape and wear it like a dress.”

“She’d make the whole crew bow to her by age four.”

You laugh. He laughs too. Your fingers tighten around his.

“She’d be soft like you,” he adds suddenly, voice lower now “Kind. But dangerous.”

You glance over at him “She’d be brave like you. Wild, loyal, always smiling.”

He sighs, almost dreamily “I can already hear her little feet running on the deck.”

“And your big voice yelling ‘don’t climb the cannon!’”

You both break into giggles and then silence again, but this time, it’s wrapped in warmth, in hope.

Shanks turns his head to look at you. You’re already looking at him.

“I mean…” he says slowly, raising one eyebrow, “we could start working on that little Y/N… like… right now.”

You gasp “Shanks!”

He smirks wickedly “What? I’m just saying. We’re both here. The ship’s quiet. The moon looks nice. You’re cute. I’m cute. It’s called destiny.”

You snort “You’re impossible—ah!”

He attacks, fingers darting to your sides, tickling, making you laugh and squirm under him.

“Shanks! Stop!”

“Never!” he grins, pinning you lightly with his weight “You’re stuck now. You told me your secrets. I told you mine. That makes us legally married in pirate law.”

You laugh until your cheeks hurt. You wiggle, but he’s strong, gentle, always careful. And then you stop moving. So does he.

Your eyes meet again. Closer now. Breath mingling.

That softness returns. Like a wave pulling you under, not scary. Just deep. Full of something quiet and forever.

You reach up and brush his hair behind his ear.

He leans into your touch.

“Hey,” you whisper “I love you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your palm “And I love you more than I thought I even could.”

His mouth finds yours again, slower this time. No rush.

The kind of kiss that makes the world outside the cabin disappear and maybe, tonight is the beginning of something new.

── .✦ Ace:

The sun is warm, the breeze is salty, and Ace is doing what he always does when he’s not fighting or eating: walking too close to you with that lazy grin on his face.

“You sure you don’t wanna race?” he asks “You lose, you buy lunch.”

You raise an eyebrow “You’ll cheat with your fire.”

“Not true.” He places a hand on his chest, all dramatic “I only cheat if I’m losing.”

You snort “So always.”

He gasps “Betrayal.”

The two of you walk down the main road of a small island town. It’s quiet, peaceful, one of those places that doesn’t care much for bounties or pirate crews. People nod, wave, smile. Ace stretches, yawns, and puts his arm lazily around your shoulder.

“Maybe we should stay here a few days,” he says “Nice change from all the running.”

Before you can answer, a small voice says “Is that Fire Fist Ace?!”

You both turn. Two kids stand by a fruit stall, one boy, maybe six, and an older girl, probably nine. The boy’s eyes are wide. The girl looks like she’s not impressed yet.

Ace grins “Yeah, that’s me.”

The boy lights up “No way! My dad told me you can burn down a whole ship in one punch!”

Ace shrugs, clearly proud “Depends on the ship.”

The girl, however, is staring at you.

Her eyes narrow “You’re her, aren’t you?”

You blink “…Her?”

She steps closer, pointing at your waist “You’re the swordwoman who beat that Navy officer in Loguetown. The one who fights with two blades and never loses.”

You look down at her, surprised. She’s serious. Ace whistles.

“Wow,” he says “I didn’t know I was walking around with a legend.”

You nudge him “Shut up.”

The girl keeps going “They say you cut a cannonball in half.”

You sigh “It was already cracked.”

Still, her eyes sparkle. The boy joins in, bouncing excitedly.

“She’s so cool! Are you really pirates?!”

“Guilty,” Ace says, holding up his hands “But friendly pirates.”

“You don’t look friendly...” the girl says.

Ace grins “Good. That’s the point.”

Then the boy tugs at your sleeve “Can I see your sword?”

You crouch to his level “They’re sharp. Not safe for kids.”

He frowns “I won’t touch it. Promise!”

You glance at Ace, who’s watching you closely, smiling like he’s waiting for something. You sigh and slowly pull one of your swords just a little from the sheath, just enough to show the edge. Both kids gasp like it’s treasure.

“Can you teach us how to fight?” the girl asks suddenly.

You blink “You’re nine.”

“So? You were probably younger when you started.”

Ace chuckles “She was.”

You give him a side-eye “Stop helping.”

The little girl folds her arms “You could just show us something. Like a move. Just one.”

You sigh again but you’re smiling now “You’re very stubborn.”

She shrugs “You have to be, if you wanna be strong.”

Ace leans against a wooden post, arms crossed, amused “Sounds familiar.”

You glance at him “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I mean… yeah.” He grins “It’s the first time someone’s asking you for autographs instead of me. I’m letting it sink in.”

The boy tugs your coat again “Please? One move?”

You finally stand, looking at the open space near the dock “Fine. But just one. Then you leave us alone and go home, got it?”

The kids cheer and run to the clearing.

Ace follows, whistling “You’re gonna start a sword school at this rate.”

You roll your shoulders, then pull your blade halfway out, just enough to flash the steel. You drop into a stance, slow and firm. The kids go quiet. Then, with a sharp breath, you move. One swift, elegant slash through the air, so fast the wind shifts. The tip of your sword stops just above the ground, and your coat flutters around you.

The boy’s mouth hangs open. The girl’s eyes are huge.

Ace whistles “Show-off.”

You sheathe the sword in one clean motion.

The girl points “That was awesome! Can you do it again?”

“No,” you say, but you’re laughing now.

The boy runs over and hugs your leg suddenly “You’re my favorite pirate now!”

You blink, surprised. You pat his head awkwardly “Uh. Thanks?”

Ace watches you, your hand gently resting on the boy’s head, your stance still grounded, strong but soft. You’re not trying to impress anyone. You just exist like this. Capable. Calm. Kind. Something shifts in his chest.

You look up at him “What?”

He shrugs “Nothing. Just… didn’t know you were this good with kids.”

“I’m not,” you say “They’re just clingy.”

The girl now grabs your wrist “Can I hold your sword?”

“No.”

“Can I touch it?”

“No.”

“Can you teach me how to fight like that?”

“No—”

Ace walks over, laughing “C’mon, sweetheart. Be nice.”

You glare at him “You help, then.”

He lifts his hands “Nope. I’m just the fire guy. You’re the star today.”

The boy turns to Ace “Do you two live together?”

You and Ace exchange a look.

He grins “Something like that.”

The girl squints “Are you married?”

You cough “No.”

“Are you gonna be?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Ace just laughs and says, “Wanna help me convince her?”

“YES!” the kids shout in unison.

You groan and walk away “I regret everything.”

Ace follows, hands in his pockets, that lazy smile still on his face, but his eyes stay soft. He watches you gently shoo the kids away, then thank the fruit vendor with a quiet bow. And in that moment, he knows. Clear as day.

“She’s not just strong. She’s not just mine. She’d be the best damn mom the world’s ever seen.”

He doesn’t say it out loud. Not yet. But he’s thinking it. Hard.

You and Ace are sitting under a tree near the edge of the village, sharing a bag of sliced fruit.

“You think they’re gone?” you ask, biting into a juicy piece.

Ace shrugs “Maybe. Or maybe they’re forming a fan club.”

You nudge his leg with your boot “I don’t need a fan club.”

He gives you a lazy grin “No, but you deserve one.”

You roll your eyes, but your ears go a little pink.

Then, a small voice calls from down the road “WE’RE BACK!!”

You groan “No.”

Ace grins “Yes.”

The two kids come running, the boy nearly trips over his own feet and stop in front of you, proudly holding up folded paper sheets.

“Look!!” the girl says, unfolding one “We drew you!”

You blink “…You what?”

They hand you the papers. The drawings are messy, full of wild colors, but so full of heart. One is of you holding two swords, a big smile on your face. Another shows you and Ace together, tiny figures with stars around you. A third shows you with a little kid, sword in hand, standing tall.

You pause at that one. Ace leans over your shoulder to peek. His voice is softer now “Is that supposed to be your kid?”

The girl nods proudly “Yup! We made a story about you! You’re a pirate mom who protects her ship and teaches her kid how to be strong.”

You stare at the page, silent. The boy holds out a few crayons “You can draw too, if you want!”

Before you can say no, he’s already sitting down, opening another paper. The girl joins him. They look up at you, smiling.

“C’mon,” she says “We wanna make a whole crew!”

You glance at Ace. He shrugs, trying to act casual “Up to you.”

You sigh and sit down cross-legged in the grass “Alright. But I’m drawing the captain.”

“That’s YOU!” the boy says.

You raise an eyebrow “I meant me.”

They laugh.

You start sketching. Nothing fancy just simple shapes. You draw yourself with a pirate hat, a tiny sword tucked in your belt. The kids start adding characters around you: themselves, animals, someone with a frying pan who’s probably Ace.

You’re focused, smiling to yourself as you add waves and stars and a sun.

Ace just watches you from where he stands, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. There’s a heat in his chest now that has nothing to do with his powers. It burns deeper. It’s watching your hand gently guide the boy’s when he can’t get the lines straight. It’s hearing you ask, “Want me to draw your pirate flag too?” in that soft, patient voice.

It’s the way you look down at the page like you’re already imagining a future.

“This shouldn’t make me want her more,” he thinks, frustrated “But it does. She’s drawing little pirate stories with them on the grass. She’d be the kind of mom who makes the world feel safe.”

He swallows hard and looks away for a second, like it’ll calm him down... It doesn’t.

You finish your little drawing with a final scribble of wind in the sails.

“There,” you say, holding it up “Captain, crew, and treasure.”

The boy claps “It’s perfect!”

The girl leans over to look “Yours is way cooler than mine.”

“Nah,” you say, nudging her arm “You’ve got better colors.”

They beam like you just handed them gold.

Ace is still standing nearby, arms crossed, pretending to be relaxed, but his jaw is tight.

You glance up at him “You okay?”

“Me? Yeah.” His voice comes out rougher than he means it to. He clears his throat “Just… warm.”

The boy tugs at your sleeve again.

“Hey,” he says, eyes wide with curiosity “Do you have kids?”

You blink. Ace freezes.

The girl adds quickly, “You’d be a really cool mom.”

There’s a beat of silence. Just the wind and the scratching of a crayon. You sit back slowly and shake your head “No. I don’t.”

The boy frowns “Why not?”

You laugh softly “Because I’m still busy being a pirate.”

“But you could be both,” the girl says, very seriously “Like in the drawing.”

You smile at that “Maybe someday.”

Your voice is calm. Light. Like you’re just answering any question. But Ace… Ace is not calm. He watches your face as you say those words “Maybe someday” and his heart lurches. Because now it’s real. Not just a fantasy in his head. Not just a warm thought. You’ve imagined it too now.

He doesn’t say anything. He just walks over slowly and sits down behind you, arms resting over your shoulders as you lean back against his chest.

“You’d be amazing at it.” he murmurs, low so the kids can’t hear.

You glance up “At what?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft and a little wild at the edges, like something’s breaking open inside him “At being a mom. I mean it.”

You pause. Then, quietly, you ask, “You think about that?”

He nods “More than I expected to. More than I ever thought I would.”

The kids are still doodling, totally unaware. You say nothing, but your hand reaches up and rests gently over his. That’s all he needs.

The kids eventually stand up, arms full of drawings and unfinished paper pirate maps.

“We’re gonna go show these to our grandpa!” the girl says.

The boy nods “Thanks for drawing with us!”

You wave, still sitting in the grass “Stay out of trouble.”

The boy grins “Bye, pirate mom!”

You blink “I’m not—”

But they’re already gone.

Ace snorts behind you “Pirate mom, huh?”

You roll your eyes and lean back into him again “Don’t start.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder “Too late. You’ve got the role down already. You give good advice, threaten people just enough, and draw cool flags. What more could a kid want?”

You hum “A dad who doesn’t set the house on fire?”

He grins “I’d try to keep it contained.”

You laugh, light and warm “You’d accidentally roast our laundry.”

“Okay, yeah, but I’d teach them how to blow stuff up responsibly.”

You fake-think “Hmm. Dangerous. But useful.”

He smiles, but then falls quiet. You feel the shift instantly. His arms wrap tighter around your middle.

“You were really sweet with them.” he says softly.

You shrug “They were cute.”

“You were cuter.”

You snort “Gross.”

“No, seriously,” he murmurs “I was watching you and thinking… like, really thinking—”

He breaks off, then tries again “That I wanna see you like that again. With… our own.”

You smirk “You mean with a mini version of me bossing you around?”

He groans “Oh god. A tiny you would be terrifying.”

“Admit it. You’d love it.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I would,” he says, suddenly serious “I really would.”

You look up at him. He’s already looking down at you, eyes soft, mouth slightly parted, like he’s realizing it all over again.

You tilt your head, grinning “You’re so obvious, Ace.”

“Am not.”

“You were practically glowing while I helped that kid draw a sword.”

“I was not glowing!”

“You sighed like five times.”

“I didn’t—”

“You had your sappy ‘I’m in love’ face on.”

“I always have my sappy in love face on.”

You laugh, twisting in his arms to face him fully “True.”

He leans in, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m serious though,” he murmurs “Someday. I’d want that. With you.”

Your voice softens “Yeah. Me too.”

You kiss him slow, sure, and just a little teasing, then pull back with a grin “But if the kid turns out chaotic like you, I’m blaming your genes.”

He laughs against your mouth “Deal. But if they’re scary with a sword by age seven, that’s all you.”

You smirk “We’ll make a terrifying little pirate together.”

“Perfect.” he says, smiling like he already sees it.

1K notes · View notes

wildflowersandvibranium · 30 days ago

Text

Plums & Pancakes

Pairing: Dad!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Wife!Reader

Summary: A quiet life wasn’t something Bucky Barnes ever imagined for himself , not after everything he’d endured. But then a blur of flying fruit and a love he never saw coming changed everything.

Word Count: 2.2k ish

Warning/Tags: TOOTH ROOTING FLUFF!

literally nothing but sweet cuteness comfort and loveee oh and did i mention fluff! maybe borderline suggestive but not really?

If i missed anything let me know!

Authors Note: okay guys dad bucky is my favorite thing to write everrrr so if you love it too lmk and ill write up some more for ya! hes a cutie pie in thissss anyways see ya on the next one bbys

REQUESTS / ASKS ALWAYS OPEN! 🌷MY MASTERLIST 💖 COMMENTS REBLOGS AND LIKES are loved and encouraged!

Bucky Barnes never believed the universe would be kind to him.

Not after the fall or Hydra. Not after the years he couldn’t even remember his own name. And not after the blip.

But sometimes , every once in a while—he was reminded that maybe… just maybe… he’d been wrong.

The biggest reminder , funny enough , came in the form of flying fruit.

It had been a warm September day , the kind that hinted at fall without the full commitment.

The annual farmer’s market in upstate New York was crowded but now overbearing.

Bucky had been reaching for a small basket of plums—his favorite , a habit from a lifetime ago when living alone in Romania when a blur of motion smacked right into him.

And suddenly , the plums were on the ground. So were three apples, a carton of strawberries , an entire paper bag that had clearly been packed to the brim with freshly baked bread, soaps , and jars of something that smelled like lavender.

“ooghf–oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you’d said, immediately dropping to your knees beside the wreckage tyring to scramble and pick everything up. “I wasn’t looking , I didn’t mean to—are you okay?”

Bucky had just blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone move that fast while apologizing so much.

“I’m fine,” he’d managed, kneeling beside you. “Are you okay?”

You looked up at him then—cheeks flushed, strands of hair stuck to your forehead from the heat, hands full of squashed plums—and laughed. A soft, kind laugh that didn’t match the chaotic scene at all.

“Guess that’s what I get for trying to carry half the stand in one go,” you said, brushing your hands on your jeans. “I try to help my dad with his stall every week. Still haven’t learned to make two trips I guess.”

He didn’t know why, but Bucky had smiled.

Maybe it was your warmth.

Maybe it was how pretty you were , big eyes filled with wonder.

Maybe it was the fact that it had been a very long time since someone looked at him like he wasn’t dangerous.

“I could, uh… buy you a coffee to make up for the plum mess?” you’d offered after he helped pick everything up.

And Bucky—James Buchanan Barnes, former assassin, hundred-year-old man with too many ghosts was too nervous to trust his voice , so he nodded.

And man did that feel like a lifetime ago.

Because now… now Bucky Barnes was married.

To you.

And the two of you had built quite a life. Settling down into a simple cottage tucked into an open field. Where you two were raising your now four-year-old daughter named Winnie , after his ma , and just recently welcomed your five-month-old son , Grant.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when the cries started.

Bucky stirred first. It was a reflex now—like breathing , like how he would hold his breath when he reached for a gun back in the day.

Only now, he reached for his son instead.

Grant was fussing in the bassinet next to their bed, squirming with his tiny fists clenched tight face angry and red.

“I got him, doll,” Bucky whispered to you, voice thick with sleep as he rubbed his eyes. “You rest a little longer.”

But just as he was lifting Grant into his arms cooing to the baby, another voice rang out from the hallway.

“Mommy!”

You groaned , face squished into the pillow.

“Mommyyyy, I want pancakes!” Winnie’s voice was full of energy and chipper. “With chocolate chips!”

“I’ll make ’em,” Bucky offered, already patting Grant’s back as the baby calmed in his arms. “After I change him , the little guy seems to have a present for me.” Bucky's face crinkled when he stood with the stinky babe.

You chuckled into your pillow now , stretching before rolling out of bed. “I’ll get her dressed. She’s probably already got on her princess boots and nothing else.”

It was true.

Winnie had exactly three obsessions at the moment: chocolate chip pancakes, braids, and her sparkly light-up boots that clomped across the hardwood with the grace of a baby elephant.

You managed to wrangle her into an outfit—jean overalls and a cream flowy , long-sleeved shirt—and sat her down on the stool in the bathroom.

She chattered the entire time as you sectioned her long brown hair into three even parts. Fingers twisting with precision as you yawned, still shaking off the sleeplessness from Grant's eventful evening.

“Daddy said we’re going to the park. Can we bring snacks? I wanna feed the ducks and geese again. I bet they missed me. Do you think they did? Do ducks like pancakes? Because if they do, I’ll share.”

“You’re a generous soul and yes i think they missed you.,” you told her laughing at her innocent toddler mind. You tied off the braid with a glittery purple band and she jumped into your lap happy with the result.

Meanwhile, in the nursery Bucky had Grant tucked against his chest in a soft wrap. His giant hands moved gently, adjusting the wrap with practiced ease.

“Hey,” he called out as he stepped out of the nursery, “how do we look?”

You turned and—oh.

God help you.

Your husband stood there barefoot, in downy gray sweatpants and a blue soft t-shirt.

Your baby was swaddled against his chest, all chubby cheeks and content, little fingers curled into Bucky’s chest.

The silver chain of his dog tags glinted just beneath the collar of his shirt.

He smiled, soft and sleepy. “Too much?”

You just blinked. “You know what you’re doing to me.”

He chuckled.

And screw it if he didn’t do the lopsided smirk that made you weak back when you first met.

“I’m just trying to get our kids to the park in one piece,” he said innocently. “If I look good doing it, that’s on you for marrying me.”

He said smiling, leaning down to your face and kissing you full of his love.

“Ugh,” Winnie groaned dramatically. “You guys are always kissing and flirting.”

Bucky ruffled her hair. “Get used to it, peanut cause every day i fall more in love with your mama.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The grocery run had been a blur of snack requests , impulse juice box purchases, and Bucky being stopped by a sweet older woman who insisted Grant looked “just like his daddy.”

You had smiled politely while Bucky awkwardly thanked her, his face a little pink from the compliment, and then used the excuse of Grant needing to get home to escape.

But now it was time for your favorite part of the day.

The park.

A soft breeze drifted through the trees, the sun warm but not oppressive.

Winnie ran ahead to the playground, her boots lighting up with every delighted stomp. Grant was now sound asleep against Bucky’s chest, full from his bottle he had between the store and here , his little mouth slack as he dozed in the wrap.

You settled onto the bench with a relieved sigh, one hand shading your eyes as you tracked Winnie’s every movement—up the ladder, across the bridge, back down the slide.

Bucky dropped a kiss to your temple before walking off to toss a crumpled snack wrapper in the park bin. “Ill be right back just gonna throw this away”

You looked down to see what he was holding and noticed the lack of his wedding band , tan lines still prominent but the metal was missing , probably forgotten after his shower you thought.

You were keeping your gaze still on Winnie as he walked away , when you heard a loud cackle.

You turned your head to the sound and saw a woman next to your husband.

Tall. Blonde. Designer sunglasses and a perfectly timed laugh.

She walked up closer to him, head tilted like she already knew how pretty she was.

You squinted.

She was talking. And then laughing. Then her hand touched his chest.

His chest.

It wasn’t threatening, not really. But it wasn’t nothing.

You watched Bucky awkwardly smile , then nod , and finally excuse himself, walking back to you fast , his brows slightly furrowed.

“Well, that was strange,” he said as he sat beside you. “Why do people flirt like that in the middle of a public park? Like, thanks ma’am, but I’m holding my son right here.”

You smirked, turning your head toward him. “Well, women do love hot single dads.”

The look on his face was instant.

His head snapped so fast you heard it crack.

“SINGLE??” he practically barked. It made Grant stir and whine at the disruptive sound , he immediately bounced gently, voice going soft again. “Sorry, buddy. You’re okay , I'm sorry.”

You shrugged, holding up his hand in front of his face.

“Just saying. You’re out here ringless , looking like that , holding an adorable baby , how do you accept any girl not to jump on you?”

Bucky looked down at his hand like it had betrayed him. “Shit,” he muttered. “I took it off when I was washing the bottles and didn’t put it back on. I knew I forgot something. I've felt off since we left. She probably thinks I’m trying to—God.”

You laughed, rubbing your hand along his thigh. “Relax. You didn’t do anything. And honestly? It was kind of fun watching someone else drool over you for a change .”

He gave you a pointed look.

“Don’t say things like that when you know I’m going to spend the next hour trying to convince you you’re the only person I want to look at .”

You winked. “Convince away, Barnes…But the moment a woman's manicured claws touch either of my kids then we have a major problem and the winter soldier will be her last worry.” You said laying your head on his shoulder turning back to Winnie now picking flowers as you rubbed Grants back.

“Okay , okay easy there mama bear” He laughed through his nose.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Winnie went down first.

After a bubble bath with approximately twelve too many toys, two books, and a lullaby from both of you (because she claimed you both sang differently and she needed the duet), she finally dozed off.

Bucky had given her one last kiss on the forehead and whispered, “Sweet dreams, peanut,” before closing her door softly with a click.

Grant had been next—fed, changed, and now out cold in his crib with one arm over his head like a tiny drama king. He is his fathers son–

And now?

Now it was your turn.

You stood in front of your mirror, legs a little tired, back a little sore, but your heart full.

You rubbed lotion on to your arms and shoulders slowly, the cool cream easing your muscles as the soft light of the bedroom cast everything in a dreamy golden hue.

Behind you, the bathroom door opened.

Bucky padded in barefoot, wearing those navy blue pajama pants you loved—low on his hips, soft from too many washes (thanks to lots of spit up) . His shirt was off, hair still damp from his shower. You caught him watching you in the mirror.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, smiling now brushing through your hair.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he walked to the bed and flopped down dramatically on his back with a groan. Like I said , father– like son.

“I’m exhausted,” he murmured, eyes closed.

You laughed, turning around fully and crawling onto the bed beside him.

You caressed his cheek , the pad of your thumb swiping his cheekbone and slowly moved to straddle his waist , your faces inches apart , when he suddenly held up his hand stopping your movement.

His wedding band back on and shining brightly.

“Sorry, doll face,” he drawled. “But I’m happily married.”

“Oh no. I was just about to ask for your number, too.”

He grinned, one of those rare, slow ones that started with the left side of his mouth and crept across.

“You can have my number. But only if you kiss me first.”

You leaned in, planting a slow, warm kiss against his lips.

“Done deal,” you whispered.

He exhaled, threading his fingers through your hair as he kissed you again. Longer this time. Slower. A kiss that said thank you–

I love you

I love our kids

I love our life.

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I still don’t believe this is real, sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “You. The kids. The quiet. All of it. It doesn’t feel like something I should’ve gotten to have.”

You brushed your thumb along his jaw. “You deserve every second of this, Bucky Barnes. Every messy , swee t, sleepy , pancake-filled second.”

He tilted his head and kissed your wrist. “Even when I forget my ring and get flirted with by random women in the park?”

You rolled your eyes. “Especially then. Because I get to be the one you come home to and reminded how lucky me and the kids are to call you ours.”

And you did. Every night.

He wrapped his arms around you as you settled into bed under the plush duvet.

His hand splayed protectively over your stomach as you both listened to the quiet of the house—the hum and crackle of the baby monitor, the faint whistle of the wind outside, the creak of the old floors as they settled.

It was all love.

Not the kind that was loud or dramatic. Not the kind shouted over chaos or with empty meaning. But the kind that was built quietly, with chocolate chips , baby wraps, and whispered lullabies.

And this?

This was the kind of love Bucky Barnes had only ever dreamed of.

-end

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finallychaoticeffigy · 14 days ago

Text

Yandere murderer x reader

Liking the idea of a 6'6 man holding an axe who is obsessed with you chasing you down the forest

You barely have no memory of meeting him. You just remembered him dropping something and being the nice person you are, you helped him. You could make out the image of the huge man blushing like a tomato as he stuttered the word 'thank you'. You smiled and continued on walking.

Then it all began, the killings. Strange things start happening around you. You lived a pretty normal life in your 19 years of living. So the sequence of events clearly startled you. Your college classmate who insulted you, died. Your aunt who said mean things about you, dead, and many many more people who did you dirty was strangely murdered in some gruesome ways. The police who investigated things told everyone that it was done by the same person.

The rumor about the murders quickly spread like wildfire. Everyone was afraid. Some people don't even want to go out anymore. Everyone...except your friends who probably have nine lives suggested that you all camp in the middle of nowhere.

"What ! Are you crazy!! Boy didn't you all hear about the murders going around?" your friend Sam pointed out

"Pfff... Come on , we're gonna be fine.... It will be a fun experience i promise " Fin said as he dropped an arm around her shoulder as she blushed, clearly flustered

"yeah I'll come too" Alex said nonchalantly clearly unbotherd as he played with his phone

"O-ok fine... Only if Y/n will come" she said and removed Fin's arm around her. Those two clearly liked each other,,, everyone can see with their eyes closed except themselves.

I mentally slapped myself. "Fine" i sigh "But if we felt like something was wrong we'll immediately get the hell out "

"Good... It's settled " Fin again declared as he clapped.

+++++++++-----------+++++++++++-+

It's now evening... You all gathered around the fireplace as you talked about random stuff. It's pretty fun, you admitted.

" Having a great time?" Alex asked as he sat besides you

You nodded and gave him a small smile

"There's only two tents... Two people will obviously have to share " he explained

"It's getting late... Maybe we should all call it a night?" You stood up

"Sam let's share the ten-"

You cut Fin off "Hey... Sam will share it with me, were both girls "

She glared at you "I'll share a tent with Fin , Y/n go share yours with alex ... It's not like it's anything new"

"What does that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on you're a slut...... It's not like it's a secret" she casually said and took Fin's hand.

You gasped at her words... How dare she? You're a freaking virgin for gods sake. You never even held a guys hand romantically before.

You were about to throw those words out when a man appeared behind them. A very tall man standing about 6'6 raised an axe hitting her neck.

You all froze as her head rolled to the ground. Blood spurted out spraying Fin. Her headless body dropped. He didn't stop. He began to hit her body multiple times .

"HOW .....hit .....DARE... hit ....YOU! " He shouted angrily.

Fin suddenly lunged at him with a metal chair. "YOU ASSHOLE" he hit him but he didn't even budge.

His attention turned to him. He raised the bloody axe he was holding and hit him.

You finally let out a scream . You felt Alex's hands pulling you away as you both ran for your lives.

"W-what was that" you shakingly mumbled, branches hitting you as you ran fast.

"Y/n it is exactly what we saw. Now we need to go to the place where we parked the car and get the hell out of here. "

"Y/n ! Baby come here ! Come back !" You felt shivers as you both turned around and saw him chasing you both.

"Run fast !" Alex said panicking

"No ! Don't touch the hands of my Y/n ! She's mine ! " he growled and you screamed .

"I'll kill you! You bastard! I'll fucking murder you just like your useless friends! "

He suddenly disappeared and you sigh in relief thinking you had lost him.

You both hid under a large tree catching your breath. "Fuck" Alex cursed, you looked at his hands still holding yours, shaking.

"Is it still far? The car? "

"Unfortunately Y/n I don't know anymore... It's too dark . I think we're lost" he said as he pants

You suddenly shrieked as the same axe that had killed your friends flew at Alex hitting him at his chest.

You got up and began running again crying. You're feeling very scared, tired and out of breath. But you don't stop , if you did he'll catch you.

It's too dark and quiet. You suddenly bumped into something. Please let it be a tree. Please. You prayed quietly. Don't let it be him please.

His arms wrapped tightly around you like a snake. You felt him sniff your neck and proceeded to lick you. You can't see his face but you can feel him smiling.

"My Darling Y/n. You're finally mine, Let's live together and forever now....Hmm?" He cooed and licked your face.

He picks you up and begins telling you how much he loves you and adores every little thing about you.

You're tired and you're feeling dizzy. You felt yourself slowly passing out because of exhaustion and at the touch of this monster holding you.

"I love you so much Y/n . You're only mine"

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 months ago

Note

Random thought how good do you think each invincible variant would be at eating 😺 is there any of them who would be an actual munch

18+ explicit content

Sis, don't- it's not worth it...

Other variants under the cut!

Omnivincible is more skilled than most of them. I just feel like he's got a mature approach and wouldn't just mindlessly delve in like some horny teenager.

He'd take his sweet time, enjoying himself without necessarily wanting something in return. In general he takes great pride in causing you pleasure. Is also pretty creative. After all his strenght allows him to eat you out in positions you didn't even know were possible.

Thought you can only come once at a time? He'll prove you otherwise.

Movincihawk constantly brags about his 'superior technique' but at the bottom line he's not all that good at it, sorry.

It's not like he isn't skilled, but he's pretty selfish and impatient. Any kind of foreplay is not a priority for him in general, he likes to go straight to the point.

Fucks pretty well to make up for it though.

Sinister Mark acts like he's doing you a favor, but with how eager he buries himself between your legs it's evident to say he enjoys this as much - if not even more than - you.

This man pins your thighs apart and eats you out like a man starving. Your taste drives him fucking crazy, so yes it could happen that he bites down harder than he intended to.

Likes to eat you out on your period. No I will not elaborate.

Striped/Target Invincible is super vocal during the whole thing. His grunts and groans vibrate against your folds, he doesn't even notice the effect you have on him.

Hope you're ready for the whole range of dirty talk, mostly degrading but occasionally throwing in words of acknowledgement. Tells you how this is your place - beneath him, completely at his mercy.

Uses his fingers better than his tongue, but is fairly good at both. The combination will send you straight to heaven.

No Goggles Invincible is probably the biggest tease on the entire planet.

This man will push you to your absolute limits, reducing you to a whining, moaning, begging puddle of lust. But he's got no mercy, prolonging your sweet torture for as long as he can - you're only allowed to cum if he says you're done.

With him the thin line between pain and pleasure is blurred into a mixture of pure overstimulation, but goddamn it's worth it.

Viltrumite Mark isn't familiar with earth's customs of intimacy. In their culture, canonically, they solely have sex for procreation. Though we never saw Debbie complaining about Nolan either, so I'm confident he can learn.

Gets the hang of it pretty fast, and quickly grows insateable with this new form of closeness he never got to experience before. He's an absolute mess, almost breaking the bedframe as he pathetically humps the mattress, wanting more more more of you.

Needs lots of cuddles and to be told he did a good job afterwards, pretty please.

Prisoner Mark was in solitary confinement for over a year - prepare to be destroyed. R.I.P.

He'll dive in between your legs and won't leave this place until he's got his fill of you, which could take him a while so get cozy.

Not an inch of your body is left untouched, as if he intents to memorize every detail, just in case you'd slip from his grasp once again.

Be prepared to cum until your body gives up. Man's got to make up for the time he spent away from you.

Unmasked Mark is very gentle, almost cautious in his efforts as if you were a fragile flower one needed to properly care for or it'd wither. He still can't fully believe you're here with him, so he's extra anxious about doing something wrong.

You'll slowly and sensually be guided towards your orgasm, his eyes never leaving yours as he reverently observes your every reaction.

Expect some premium aftercare!

Fully Masked Invincible knows you inside and out, has memorized all the weak spots that make you sing for him. He is completely and utterly devoted to your pleasure, maybe even a little too eager in his efforts since he tends to forget himself in the process.

To him your body is a temple meant for worship, so you'd relentlessly get showered in praise and compliments while he explores your body.

Will initiate at every given opportunity, but never pushes it. He just wants to make you happy, really!

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boneblushed · 1 month ago

Text

You can hear it in the silence

synopsis: everyone in the Figure Eight is convinced you and your best friend Rafe Cameron belong together. In a bid to prove them wrong, you attempt to set each other up with someone else. (And fail miserably.)

wc: 14.1k

a/n: I love this dumb OOC Rafe so bad 🤗 hope you guys love him too, any and all feedback is much appreciated!

You aren’t sure why you say it, the words tumbling out of your mouth all erroneous. Plain dishonest in the name of being evasive.

From the perplexed look on Rafe’s face, you’re pretty sure he’s thinking the same.

Stupid, careless word vomit. You lied to your mother about having a boyfriend and then expected her to drop the subject without so much as a name.

In your defence, you were only doing it to get her off your back. She’d glimpsed Rafe Cameron in your room during your fortnightly FaceTime call, hunched over your desk in all his handsome, pixelated glory. (He was copying your accounting assignment as close to word for word as he possibly could. Asshole.)

Naturally, she’d ushered him over.

Infuriatingly, Rafe had obliged.

Even more naturally, she’d alluded to something boyfriend, something girlfriend, partners, lovers, whatever.

And so of course you’d said, unblinkingly, “Actually, no.”

To which she’d replied, “and why not?” Sounding a pathetic mix of devastated and indignant.

Probably, a normal person would have used this opportunity to explain that the two of you were just friends. Guys and girls could be that… right? Extremely platonic, totally boring friends.

You weren’t normal, though. Neither was Rafe Cameron.

No, you guys were exes.

Sort of exes. In second grade, you’d played at the significant other thing. Held hands for two weeks straight, ran around the playground together, shared arts and crafts memorabilia. Kissed each other on the cheek, once. Got bored of the relationship once the novelty of romance wore off.

Basically not exes. Definitely just friends, with shared custody of cheek kisses.

Not that it matters to your mom. Or to Rose. Or really, to anyone who lives in the Figure Eight.

For some strange reason, they all seem to think that your friendship is a cover for something more serious. Fate, or a concept similarly ridiculous.

You’re fucking sick of it.

Hence the reason you say, “because I’m seeing someone else,” when your mother questions you on why you and Rafe aren’t together.

She’s at a loss for words. You’re momentarily chagrined.

“Oh!” She exclaims after a beat, sending Rafe a doubtful glance. “And Rafe is…?”

“Seeing someone else too.” Shit. You aren’t sure why you said that either. “We both are. Uh… right Rafe?”

If Rafe looked perplexed before, there’s something worse than astonishment on his face now. Alarm. You’ve dug your own grave and managed to drag him into it with you.

“Right?” He says it like it’s a question. You grimace.

“That’s… great,” your mother replies slowly, sounding unconvinced. You’re losing her. You need to think fast if you want her to believe this farce.

“And you get to meet him… and her — them,” you add quickly. “Um… this summer. They’re coming to the Eight for a few. Isn’t that great?”

Rafe’s had enough now — you’ve damn near given him an aneurysm with this revelation. He throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side, giving you a squeeze that says: shut the fuck up immediately.

Warm and firm, the rough lines of his palm like pumice, but there’s a gentleness to his touch that’s almost imperceptible.

“So fucking great!” He announces then, quick with his words lest you say more. “Shit — I mean… uh,” he balks, grinning sheepishly, “excuse my French Mrs Y/L/N. Just stoked that you’re going to meet my girl.”

Another rough squeeze, gentler still. Almost like you’re the ‘his girl’ he’s referencing. As if. “And blink’s guy. Obviously.”

Your mother raises her eyebrows. “You’ve met him?”

“Oh yeah. He’s great!” Rafe’s still grinning, a little pained now. “Anyway, we better go. We’ve got a shi—a lot left to go of this assignment. Nice talking to you!”

He uses his free hand to swipe the phone from your grasp and end the call, cutting off you and your mom’s farewell.

“Hey!” You frown at his haste, reaching for your phone again. “I wasn’t done with—”

“Yes you were,” Rafe interrupts, swivelling you around so you’re facing him fully. “You absolutely were fucking done.”

He has one hand on each shoulder now, your phone in his back pocket. You cross your arms over your chest and continue to frown at him, your irises dappled yellow by sunlight.

Rafe’s always thought your eyes are pretty — in a fact kind of way, totally platonic. He thinks your pretend boyfriend would probably agree with this sentiment, think the eye contact would make him lose it a little.

He glares at you, mean but soft. Like his touch. “Don’t look at me like that. The fuck was that about?”

You sigh. “I panicked, alright? Sue me.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“I just… I didn’t want her to start harping on about me and you,” you say, your crossed arms acquiescing a little.

“But why?” He adopts a sombre expression, hands moving up to cup your cheeks faux-tenderly. “We’re betrothed.”

You make a face, ducking out of his grasp. “Shut up. I’m serious.”

If Rafe focusses too hard, he’ll clock how soft your skin is. The thought flits away quick. He grins, watching you walk away and flop onto your bed in defeat.

“Why do you care so much?” He asks. “She can harp on about us all she wants, we both know that it’s complete bullshit.”

“Still,” you groan. “I’m fucking tired of it Cam. I want her off my back for good.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “So you invented a boyfriend?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, narrowing your eyes at him. “You went along with it.”

“Like I had a choice,” Rafe scoffs, walking up to your bed until he’s towering over you. He folds his arms over his chest, and you’re reminded of the fact that he’s like, super tall.

Annoyingly so, except for when he’s a pair of shoulders to climb onto at a gig. Or a windshield. A hoodie giver when he’s feeling particularly chivalrous (almost never).

“Regardless,” you say. “We’re in this together now.”

“Ha! Nice try.” He narrows his eyes in tandem. “You’re fixing this.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, blink. That’s why it’s you doing the fixing.”

“Rafe, c’mon,” you say then, looking pained. “You know I can’t do shit now. What’s said has been said. We need to follow through.”

“Dude, how the fuck are we going to find you a boyfriend on such short notice?” He reaches down to pinch your cheek, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “This is a face only a mother could love.”

That earns him a scowl. You push his hand away, scrubbing the skin he squeezed exasperatedly. “We need to find you a girlfriend too, remember?”

It’s a weird angle, you below and him above. He pivots to the thought of other girls instead of this.

“I’ve got plenty of those.”

“You’re awful,” you say, making a face.

“I am,” he agrees, grinning roguishly. “They love it.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Enough to come all the way to the Banks over summer?”

Rafe hesitates. “Maybe.”

“Liar,” you say. The timbre of his voice gets rougher when he’s bluffing. “They’d never miss a Malibu summer. Not even for Phi Delt’s chief exec.”

“Why not? The Eight’s pretty lit over summer.” He sinks down on the bed beside you, placing his hands behind his head. “Dalt and Heath are coming for a bit, and I think I could convince Adi to as well. And they’re all like… fucking Beverly Hills royalty or some shit.”

“Wait a minute…” you pause, an idea dawning on you, “they are?”

“Oh yeah, they’re fucking pumped. We’re going to —” he falters at the look on your face, frowning bemusedly, “what?”

“Dude.” Your eyes widen, a triumphant smile on your lips. “That’s perfect.”

Pretty eyes, as previously mentioned. Though his frown acquiescing a little, the questioning look on his face endures them. “What’s perfect?”

You turn so you’re on your stomach now, head propped up on your elbows. Your forearms are pressed against Rafe’s side, legs dangling over the side of your bed.

“Tell me, Cam,” you begin seriously. “Any of your boys got a thing for me?”

Rafe cocks his head toward you, raising his eyebrows. “What do you think, blink?”

You frown. “Um. Is that your rude way of saying no?”

“C’mon.” He sounds bewildered, which is odd. “You know they all do.”

Your cheeks warm, abashed. “Oh. Wait — really? Why haven’t any of them made a move then?”

“I didn’t think you wanted them to,” Rafe replies, an edge to his voice now. It undercuts his aforementioned bewilderment. “Didn’t realise frat boy was your type.”

“Guy that likes me is my type,” you say then. “Reciprocity is my type.”

Rafe scoffs. “Right. So ninety percent of the guys at UCal then. Got it.”

You think it’s a compliment, which is also odd. Like finding you attractive is this matter-of-fact thing Rafe’s well aware of.

You wonder whether he agrees with the sentiment. The skin where your forearms meet Rafe’s side heats traitorously.

“Very funny,” you deflect, rolling your eyes. “Moral of… one of the guys you’ve invited to the Banks over summer could be into me?”

All of them. Sometimes he thinks they’re trying to goad him with how often they bring it up. Not that he’d care if you went out with any of them — they’re good guys, textbook charmers, would treat you right if they knew you were into it. If they knew Rafe was critiquing them.

He’d be happy to see you with one of them, he thinks. His blink.

“Uh huh. So?”

“So,” you reply, grinning now. “I just like… get one of them to be my guy.” Rafe’s train of thought snags. Your guy? “We could even go on a date or two before summer break, so we’re legit seeing each other. Wouldn’t even be a lie anymore. It’s fucking genius — I’m a fucking genius.”

“Alright, yeah, that’s pretty good,” Rafe allows. “What about me though? Can’t exactly get one of them to be the girl I’m pretend dating.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Maybe you come out as gay this summer.”

“I’ve seen enough locker room dicks to know I’m definitely fucking straight.”

You let out a laugh, and it unfurls over Rafe like warm sunshine. He used to dislike the sound when he was younger, too loud, all brazen and unabashed. It represents different things now — you delighted, you happy, him being the root cause of both of these emotions.

This he likes.

“Fair enough,” you say, amused. “How about… alright, how about I invite some of my friends to the Banks too? I’m sure I can convince one of them to tolerate you.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “You have friends?”

You scowl, giving him a reproachful shove. He doesn’t budge, not even a little, just grins at you all roguish. Asshole.

“Very funny. I know you follow all of them on Instagram, Cam.”

Rafe nods solemnly, giving you a mock salute. “Loyal story liker, baby. Gotta maintain the Phi Delt rep, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got all of them under your spell,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to take one on a date if this is going to stick, though. Think you can do that?”

“I date,” he replies, defensive.

“Giving sorority girls a tour of your frat is not a date.”

You’re only teasing really, Rafe’s one of the good ones. Sometimes, when you’re alone, he lets down his armour of insouciance and acts like a chivalrous fool. Makes things feel less platonic — you know, if you were that way inclined. If you were his pretend girlfriend, for example. You think she’d eat that sort of thing right up.

Rafe grins then. “It’s hardly a tour if we’re in my bedroom for the majority of it.”

“Okay, ew,” you cringe, making a face. “Gross. Moving on.”

“Don’t be jealous, blink,” Rafe teases, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “You know you’ll always be my number one girl.”

“Focus, Cam. That’s the problem.”

Neither of you deny it, you being his number one girl. Like it’s obvious. You know, in a just friends sort of way.

“Alright, alright, you’re right. Who’re you going to pick?”

The tips of your ears warm. “Um. I don’t know. I could really choose any of ‘em?”

Rafe nods, bewildered again, because you being abashed doesn’t make any sense. He almost says: even me if you wanted, to properly drill in the fact that you really could have anyone on this planet.

Good thing he catches himself at the very last minute, speaking nonsense about his best just friend in a romantic sense.

“Ah,” your elbows tire from holding your head up, so you let it flop onto Rafe’s chest, chin to t-shirt. His heart beats steadily. “Why don’t you choose for me?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Uh-huh.” You pause, tilting your chin to him. “You know them better than I do, and you definitely know me better than I do, so who better?”

“True.” Rafe grins. “Alright, deal. I pick for you if you pick for me.”

You smile in tandem, nodding. He leans in then, the hard ridges of his abdomen tensing. “I’m a boob guy, by the way,” he adds conspiratorially. “Keep that in mind when you’re picking a worthy suitor.”

You make a face like you’re going to retch. “I won’t.”

“Good thing all your friends have default massive racks.”

“Rafe.”

“Speaking truth, blink. Anyway — once we’ve picked, how do we play it?"

“Double date this Friday? We bring our picks to that new Asian fusion place on the edge of campus?”

Rafe doesn’t think a double date is a good idea. It’ll probably ruin the mood, having you bear witness to all of his God awful flirting.

Or him yours, now that he’s on the subject. Whichever brother he picks too, all their moves the same as his, charming but terribly predictable. Their rough hands on you, your bare skin on display.

No, not a good idea at all.

“Hm.” He pauses. “Nah. How about we all meet in between lectures on Friday afternoon? We can plan our dates then. Better alone than double, don’t you think?”

You begin to raise your eyebrows, acquiesce when you deep it a little. Rafe, you, the beautiful friend you choose, him not acting like your him all evening.

Bad idea. You nod your agreement. “Okay, yeah. Deal.”

Rafe holds out his hand for a fist bump. There’s something oddly sacred about the touch of your knuckles when you meet it with yours.

—

Rafe chooses exactly who you think he’ll choose: Aditya ‘Adi’ Patel of Patel & Co law firm fame, the only guy you know who openly studies for A grades.

He’s bring home to your mother sweet, his dark hair always windswept and his eyes the colour of thick molasses. The sensible choice.

And though you want to believe you aren’t as predictable as he is, you pick his date the same way he picked yours — finding a mirror of his outward persona, not the inner one you know. Reciprocally, platonically.

Phoebe, your darling roommate and friend, is frat guy bait disguised as a 5’5 brunette. The kind of girl you’d see at the airport once and think about for months. Unforgettable.

When you and Phoebe meet Rafe and Adi on Friday afternoon, you fail to mention how reluctantly Phoebe agreed to it all. Adi’s hesitation isn’t disclosed either. The pair of them seem not to think this is such a great idea.

Which is weird, because Phoebe’s as perfect for Rafe as Adi is for you — romantically, the way it matters.

All you guys need to do is prove it.

Rafe and Adi stand in the shade of a viridescent birch tree, freshly mown grass underfoot. The latter wears a stylish crew neck and Ralph Lauren shorts, an easy grin on his face and a Rolex glinting on his wrist. He looks cuter than he usually does, like he’s trying to impress, and you feel your cheeks warm as this revelation washes over you.

The former does too, though that’s no longer your job to notice. Rafe’s taller than Adi by a noticeable inch, the dappled sun painting his dirty-blonde hair a lighter golden.

Also not your job to notice.

Rafe’s noticing things too, like the fact that there’s something iridescent—highlighter?—making your cheekbones shine. That’s new. The shorts you’re wearing are new too, he’s guesses they’re Phoebe’s by the way they fit. You know… well. His gaze moves from Phoebe’s bare legs to yours, equally exposed but somehow far worse. Rafe’s gaze snags.

Very new. Thank fuck you decided against that double date you’d originally proposed.

“Phoebe,” Rafe says, all charisma as he accentuates his Southern drawl. You try not to smile. He’s told you way too many times how adorable girls find his Carolina accent. “Boy am I glad you see you.”

As he leans in to hug her, you hear him whisper, “I was praying it would be you, by the way. Gotta start believing in the big G now.”

Your heart flounders a little at how smooth he is, even if the amused part of you almost lets that aforementioned smile break through. It’s Adi’s voice that shifts your focus.

“Hello gorgeous,” he greets, pulling you into an equally cozy embrace.

“Hello,” you respond, a little breathless. Pet-names are new. Rafe thinks so too.

Your hugs break in tandem, Phoebe laughing at Rafe’s silly pick up line as she pulls away. It’s a melodic sound, far less annoying than yours.

Apparently, Rafe’s ribcage disagrees.

“Adi was pretty set on Malibu this summer, blink,” he says then, faux-solemn. “You being a million miles away was the only thing that convinced him to change his mind.”

Your cheeks warm. You still feel a little breathless. “Well I’m glad you’re coming,” you say to Adi. “The Banks is the best place to be over summer.”

“Yeah?” Adi grins, raising his eyebrows. “Will joining you in the OBX unlock the story behind your nickname, blink?”

It sounds weird coming out of his mouth, Rafe thinks. He realises then no one else calls you that but him.

He prefers it that way. Your bare legs snare Rafe’s traitorous gaze again.

You scrunch your nose up at Adi playfully. You’re fucking good, Rafe thinks, because that move is textbook adorable. “Depends how well dinner goes, I guess.”

“It’s all about location, baby,” Adi replies seriously, his dark brown eyes sparkling. “C’mon. Can I walk you to your next lecture while we decide where to go?”

“Anywhere but Lillian, yeah?” Rafe says then, sending Phoebe a meaningful look. “Wanna book that entire place out for me and Phoebs tonight.”

Phoebs. It’s so cozy your eyes staccato on his handsome features.

Blink’s cuter, right? Not that it really matters.

“Phoebs and I,” you correct.

Rafe makes a face. “You’re such a cock-block, y’know that?”

“Shoo,” you reply, ushering them in the opposite direction.

Rafe grins then, nudging your soft jaw with his knuckles before throwing his arm over Phoebe’s shoulders. His touch raises treacherous goosebumps in still air.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases, sending Adi a grave look over your head. “Don’t let her take advantage of you, Patel. She’s a fucking menace when she wants to be.”

You clasp Adi’s hand, using your other to flip Rafe off before turning. Where Adi’s thumb grazes your wrist, even more goosebumps bloom. Less treacherous. You let go of his hand so you can entwine your fingers in his more surely.

Once you’re out of earshot, Adi breaks the silence again.

“You guys are pretty close, huh?” He asks, the bones of his knuckles brushing the raw hem of your denim shorts.

You look up at him grimly. “Unfortunately.”

He laughs at your expression, shaking his head bemusedly. “C’mon. You don’t mean that.”

“Maybe not,” you allow. “Although sometimes, I wonder whether we’re almost too close.”

Adi nods in agreement, ducking his head until his lips are at the shell of your ear. “I wonder that too,” he murmurs lowly, his voice softening. “Whether this whole thing is overstepping.”

You shake your head quickly, looking up at him in earnest. “It’s not! I swear it isn’t. The fact that you even think that confirms my point.”

Adi cocks his head to one side questioningly. “And what would that be?”

“That we’re totally overkill. We’ve got everyone convinced that we have a thing for each other, and it’s scaring away the people we’re actually crushing on.”

Adi’s knuckles press skin this time, lower now, a surer pressure. “People like…?”

“Fishing for compliments is totally lame, by the way,” you tease, grinning up at him.

“Shit, noted,” Adi replies. “How about giving them?”

You smile gentler now. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’re really fucking pretty.” Now free from the shade of the yawning birch trees, the yellow sun mutes the dark brown of his irises. Burnt sienna. “I get why Rafe refused to give us your Instagram when we first met him.”

You balk. “He did what?”

Adi raises his eyebrows. “Uh… refused to give us your Instagram? Pretty sure it was Dalt who’d asked — he’d seen you guys walking to a class together I think. Was pretty stoked when he found out you weren’t like, his girlfriend or some shit.” He grins then, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “We all were, to be fair.”

Your skin warms, but you’re still balking, eyes unblinking. “But… why?”

“Shit… I don’t know. We all thought it was cause he was into you at first.”

“He isn’t, though,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

Adi pauses, surveying you. “Right. So I guess it’s because he didn’t want the douchebag mob to lay any hands.” He shrugs. “Like I said, I get it. I’d probably do the same if I had such a hot best friend.”

You turn to him then. “You would?”

“Uh huh. He was being protective.”

This makes your skin feel even hotter, as if that’s fucking possible. Protective Rafe who acknowledges the fact that you’re sort of attractive, platonic status notwithstanding.

“Weirdo,” you joke, deflecting hard. “You guys can’t actually be that bad.”

“You’d be surprised.” Adi’s timbre drops, faux-sombre. “Not me, though. It’s why Rafe’s letting me take you out.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Rafe is? Or I am?”

“Shit.” Adi grins, reproached. “I guess you are, huh.”

“Dunno, Adi. Don’t think you’ve even asked.”

“Shit,” he repeats, ducking his head sheepishly. “You’re right. Dinner at 7? What kind of food do you like eating?”

He flounders more than you think Rafe would, less debonair and more endearing. It’s sweet.

Unlike Rafe, who’s as confident as he is charismatic, who has a way of making the most ridiculous pick-up lines work. Not that he’d ever use one on you. Even if he does think you’re beautiful enough to protect.

“Anything, honestly. You know LA better than I do Mr 90210. Let’s go to one of your favourite spots.”

“Damn. That’s a lot of pressure.”

You grin. “You can handle it.”

Several feet away, Rafe’s arm slinks down Phoebe’s back until he’s circling her waist instead. The exposed waif of skin he finds here is soft, glowing in the sun. Like yours.

“You’re crazy, Rafe Cameron,” Phoebe announces, breaking the silence first.

Rafe glances down at her in surprise, balking. “I am?”

“You are.” She looks up at him in tandem, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve got this beautiful best friend who’d do almost anything for you, and you’re just like… going to let some other dude date her?”

Rafe probably shouldn’t have eaten those two cheeseburgers at lunch, because there’s this sensation in his stomach like heartburn but worse. There for a second before it’s gone, with the same permanence as the words coming out of Phoebe’s mouth. Anything for him.

To be fair, he’d do just about anything for you too. In a best friend kind of way, obviously.

“As opposed to…?”

“Dating her yourself.”

Fucking burgers. It’s that fake Kraft crap they use instead of real cheese.

He makes a face. “No way. Blink’s a handful. Besides, I don’t like her like that.”

Phoebe cocks her head to one side, surveying him with interest. “You really believe that, huh?”

“You don’t?” He replies, frowning.

“Absolutely not.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at that, trying for a grin but landing on a grimace. “Shit. She was totally right about all this.”

Phoebe’s brow furrows in questioning. “Hm? Right about what?”

“Everyone being convinced by this bullshit concept of us liking each other for real.” He glances down at Phoebe faux-sombre, giving her bare waist a squeeze. “Alright Phoebs, this shit is business now, you being seriously hot aside. You’ve gotta let me take you on this date, yeah? Think of it as charity work or something. You making sure my street cred’s intact.”

Phoebe lets out a dulcet laugh, softer than yours. Rafe’s ego swells, gratified by her amusement.

His heart doesn’t budge, though.

“Your street cred?” She echos, still laughing. “And how exactly am I taking care of that?”

“By proving that Blink’s not a massive fucking cock-block.”

Phoebe scrunches her nose up, mildly chagrined. “She isn’t! It’s not her — it’s girl code.”

Rafe raises her eyebrows. “Girl code’s stopping you from going out with me?”

“Girl code’s stopping half her friends from going out with you,” Phoebe returns, her cheeks growing pink. “You know we all totally think she’s hit the jackpot, right?”

Rafe grins. “The jackpot, huh?” He releases her waist to throw his arm around her shoulder again, pulling her closer so she’s forced to look up at him. She’s frowning, mostly playful, the light streaming through the trees mottling her face in golden shadows.

She’s really pretty up close, all flawless skin and rosy cheeks, a Cupid’s bow that makes him think devastating things.

You have a Cupid’s bow too. And flawless skin that nine-year-old him has kissed.

He blinks. His grin’s faded a little and he fears it might be that awful heartburn he was suffering from a moment ago.

“I won’t be elaborating,” Phoebe declares.

“Not even if I bought you dinner?” Rafe returns.

“Rafe Cameron buying me dinner.” Phoebe shakes her head, bleak. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

Rafe’s fingers brush the exposed skin of her forearm, raising amaranthine goosebumps. “Fucking hell Phoebs, if I’d have known that some bullshit girl code was the only reason you hadn’t shown any interest in me, I would’ve asked you out a long time ago.”

Phoebe glances up at him, raising her eyebrows. “Who said anything about not showing any interest?”

Rafe lifts his in tandem, intrigued. “Like I said… flattery will get you everywhere.”

Phoebe rolls her eyes then, but there’s a smile on her face that juxtaposes her exasperation. “So maybe we like bringing up how hot you are often… you know, to fuck with Y/N’s head a little. And maybe it works like, really well. Maybe she’s so sick of the ab and bicep talk that she’s banned all mention of it in our apartment.”

“Ab and bicep talk, huh?” Rafe’s grin returns, cheek-achingly fond. “How come this is the first I’m hearing of this?”

“Because Cameron,” she says seriously, “it’s top secret information. She’d kill me if she knew I told you this.”

“Ah.” Rafe raises his eyebrows. “You have to go on a date with me now Durrant. Otherwise I’m definitely snitching.”

She groans, mostly teasing. “Shit. I do, don’t I?”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll let you cop a feel of my biceps and my abdomen.”

“Oh to be so lucky,” Phoebe jokes.

“Seriously though,” Rafe says then, meeting her gaze with an easy, almost charming look of sincerity, “let me take you to Lillian tonight. I can pick you up at 7.30?”

Phoebe raises her eyebrows. “You’ll let me keep interrogating you about Y/N?”

Rafe makes a face. “If I have to.”

She breathes a laugh, slightly amused. “Alright, deal. Guess you want this more than I thought.”

“Just call me pussy whipped, yeah?”

“Charming, Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe gives her a wink, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Blink would disagree.”

—

Your date with Adi is nice.

He’s as charming as he is endearingly gauche, with innocent hands and less chaste lips.

Your farewell kiss at the end of the night is textbook — all soft and fleeting, the promise of more ever-lingering.

So it’s weird when you realise your heart isn’t in it. You’re all giddy and breathless and yet it feels like you’re performing.

Nice. Just like Rafe’s date with Phoebe.

With her bringing you up as often as she did, it’s no wonder his thoughts kept straying to you and Adi.

Interrogating, but it’s his heart working overtime not his brain. Adi’s hand on your back, on your waist, his calloused fingers pressed to your soft skin. No longer untouched. Awfully chivalrous all night, definitely sweet, funny enough to be on the receiving end of your laugh.

And kiss you, probably. Cruel.

Not that he actually minds for real, he’s just doing that platonic protective thing again.

Besides, once Phoebe’s sick of lamenting you and Rafe, she begins leaning into his flirting and he begins enjoying himself a little. Thoughts of you endure though, like that double date plague the two of you were avoiding.

It doesn’t stop him kissing her. A nice feeling, sure with teeth-scraping pressure, the lust it awakens urging his roaming hands to search for more.

Not as tender as he predicts your kiss with Adi was. Tenderly is how he’d kiss you anyway, if it was him in Adi’s shoes.

“Did you tell him?” Rafe asks in lieu of a greeting, handing you an iced coffee and taking a sip of his own. Beads of condensation roll down the plastic cup ominously.

You frown, bemused. “Tell him what?”

“Why I call you blink, blink.”

The pair of you exit the café in tandem, walking onto the sunlight pavement. Dry leaves crunch underfoot, a blur of ochre and terracotta.

“Oh.” Your lips pucker around your straw when you taste your own, leaving a chaste sheen of gloss. Rafe’s never noticed it before today. His gaze has flickered to your mouth a perplexing amount. “Nah. Didn’t really come up.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t come up, huh? What did come up then?”

“I don’t know, lots of things! We talked for ages.” You glance up at him then, smiling fondly. “He was sweet, Cam. Good choice.”

He was sweet? That’s all Rafe’s going to get?

He wants to ask exactly how sweet his friend was, whether he was saccharine enough to earn more than an embrace. Whether that shiny stuff on your lips left an imprint on his, whether the echo of his touch still lingers over your skin.

He wants to ask you whether you’re genuinely going through with this whole thing, but he knows this is unfair, it was his idea in the first place.

You and Adi in the Banks, visiting all your favourite spots as handsome tourist and cuter tour guide. Adi charming your family, meeting the old crowd from the Academy, buying you dinner at the Island Club and watching the sunset straight after.

Like you and Rafe always do. Fucking awful.

“How about you, though?” You ask then, breaking his train of thought. Hardly introspective, self-destruction in the name of being overprotective. “How was your date with Phoebs?”

Right, he has gorgeous Phoebe. It isn’t like he’s some sort of glorified third wheel, doomed to lie in the same grave he dug by suggesting this date thing.

You and Adi and him and Phoebe in the Banks, the pair of you playing tour guide, showing them the places you collectively favour. Together.

Better.

“Good,” Rafe replies, sending you a wink. “Think we did a little less talking than you guys did though.”

You make a face, trying for a jibe but landing closer to a grimace. This caffeine is making your heart race a little. “You’re welcome.”

“For setting me up with your hottest friend?” Rafe asks, nudging your arm with his. As you lift it to take another sip of coffee, the heat of his touch lingers. “Thank you blink, I owe you everything, including the bra she left in my —”

“Rafe,” you groan.

“Kidding.” Rafe grins, teasing. Golden sunlight reveals the specks of green in his blue irises. “Sounds like you’ve been gatekeeping her a while, huh?”

“Me?” You say, cheeks warming. You haven’t blinked in a bit and Rafe notices. “What about you dude? What’s up with the whole not letting your frat brothers follow me on Instagram?”

He balks. “Adi told you about that?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Told me they all thought you were into me because of it, too.”

If Rafe was hesitating before, he’s definitely buffering now. His poor heart flounders, troubled by the thought.

You’re nearing UCal business school now, the location of your afternoon lecture looming overhead.

He isn’t proud of what he says next.

“He’s fucking with you,” Rafe coughs out, taking another gulp of his coffee. “He just said it because he knew it’d piss me off.”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply. Unsure. “Sure.”

“Because he knows I’m not into you like that,” he continues, overcompensating hard now. “Would be pretty convenient if I was though, yeah?”

You splutter in surprise, full well choking on the mouthful of coffee you just attempted to swallow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shit. He was being sincere but perhaps that’s the problem. He looks down at you abashedly, his features rumpling into a grimace. “Uh, you know… we wouldn’t have to go to all this trouble to convince people that I wasn’t.”

You swallow. “What about me?”

“What about you?”

You’re avoiding eye contact when you ask, “How do I feel about you in this hypothetical?”

Rafe wants hypothetical you to be into him too, in a dangerously un-platonic way. He’s still looking down at you, taking inventory of the planes of your face. The smooth column of your throat, unblemished.

The mouth he’d kiss fondly, if this was all hypothetical and reciprocal and you weren’t just friends like you insist you are.

You and Rafe in the Banks, no Phoebe, no Adi, visiting the same haunts you’ve loved since you were kids. Rafe buying your mom flowers, playing golf with your father, making fun of you flailing when Wheeze manages to rope you into doing Tik Tok dances. You lounging on the same weathered sun deck his mother used to when he was younger, back when she’d supervise the hand-stand competitions you’d have in middle school.

Rafe blinks. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into him.

“The same as all your roommates, obviously,” he replies after a beat, grinning weakly.

You make a face. “Ew. So in this hypothetical, I’m totally pathetic. Noted.”

“So it’s true.” Rafe raises his eyebrows. “They’re all in love with me for real?”

You send him a playful glare. “I wouldn’t go that far, Cameron.”

“You’re right. Maybe it’s more lust than love, yeah? Because Phoebe did tell me something about my sexy fucking abs…”

This gets your attention. You glance up at him in surprise, looking equal parts pained and chagrined. “No she fucking didn’t.”

He knows he shouldn’t enjoy your embarrassment as much as he does, the way your eyes grow wide and your nose scrunches up.

It’s sort of adorable. He thinks he knows what Adi sees in you when your face is this sweet and abashed.

Amongst other times.

“Oh, she did,” Rafe returns, sending you a significant look. “Told me all about how talk of me is banned in your apartment.”

“For good reason,” you reply grimly.

“Cockblock,” Rafe teases.

“Hardly,” you scoff, making a face. “There are girls out there who don’t happen to room with me that’d hook up with you in a heartbeat.”

“And what if I want the girls that room with you, blink?” Rafe returns, nudging your shoulder jokingly. If his tongue faltered the same way his pulse did from the skin-on-skin, it might’ve skipped over “the girls that room with” bit and made a claim far more dangerous than this.

Even worse, you might’ve wanted him to. Your skin warms at the thought, and you send him a playful glare in retaliation. “You don’t, Cam,” you say. “You’d have to deal with me every time you came over.”

Rafe faux-grimaces. “Shit. You’re right.”

“Which means,” you continue, “now that you and Phoebe are dating, you’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me than you want to.”

In the beat that passes, Rafe thinks, no way. He isn’t sure there’s any amount of you that’ll ever be too much for him.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Tragic, blink. Guess all good things come at a price, huh?”

You glance up at him then, more curious than you should be. Almost wretched. This close, you can take inventory of every freckle that dapples his cheeks, trace the sharp line of his jaw even where the shadow of his stubble softens it.

He’d probably arrived to his date clean shaven, lest he mark Phoebe’s face when he kissed her. Smelling of something awful and woodsy probably, leaving his cologne where he touched her skin, where he embraced her.

You’ve held hands with your best friend Rafe Cameron before. Platonically. So you aren’t sure why the thought of his calloused fingers entwined in someone else’s is giving you a stomachache all of a sudden.

You try for nonchalance. “Your date went that well, huh?”

You fail miserably.

Rafe nods, almost thoughtful as he slurps down the deliquesced remains of his drink. “Way better than I initially thought it would.”

“How so?” You ask. The coffee you’re almost through with swirls uncomfortably in your stomach.

“Because it started kinda rough.” He looks down at you then, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Phoebe was fucking adamant we should be a thing. Didn’t know why the Hell I was taking her out instead of you.”

You balk. “She was?”

Rafe nods again, holding out his hand so he can discard of your plastic cup along with his own. Where his fingers brush your skin, unfamiliar goosebumps bloom.

Like they would have on Phoebe’s hands too, equally unblemished. Perhaps it’s the buzz of caffeine in your veins, but this revelation makes your pulse thrum a little faster.

Pathetic.

He says, “she was. Told her it was bullshit though, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You pause. It shouldn’t feel this awful agreeing with him. “Maybe she’ll believe it if it’s coming out of your mouth.”

“Maybe,” Rafe agrees. Another pause before he adds, “especially now that you’re seeing Adi, yeah?”

If it wasn’t him speaking, the same boy you’ve known since before puberty changed his Southern timbre, you might’ve missed the odd inflection in his voice as he says this.

Seeing Adi. As opposed to what? Seeing Rafe?

Reticence as you navigate the crowd gathered in the business school courtyard, thick as honey. As you ascend the steps leading to your lecture theatre, Rafe turns to you, brow furrowed in thought.

“You know what’d be good though?” He asks, pulling open the door. “If our next date was a double.”

As he ushers you in, you’re struck by the fact that his bicep is this awful, formidable shield of body heat and muscle. Your shoulder bumps it as you squeeze past him, expelling a traitorous jolt of static.

Pathetic.

You frown, bemused. “I thought we agreed that was a bad idea.”

“For a first date, yeah,” he replies, raising his eyebrows. “But now that we’ve got the ball rolling, it might be good for Adi and Phoebs to see how much we definitely aren’t into each other.”

“By going on a double date,” you echo, still skeptical.

“Exactly.” Rafe doesn’t really know where he’s going with this either. You’re wearing a new perfume, something floral and unfamiliar, and he’s dwelling on the fact that it’s probably for Adi’s benefit. It’s stuck to his bicep where the skin-on-skin stunned him, and he’s still trying to figure out why it’s making him feel so strange.

Bad strange, almost wretched. Like he wants to go on this double date to keep tabs, not prove your friendship status.

“Um.” You pause. “I mean… I guess that makes sense?”

Besides, it’ll be interesting to see just how enamoured Phoebe is with Rafe. And vice versa, more so vice versa.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

“It does,” Rafe agrees. “Next weekend, yeah?”

You nod, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. The eye contact you share vacillates, and in the beat that passes, you’re sure you’re probably thinking the same thing.

That this is a bad idea, desperate as you are to see it through. That you’re totally fucking fucked, even if your traitorous heart doesn’t share the same sentiment that you do.

—

When Rafe’s red Ford ranger pulls up to your apartment, Adi hops out of the car to hold the door open for you.

Rafe stays idle, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, impatient. He hears your fond voice thank Adi, hears Phoebe do the same, and resists the urge to push down on the accelerator and rev the engine.

He thinks about all the times he’s picked you up over the years. Alone. Fresh-faced at fifteen driving his dad’s car on a learner’s permit, seventeen in his first car, nineteen in his second.

Twenty-one and sober when he drove yours home from Kelce’s birthday party, where you’d sworn you’d only have one but well overshot that number.

Where you’d called him cute whilst being cute yourself, all drunk and cross-eyed with shiny gloss on your lips.

Every summer since he’d got a car of his own, and never once has he offered to open the passenger’s side door for you.

It’s a dreadful revelation. He feels his throat burn like the belch of stale leftovers.

Except worse, because there’s something green and angry and wholly emotional about this. Something terrifying that he doesn’t think he’s ready to come to terms with.

“So you going to tell us what we’re doing tonight then Cameron?” You ask, getting into the backseat with Phoebe.

You’re wearing a blouse he hasn’t seen before with a heart-shaped necklace that he has, exposing kindling-like skin which makes his throat burn harder. And Phoebe looks gorgeous beside you, the way she always does, her brown hair styled in curls and her full lips a rosy pink.

That’s unfair. You always do too. It’s just that this fact is extra debilitating right now.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Rafe replies, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. He flicks on his blinker before pulling out onto the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the centre console.

His bicep in your direct line of vision, the entire length of tanned muscle bulging.

You narrow your eyes. “I hate surprises. You know I hate surprises.”

Rafe nods. “Exactly.”

“Don’t worry Y/N, Rafe said you’d love it,” Adi says then, grinning.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Sweet, näive Adi. He’s forgotten the importance of taking everything Rafe says with a grain of salt. “Are we going to mini golf?”

Adi balks at you through the rear-view mirror, bemused. “Wait. Shit. You don’t like mini golf?”

“I don’t like mini golf with Mr Island Club’s under par champion,” you correct grimly, glaring at Rafe.

“Under par champion?” Phoebe echoes, raising her eyebrows. “I’m almost impressed, Rafe.”

“Shit Phoebs, how do I get you the rest of the way there?” Rafe asks, grinning.

“Prove it tonight I guess.”

Rafe sends her a salute through the rear view mirror, faux-sincere. “Aye aye captain.”

Adi must notice that you still look fairly indignant, because he pipes up then, tender bordering on abashed.

“Don’t worry Y/N, he only planned half of the date,” he says. “The other half’s all me. We’re going to that restaurant in Wilshire you’ve been dying to try.”

Your frown acquiesces a smidge. “Wait… seriously? I don’t even remember telling you about that!”

“You didn’t.”

The look on your face melts into surprise, almost endeared. Rafe aches. “Then how did you…”

Adi raises his eyebrows, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. “I’ve got spies everywhere.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” You ask then, turning your head toward Phoebe intently.

She raises her arms in surrender, shaking her head. “Wasn’t me, babe, looks like Adi’s got moves.” She sends him an approving look, her bright green eyes sparkling fondly. “Not bad Patel, now this I’m totally impressed with.”

Rafe’s ego takes less of a blow than his wretched heart does. “Oof,” he says, trying for a grin and landing closer to a grimace. “I’m wounded.”

Phoebe winks. “Thought man-eater was your type, Rafe Cameron.”

“Nah,” he returns, mirth returning to his features. “More like women so beautiful they can get away with fucking anything.”

“So Y/N then,” Adi says.

You smile bashfully, cheeks warming. “Okay cute, but definitely not Rafe’s type.”

Rafe disagrees — he thinks it’s pretty obvious that you’re his type. Not in a romantic sense, or anything, it’s just that he’s a straight guy that resides on Earth and he doesn’t think there’s any of those whose type you aren’t.

Not that he’s going to disclose that at a double date with your friend and his.

“No,” he accedes, lying through his teeth. “Blink’s way too Outer Banks for me.”

“Exactly,” you agree, raising your eyebrows significantly. “We’ve got to bring new people in before our shitty bloodlines destroy us.”

“Fucking hell,” Phoebe says then, amused. “You guys are doing a great job of selling this place as a holiday destination, y’know that?”

“Hey now, don’t judge the place by the people,” you admonish, nudging her shoulder with yours. “If it wasn’t for my overbearing parents, I probably would’ve picked a college in the Carolinas.”

You don’t tell them that it’s really Rafe’s family that catalysed the move, how his mother passed away and his relationship with his father subsequently disintegrated. You don’t tell them about the quiet abuse he endured, how it prompted him to apply for a university a six hour flight away. For you to follow him, no questions asked, because in what world would you have survived three years away from each other?

“We both would’ve,” Rafe agrees, his gaze hesitating on you before moving to Phoebe through the rear-view mirror. “Glad we didn’t though.”

Phoebe turns to you, smiling fondly. “I’m glad too.”

“For me, yeah?” Rafe asks, his momentarily stoic features softening into something playful.

Phoebe rolls her eyes, mostly affectionate. “Who else could I possibly be meaning?”

“Well I for one,” Adi declares then, faux-sombre, “am extremely grateful for you brother.” He glances at you over his shoulder, winking. “For having a friend as gorgeous as Y/N.”

Rafe makes a face. He’s trying for a jibe but his heart isn’t quite in it. Begrudgingly, he says, “I’ve got plenty of gorgeous friends.”

That I’m not this protective over, his mind privately adds.

“Me and the boys don’t count,” Adi replies, raising his eyebrows. “Besides, none of us tolerate you as much as she does. That shit takes superhuman strength, Cameron.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, sweet and unabashed. Not for Rafe. It makes his wretched heart feel awful. “Finally,” you say. “The recognition I deserve.”

“Hey hey, what about me?” Rafe asks, admonished. “We did grow up together, you know. If anything takes superhuman strength, it’s living through all of blink’s tragic phases.”

Adi meets your gaze through the rear-view mirror, his hazel eyes mirthful. “Phases plural? Please elaborate.”

You send Rafe a warning look. “Don’t you dare Cam.”

Rafe grins in response, a dangerously roguish expression on his face. “Don’t you think it’s time everyone heard what your first ever Instagram handle was?”

“Okay,” Phoebe says, leaning forward in anticipation, “now I’m interested.”

“Rafe.” You’re basically begging now. Pathetic. “C’mon. I’m serious.”

Rafe hesitates. He doesn’t think your eye contact has ever left him this debilitated, all wide and pleading with sunset speckling your pretty irises. “Alright, chill, a story for another day.” Another pause. “Besides, memory lane is probably easier to go down with some visual aids.”

You groan. Adi and Phoebe perk up, grinning playfully. “Stop,” the latter says. “Like baby photos?”

“Blink’s mom is a hoarder,” Rafe returns, nodding. “She’s got so fucking many photo albums filled with digis of us, it’s embarrassing.”

“Both of you?” Phoebe asks, meeting Rafe’s gaze. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like Ward Cameron’s much of a memory collector,” Rafe returns, suddenly diffident. He coughs. Your features soften on instinct. “Someone’s gotta keep track of us I guess.”

“Besides, my mom’s more than happy to do so,” you add, attempting to shift the focus away from Rafe. “Before she married my dad, she worked as a wedding photographer.”

“Shit, that’s pretty cool,” Adi says, smiling kindly. “I’ll have to get some tips off her this summer. I’ve always been pretty into that stuff too.”

You glance up at him in surprise, a little endeared. “Wait… really? I didn’t know frat boy prodigies could have creative interests.”

Rafe’s heart pulls, something terrible and envious threatening to rear its ugly head.

You’re lying, you do know that they can — it was your mom that gave Rafe his first camera as a young boy. This antiquated old thing with a scratched up Canon logo above the lens; it was your mom that told him he had a good eye, your mom that encouraged him to transform his pain into meaningful images.

He’s finding it difficult enough to share you with Adi, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to bear lending him his favourite hobby. Or your mom, basically his mom, especially after his own passed away.

It’s dreadful.

He turns into the mini golf carpark and pulls into the nearest spot, quick to turn off the ignition and unfasten his seat belt so he can be the first person out.

He’s going to hold the door open for Phoebe if it kills him.

And he’s quicker than Adi this time, making his chivalry difficult to ignore. Adi says, “you’d be surprised,” in response to your previous remark, but you’re too busy taking inventory of Rafe’s fond expression to register it at all.

Him and Phoebe are all sparkly eyed with tandem smiles, his hand taking hers and her figure proximal to his. Devastatingly proximal, almost skin-on-skin with this promise of more that makes your chest feel awful.

“Oh,” you breathe out. It doesn’t matter that Adi’s opened the door for you too. “Right, yeah. Clearly.”

“Alright,” Rafe declares then, throwing his arm around Phoebe’s shoulder. More awful now, cloying as it climbs to your throat. “We going to make this game of mini golf interesting or what?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Interesting how Cam?”

Adi falls into your step seamlessly, knuckles brushing yours a beat before he’s entwining your fingers. He squeezes your hand comfortingly, the rough ridges of his palm exerting a grounding pressure. Your shoulders relax a little.

“Well,” Rafe begins, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder. Faltering in surprise when his gaze drops to your interlocked fingers. “Uh… I don’t know. Loser pays for dinner?”

Phoebe frowns her disapproval. “Uh, no deal hot shot. If I have to pay for anything, I’m not counting this as a date.”

“Woah slow down, who said you’d be doing any paying?” Rafe returns playfully, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Don’t worry Phoebs, I’ll make sure you aren’t the loser.”

“By being the loser yourself?” You ask, raising her eyebrows.

Rafe lifts his in tandem. “This coming from the girl who hasn’t made par in the history of the game.”

“Hey!” You defend, faux-admonished. “Every other time we’ve played I’ve been half cut on shitty beer.”

“So have I,” Rafe returns, grinning triumphantly. “Still manage to smoke everyone’s asses.”

“Not that it’s hard or anything. Kelce and Topper play more tragic than me, as if that’s fucking possible.”

Rafe lets out an appreciative laugh, his hold on Phoebe’s shoulders loosening a smidge. “Fuck, do you remember that time Top fell into the pond at Holey Moley?”

“Hard to forget,” you return, laughing in tandem. “Wasn’t that the night we took him out because we were sick of hearing him cry about John B and Sar?”

“Shit, it was! Back when Kelce was seeing that foreign exchange student… what was her name again?”

“Oh, um…” your hold on Adi’s hand acquiesces as you think on this, your brow furrowing in concentration. You don’t notice. Rafe’s arm has slipped down Phoebe’s back, lingering at her waist absent-mindedly before falling to his side again. He doesn’t notice. “F something…”

“Florence!” Rafe exclaims.

“Oh my god, yeah, Florence!” You reply. Adi and Phoebe share a look. The pair of you don’t notice. “Speaking of, did you see that hard launch he posted on his story? Since when does Kelce fucking Smith have a girlfriend?”

“Dude, fuck if I know, you know he’s always been so secretive about that stuff. Remember how long it took him to tell us him and Flor were a thing?”

Another amused laugh bubbles out of you, sweet and unabashed and all Rafe’s. His chest swells. “Until after she’d gone back to London,” you reply. “Classic Kelcey, huh?”

“So,” Adi interrupts then, sounding gauche. “This Kelce guy is one of your Outer Banks friends?”

You glance up at him in surprise; it’s as if you’d forgotten that he was there. That this was a double date with him and your gorgeous friend Phoebe, not just another Friday night hang-out with Rafe. The aftermath of this revelation is more sheepish than it is bashful, like a switch in your brain that reminds you that you’re supposed to be performing.

Double dreadful. You’re standing at the mini golf reception and you can’t even remember how you got here.

“Oh, yeah!” You reply, momentarily chagrined. “You’d like him Adi. He’s pre-law just like you.”

“Is he the hot one or the cute one?” Phoebe asks thoughtfully.

“Hot,” you reply without missing a beat. At Rafe’s raised eyebrows, you add, “not to me! They FaceTimed me the other day and Phoebs happened to get a glimpse of them.”

“Ah,” Rafe returns, and then he meets Phoebe’s gaze, looking comically grave. “Not as hot as me though, yeah?”

“Hotter,” she teases, smiling saccharine sweet. “Too bad they’re too polite to be my type.”

Rafe grins at this, sharing a knowing look with you. “Don’t know if that’s an adjective I’d use to describe Top and Kelce.”

You adopt a faux-bemused look, mirth hiding behind your expression. “Really? I don’t know. Remember that time Top politely told your dad to fuck off when he was wasted?”

Rafe cringes. “He’s lucky that the Ward Cameron didn’t press any charges.”

“Ha,” you scoff, “even if he had, it’s not like anything would’ve happened. Judge Thornton would’ve had that shit revoked within the hour.”

“C’mon, we can’t hate him too much for that. Remember when I got caught driving you guys around on my learner’s, and he managed to sweet-talk the cop out of confiscating my permit?”

Adi and Phoebe glance at each other awkwardly. They’re vying for a stake in this conversation and failing miserably.

Luckily for them, it’s in this moment that the receptionist beckons them over.

“Hey!” Adi greets in relief, springing into action. “Could we please grab four tickets?”

“Sure,” she replies, starting to ring it up. “Paying together or separately?”

“Together,” Adi and Rafe say in unison, just as you say “separately.”

You frown at the pair of them, shaking your head. “You guys can pay for dinner.”

“Loser pays for dinner,” Rafe corrects. “I’m paying for this.”

“You’re algood brother, I got it,” Adi insists, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket. “Besides, you’re going to be the loser that pays for dinner. The least I could do is cop this expense for you.”

Call it pride (even if it’s closer to something slightly possessive), but Rafe Cameron refuses to acquiesce on money matters. He has to pay, he always pays when it’s you and him.

Not that he particularly gives you a choice in the matter.

“Ha, very funny,” Rafe returns, activating the Apple Pay feature on his phone. “I’ve gotta pay Patel. If I don’t pay for this, I won’t have paid for anything tonight. It won’t even be like a real date. I’m paying.”

“Or,” you say then, sounding exasperated. “We could all pay for ourselves and not make a big deal out of this.”

The cashier lets out a beleaguered sigh, holding out the EFTPOS machine expectantly. “I assume you guys are on a double date? Why don’t the boys pay for their girls and we call it even?”

Rafe doesn’t like this idea either. The thought of Adi paying for you makes his heart drop to his stomach.

He knows this is kind of ridiculous. It’s why he’s forced to keep his mouth shut when the rest of you don’t share his sentiment.

“Very diplomatic,” Phoebe says approvingly. “I like it.”

Adi nods in agreement, tapping his card on the sensor once it’s ready for him. Rafe does the same, his lock screen displaying an old photo of you two before switching to his virtual credit card. His expression is almost unreadable — almost, perhaps to those who don’t know him very well.

To you, it’s clear as day. He’s resentful. It’s perplexing.

The emotion’s far too fleeting for you to comment on, melting into the same mixture of warmth and charisma you’re familiar with within a second. He grabs the equipment the cashier hands over, giving each of you a club with a charming grin on his face.

The yellow lights overhead speck his blue eyes with hints of aureate. As he smiles down at you, his ridiculous bone structure accentuated by the shadows they cast, you’re struck by the fact that your best friend Rafe Cameron is like… effortlessly handsome.

Double perplexing. You accept your club in a daze, missing the way his calloused palm lingers.

The rest of the night is similarly perplexing.

You and Rafe spend the first hole—which features an artificially azure pond—reminiscing over Topper’s aforementioned stumble.

At the fourth hole, he pulls a move that makes your traitorous stomach churn. When Phoebe hits it two under par, he lifts her up in triumph and twirls her figure around.

“That’s my girl!” He exclaims, the words tumbling out of his mouth all effortless. Holding her close with his strong muscles taut and looking like the absolute death of you.

“We’ll get them at the next one,” Adi murmurs comfortingly, ducking his head so his lips are at the shell of your ear. No sparks. He must think that your pained expression is a byproduct of your competitive spirit, not the surprise that jolts through you at hearing Phoebe is Rafe’s girl.

Not you. You could hold a mirror up to his resentment right about then.

It’s alright though, because diplomatic hole ten ensures you’re even.

When you struggle past par—and sure, perhaps more for Adi’s benefit than yours—it’s Rafe’s turn to feel his stomach pull despairingly.

“Here,” Adi says kindly, stepping toward you. “Mind if I…?”

When he embraces you from behind, chest to back with no regard for personal space, the crown of Rafe’s golf club forms a crater on the Astro turf.

At the tell-tale scrape of pressure, Phoebe glances down at the artificial grass, bemused. Adi’s rough hands find your waist and Rafe’s exert a punishing force on his handle.

“This is gonna sound like a line,” Adi murmurs, his deep timbre raising goosebumps on your neck, “but it really is all in the hips.”

He demonstrates by swinging them side to side gently, this effortless motion that makes Rafe’s heart flounder.

“Smooth Patel,” he calls weakly, trying for a jibe as if he isn’t attempting to throw him off.

Adi sends Rafe a pointed look just as you glance up at him, eyes widening in tandem. Unblinking. It makes him feel even more wretched, as if that’s fucking possible. Adi’s hands acquiesce on your waist so that they can fold over yours on the golf club handle. Arms and forearms touching, now.

No sparks. Maybe if Rafe knew this, he wouldn’t have left another dent in the Astro turf.

“So instead of pivoting with your wrists,” he continues, drawing your arms back with his, “you wanna pivot with your hips.”

When he brings the club down to take a hit, his chest presses closer to your back, emanating body heat and vetiver. He’s bigger than you, paradoxically strong as he is gentle.

Wearing a cologne you’re unfamiliar with. You’ve had Rafe’s woodsy cinnamon scent down packed since you were in high school together.

The golf ball rolls into hole ten easy. Rafe mistakes the triumphant smile on your face as a display of affection, hopelessly enamoured.

It fills him with this overwhelming urge to separate your figures now, to give his frat brother a baseless shiner, to replace his embrace with an even fonder one. He aches. You’re smiling an only-for-Adi smile that’s far from the platonic one he knows and he really aches.

“Hey,” Phoebe says then, breaking him out of his reverie. She’s staring at him with this funny look on her face that prickles uncomfortably up his neck. “Did you hear me Rafe? We’re heading to the next hole now.”

“Oh,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right, yeah.”

Phoebe cocks her head to one side, continuing to stare. Something knowing in her gaze that terrifies him. “You good?”

“Of course I am.” He grins weakly. “You’re just really fucking distracting, y’know that?”

A beat before she responds. She shakes her head soberly, turning to follow you and Adi to hole seven. “You’re a terrible liar, Rafe Cameron.”

By the time you’ve reached the last hole, both of you have already sworn to never do this again.

Privately. For less platonic reasons than previously mentioned.

You think your last straw was probably Rafe’s hole fifteen victory, when he asked his lucky charm Phoebe to give him a kiss before his final swing.

On the cheek, but still.

He’d wolf whistled approvingly when the ball had landed near the hole, beckoning her over to help him get it in in two.

“Me?” She’d asked, raising her eyebrows. Mostly skeptical; you think you’re the only one who registered the bashful lilt to her tone.

“You,” he’d returned, lifting his in tandem. Ducking his head when she neared, angling his sharp jaw forward. Accepting her kiss as if it wasn’t making your wretched heart flounder, and having the audacity to send you a wink when the ball rolled into the hole thereafter.

Payback, probably.

Because Rafe’s is earlier, when you comfort Adi for fucking up par at hole thirteen.

When Adi’s ball lands several meters short of its destination, Rafe lets out a delighted laugh, amusement evident on his features. He says, “Shit Patel. That’s gotta be a record.”

“Yeah yeah,” Adi mutters in response, slightly ruffled. “I’m just giving you guys a chance to win, alright?”

“My hero,” you tease, circling his figure to give him a reassuring squeeze. On your tip-toes, lips at the shell of his ear, you add, “don’t worry Adi. It’s a par four anyway.”

Awfully proximal, awfully liberal with your touch and disposition, as if that’s fucking allowed, as if Rafe’s supposed to be okay with it.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through dinner. You’re now at the last hole and it’s getting closer and closer.

“Fuck yeah!” Phoebe exclaims, getting the final hole in three. She was the last one to go; the rest of you have already made hole eighteen. “That’s us done, right? Because I’m fucking starving.”

“That’s us done,” you echo, smiling feebly. More a grimace than anything particularly delighted.

“And if my calculations are correct…” Adi says, squinting down at the scorecard in his hand, “Phoebe’s the one paying for dinner.”

Phoebe gasps, faux-scandalised, sending Rafe a playful glare. “We had a deal, Cameron! What happened?”

Rafe grins. “What happened is I can’t stand anyone else paying for my girl. It’s on me Phoebs, don’t worry about it.”

Your heart drops again, that ‘my girl’ phrase feeling a dreadful weight in your ribcage.

You miss the fact that he didn’t specify who his girl was on purpose.

—

The restaurant is a bustle of energy when you arrive, soulful jazz undercut by the steady hum of conversation. Retro wall sconces bathe it in muted auburn light.

The four of you approach the front counter, where a pretty waitress is scrutinising the laptop screen in front of her. When she glances up to greet you, you don’t miss the way her eyes linger on Rafe’s features.

It draws forth a hunger pang. What you presume to be a hunger pang.

“Hello,” Adi begins, sending her a smile. “Reservation under Patel? Should be for 7pm.”

The waitress’ gaze drops to the screen again before she nods her approval. “Oh yes, four for 7pm,” she says, grabbing some menus and stepping out from behind the desk. “Follow me.”

She leads you to the back of the restaurant, where a candlelit table is tucked into one corner. The orange flame flickers ominously.

“Here we are,” she says, placing the menus down with a flourish. “Can I get you still or sparkling water to start?”

“Still,” Rafe says, just as Adi says, “Sparkling.”

The pair balk at each other, hesitating.

“Uh,” Rafe glances at you, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “sorry brother, force of habit. Blink hates sparkling water.”

Your cheeks warm instinctively. “We both do.”

Rafe frowns. “I don’t.”

“Why don’t you ever ask for it when we’re out for dinner then?”

“Because you don’t like it,” Rafe replies, like it’s obvious. It makes your warm skin burn even hotter, as if that’s fucking possible.

“Oh.” You look from Adi to Rafe, momentarily bashful. Behind them, you see swear you see the waitress raise her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Rafe replies, shrugging matter-of-factly. He takes a seat and gestures for the rest of you to follow, turning back to the waitress and repeating, “Still would be great, yeah?”

You slide into the banquette seat beside Phoebe, still abashed, the vivid merlot upholstery complimenting the orange mood lighting. She’s wearing a tandem expression to the waitress. You try your best to avoid eye contact.

“So Y/N,” Adi says then, passing the menus around, “I assume you already know exactly what you’re ordering?”

You grin at him, once gauche now a little more fond. “Obviously.”

“Good,” he replies, placing his menu back down decisively. “You can order for me too, then.”

Rafe sends Adi a pitiful look, faux-sombre. “Rookie mistake Patel. Prepare to eat the weirdest combinations of food known to man.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “This coming from the guy who dips pickles into peanut butter.”

“No way!” Phoebe exclaims then, letting out an appreciative peal of laughter. “I’ve never met anyone else who enjoys that combination before.”

Rafe regards her with surprise, this awfully pleased smile on his face that makes you rue bringing up the connection in the first place. “Holy shit,” he returns, his Southern timbre like smooth molasses. “We really are a match-made in heaven, aren’t we?”

Soulmates. The regret cloys at your insides, lamenting.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely only letting Y/N pick my meal,” Adi declares then, looking mildly disgusted by the pair of them. “You guys are fucking weird.”

You nod in agreement. “Thank you.”

Phoebe sends you a reproachful look, mostly teasing. “Alright hot shot. What exactly are you picking for us?”

Rafe responds before you can, the menu held up to eye-level as his thoughtful gaze pores over it. The emblazoned restaurant name stares down at you in mocking.

“Let me guess,” he starts, and then he pauses, contemplating, “edamame beans and vege tempura to start, obviously.” He looks at you over the menu’s edge, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No comment.”

He grins roguishly. “That’s a yes. And…” he glances back down at the menu “uh, gotta be the rainbow roll and avocado roll, definitely no sashimi, and maybe… the teriyaki chicken?”

“You forgot drinks, genius.”

“Too fucking easy, you’re obviously going to get a yuzu sour.”

Your eyebrows lift in tandem, juxtaposing the amusement that softens your voice. “And you’re going to get a Coors light and eat none of the edamame. Is that supposed to be impressive Cam?”

“Guilty.” Rafe shrugs. Adi and Phoebe share another reluctant look. “Edamame is fucking nasty.”

The waitress chooses this moment to return to your table with a notepad. She glances at the four of you in turn before her pretty gaze stalls on your features, expectant.

“Um,” you falter, the tips of your ears warming in gauche abandonment. You turn to Adi and Phoebe, directing your next question to them. “You guys happy for me to order for us?”

Phoebe’s got a funny look on her face that makes your skin feel terribly see-through, bare to the bone save the Rafe-sized box of details in your ribcage. You swallow. “Yeah,” she nods after pause. “If you’re gonna order everything Rafe says you will, it sounds delicious.”

“Agreed,” Adi says.

“Okay.” You look back up at the waitress, who’s stolen a quick glimpse at oblivious Rafe beside her. Oblivious handsome Rafe. What you assume is another hunger pang sears through you like a bullet. “Um… we’ll grab the edamame and vege tempura to start if that’s okay.” A pause. “The rainbow and avocado rolls too, please. And, um… the agedashi tofu.”

Rafe sends you a look. “No teriyaki chicken?”

You shake your head, looking at the three of them in turn. “Not unless you guys want any?”

“But it’s your favourite,” Rafe says then, ignoring you. Like there’s no way he’d pass up a dish that you’re fond of.

Like there’s a you-sized box in his ribcage too.

“If it’s your favourite, we’ve gotta try it,” Adi declares, looking up at the waitress. “Can we grab that too please?”

She nods in response, jotting down the menu items. “Any drinks?”

“A Coors light and a Yuzu sour,” Rafe replies before you can, ordering for you. As if it’s you and him on this romantic rendezvous, not you and him on dates with two other people.

Just shy of platonic, almost chaste with his intentions. He glances between Phoebe and Adi as you balk, adding, “You guys know what drinks you’re getting?”

They share another secret look that you’re sure Rafe clocks too. You swear you catch his ears redden as his eyes dart to you, almost sheepish. Flecks of ochre juxtapose the bright blue of his irises.

He knows you’re pretty the same way he knows the Earth is a sphere, but he finds this fact extra debilitating when you’re sitting opposite Adi Patel. Not him. Flirting all saccharine sweet with his good friend Adi Patel, smiling with your eyes when you regard him, wearing shiny lipgloss for his benefit.

Not Rafe’s. It’s absolutely wretched.

“A negroni for me,” Phoebe replies, sending the waitress a smile.

“Coors light too, please,” Adi says. He has an unreadable expression on his face.

The remainder of the dinner proceeds in much the same fashion, progressively devolving into this awfully gauche nightmare. Every attempt you make at flirting begins to fall short for some reason, and you find yourself grappling for purchase on something familiar.

Something you know. Like Rafe.

He does the same, even if his teasing jibes land easier. He’s doing a winning job at courting Phoebe; it’s a shame her heart isn’t quite in it.

The four of you probably come to the same conclusion at different points in the night — that this double date thing was definitely a bad idea. That perhaps you don’t gel as well with each other as your hopeful minds once predicted.

Except you and Rafe. Obviously.

Phoebe and Adi aren’t shy to bring this up with the pair of you when the night is finally over.

After saying farewell to Adi and Rafe—no goodnight kisses, thank God—you and Phoebe walk to the front door of your apartment in awkward silence.

Phoebe breaks it first. “Well. That was interesting.”

You look over at her, pathetically hopeful. “Interesting fun?”

When she meets your gaze in turn, there’s an undercurrent of skepticism painting her green irises deeper verdant. Your stomach turns. “Interesting interesting.”

At your reticence, she raises her eyebrows, adding, “Interesting sort of weird, don’t you think?”

“Only because we’ve never done that before,” you defend, frowning. “We tend to stay out of each other’s love lives, alright?”

Phoebe guides her house key into the mortise lock, opening the front door. “I wonder why.”

The tone of her voice suggests she knows exactly why. Your cheeks warm. “Obviously because we’re grade A cockblocks to each other.”

Phoebe enters the apartment first, your figure following close behind her. At your response, she turns to face you, hands on her hips with an arch expression on her features. “I wonder why,” she repeats, eyebrows still raised.

“Phoebe…” you sigh. “Lesson learned, okay? No more double dates.”

“No more Rafe and me either,” Phoebe replies with a snort, shaking her head. “You can deny your own feelings all you want Y/N, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that guy is totally into you.”

You eyes widen, unblinking, your wretched pulse thrumming. “He isn’t,” you reply weakly, hardly convincing. “If he was, why would he set me up with his friend?”

“Why would you set him up with yours?”

“I…” the answer seems less obvious now than it did when you first devised this plan, “I guess I thought you guys would be cute together.”

Half true. You fail to mention how this whole thing was borne as a bid to get the Figure Eight off your back, because suddenly they seem less imposing than seeing Rafe with someone else. Romantically.

Selfishly, you think you might want him both ways. Familiarly platonic and now also a little less chaste.

It’s a terrifying revelation.

“D’you still think so Y/N?”

No. “Yes.”

She sends you a look. “Y/N.”

“He’s not into me Phoebe,” you return, hopelessly stubborn.

“He is,” she disagrees, crossing her arms across her chest. “He may not have known it before, but he sure as hell knows it now.”

She’s always been awfully perceptive; Rafe’s driving back to his frat now and his fists are tense against the steering wheel, troubled. He’s trying to find a way to tell Adi you’re his without saying it straight. He wishes his friend could just feel his cumbersome heart ache and just know it.

Good thing Adi’s pretty observant too.

Although is it that impressive when the pair of you make things so obviously un-platonic?

“You were right,” Adi announces suddenly, breaking the silence. “Blink and me really do make a good match.”

Rafe’s heart drops. “Yeah?”

Adi nods in response, hedging while continuing to sound painfully nonchalant. “No offense, but I kinda wish that was a solo date. The only reason I didn’t kiss her goodnight was because of you and Phoebe.”

Rafe thinks his heart is probably at his knees now, his ribcage empty. He forces himself to stretch out his fingers on the steering wheel, the tension in them beginning to hurt.

“Oh,” he says roughly. “Right, yeah. You think you gonna ask her out again?”

“I want to. She’ll probably say no though.”

“What?” Rafe frowns. “Why would she do that?”

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s you she wants, Cameron. Not me.”

Rafe falters, glancing at him in surprise. “Huh? No she doesn’t.”

Adi raises his eyebrows. “At the risk of getting us into a car crash, yes she does.”

“Fuck off,” Rafe scoffs weakly, feeling his poor pulse jolt. “Blink doesn’t like me like that. She’s the one who wanted us to set each other up with our friends.”

“Bro.” Adi’s tone is firm, almost determined. “The female race is a fucking mystery, what’s new? All I know is she’s as into you as you are into her.”

Rafe’s foot staccatos on the brake, bringing them to a jostling stop in front of a set of traffic lights. He coughs. His Adam’s apple bobs awkwardly in his throat. “I’m not into Blink.”

Lie. He doesn’t know who the fuck he’s kidding.

“Yeah?” Adi raises his eyebrows. “Cause I clocked the look on your face when I said I wanted to kiss her.”

“Do you actually want to kiss her?” Rafe asks slovenly.

“Of course I do, she’s fucking hot.” A pause. “It doesn’t matter, though. I know she’s off limits now.”

Rafe glances at him as the light turns green, accelerating forward hesitatingly.

He knows his friend is right. Because it’s dreadful, the highlight reel of Adi’s unwanted touches that’s playing in his brain right now, taunting him. He wouldn’t survive it if you and Adi were actually a thing, if you and anyone on planet Earth but him were a thing. Romantically.

You’re his earliest platonic memory and now he’s wondering whether you’re his earliest ardent memory too.

It’s a terrifying revelation.

“She… yeah. I guess she is.”

—

“You’re being weird,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes at Rafe over your laptop.

Rafe meets your gaze sheepishly, and you’re momentarily thrown. A beam of sunlight divides his handsome face in half, painting one eye brilliant teal while the other hides in shadow.

You haven’t seen much of him since your disastrous double date, and you attribute this to the stress of studying for finals. Two weeks later with three difficult exams under your belt, the pair of you finally organised to study for your last one together.

Which is weird, because you seldom fly solo during exam season. Last year, you’d spend all your time together at this library table, laptops touching with tandem tired eyes and concentration aging your features. Last year, you’d take turns buying each other sugary energy drinks, alternating your all-nighters between his frat house and your apartment.

So maybe it’s more than the stress of finals keeping you apart. Maybe being cognisant of your romantic feelings for each other is also wreaking havoc on the poor chambers of your hearts.

“No I’m not,” Rafe murmurs back, his voice deeper when it’s quiet.

“You are!” You exclaim-whisper, frowning at him. “You’ve barely looked up at me since you sat down.”

Rafe sighs; he knows you’re right. He just doesn’t know how to tell you there’s a good reason why.

He can’t just say that it’s because of the window of blinding sunlight behind you, that it’s because it creates this golden halo around your face as it silhouettes you. So beautiful it’s distracting. Feels like the understatement of the fucking century.

“Because we’re in a library Blink,” he lies, frowning back. His eyes drop to the shine of gloss coating your bottom lip. “C’mon. Let’s take a caffeine break.”

You falter. You, Rafe, coffee without a buffer, no physical Phoebe or Adi but the memories of your last conversations with them ever present .

Terrifying. You nod after pause, slowly closing your laptop. “Yeah. Okay.”

The two of you walk out of the library in tandem, awfully proximal, the tip of your shoulder brushing his upper arm intermittently. Shifting a very un-platonic jolt of static through your skin everytime it does.

Outside, the tepid warmth of summer unfurls over you. You join the footfall heading toward the plot of cafés at the fringe of campus, a cloudless blue sky stretching out overhead.

When you glance up at Rafe with earnest eyes, you find that he’s already looking down at you. Coffee seems less important now than it did a second ago. “So…” you ask tentatively, “what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Rafe lies.

“C’mon, you can tell me. Did you bomb a final or something?”

Worse. “Way to believe in me Blink,” Rafe returns, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated.

You raise your arms in surrender. “I’m just thinking worst case here. What is it then?” You hesitate, the tips of your ears warming. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

Rafe balks. If he thinks on this too hard, he’ll say yes.

Except is it wrong for you to have inadvertently forced him to come to terms with his romantic emotions?

“Shit.” Your eyes widen abashedly, and you groan. “I did do something, didn’t I?”

You take his arm and pull him onto the side of the pavement, lest the steady foot traffic snag either one of you away. This is serious now. You’re to blame for his gaucheness and you need to get to the bottom of it before it kills you.

“What is it?” Your hand acquiesces on his bicep, and the skin where your fingers were burns traitorously in their absence. “It’s the double date, isn’t it? I was a total cock block and you’re pissed at me for it?”

Rafe opens his mouth to disagree, but you refuse to be interrupted.

“Fuck,” you groan, your pretty features scrunching up. Sunlight dapples them golden and Rafe’s skin burns harder. “I knew it was a bad idea. Listen… I can totally make this right. Did you ask Phoebe out again or something? Did she say no?”

You look up at him expectantly, and he’s momentarily thrown by the eye contact. It takes him a second too long to recalibrate and you mistake his silence as confirmation.

You swallow nervously, your poor heart in your stomach. “Right, yeah, of course you asked her out. She’s beautiful, why wouldn’t you? She’s silly for saying no.”

“No,” Rafe interrupts then, “that’s not —”

But you’re not listening. “Don’t worry though, okay? I’m gonna make this happen for you. I’m going to get you another date, trust me, I just need to have a talk with her.”

“Blink —”

You’re rambling hard now, eyes wide, and Rafe feels helpless to it. He’s struck by the memory of the first time he addressed you by your nickname, at your fourth grade science fair when you were presenting an experiment.

Floundering through it, really, dreadfully anxious and unblinking.

It’s the first of your tells he learnt, and he’s ready to admit that he thinks it’s kind of cute. He’s watched your eyes grow with every callow crush you’ve had over the years, every nerve-racking presentation, every blunder and improvisation.

He’s pretty chuffed to be on the receiving end of it now, all things considered.

“I’m serious Cam, I’ll do it tonight. She’s into you, I swear she is, she just has this stupid idea in her head that you’re —”

It happens so fast, you’re momentarily caught off guard. One moment you’re shaking your head at the pavement and the next they’re cradled sweetly in Rafe’s large hands.

When he kisses you, it’s with a sense of urgency that leaves you breathless. His lips exert this devastatingly ardent pressure on yours that makes you think he’s wanted to do this for ages.

And he has, if he’s being really honest with himself. As you melt into the embrace, something in Rafe’s ribcage cracks. He feels the tender press of your body against his, firm on soft, and figures he’s probably incapable now of letting go.

And he tastes like this heady mix of peppermint toothpaste and the absolute death of you, his sloven hands on your skin like the peal of a siren song.

You don’t want to pull away from him at all. You think you could stand on this pavement and kiss him until your poor heart finally stops.

So it’s him that finally breaks away, more to marvel in the luxury of your closeness than anything particularly chaste. Your long eyelashes flutter open, and Rafe’s heart fucking aches.

“That I’m into you?” He murmurs roughly, his calloused thumb swiping across your cheek. “Yeah. Not so stupid.”

“Awful,” you reply softly, still breathless. “We aren’t supposed to be into each other.”

Rafe grins. “Yeah? So you’re into me too then, Blink?”

You make a face. “Apparently it’s obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“Not to you.” You glance up at him through your eyelashes, suddenly bashful. “How long?”

“Apparently forever,” Rafe returns, grinning sheepishly.

“Awful,” you repeat, mostly teasing now. “Does this mean your friends aren’t going to be coming to the Eight after all?”

“Of course they are!” His thumb continues to brush absent-minded circles on your cheek, and you lean into his touch instinctively. “Adi’s still pretty keen. Just… maybe don’t introduce him as your boyfriend, yeah?”

You grimace. Rafe thinks you’re adorable in a wholly un-platonic way. “Is he upset?”

“Not at all. He’s been trying to get me to tell you how I feel since our double date.”

“Seriously?” You ask then, smiling abashedly. “You know what Cam? Think we need to set him up with Phoebe. Because they totally think alike and she’s totally been doing the same to me too.”

Rafe grins in tandem, his tender heart soaring. “No way. That double date really was pretty shit, huh?”

“Needed though,” you murmur.

“Needed,” Rafe echoes.

“Awful,” you say again, the jibe bordering on fond now. “After all that, the Figure Eight still wins?”

“No way.” Rafe ducks his head to sear your lips in another heady kiss, the feel of his mouth on yours the delicious opposite of just friends. Wholeheartedly romantic. “If you’re into me, I’m the one who’s winning.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe x you #rafe cameron imagine

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ochacoca · 2 months ago

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msby boyfriend! atsumu who still gets nervous around you even though you've been dating for years. he'll always deny it but you can't dismiss the way you can feel how clammy his palms get when you intertwine your fingers with his.

msby boyfriend! atsumu who would marry you this very second if he could. he's joked about it for years. ‘let's just go to city hall and sign the papers.’ he would say, his tone underlying with a hint of tease. but you could tell by the look in his eyes he meant what he said.

msby boyfriend! atsumu who talks about you constantly. whether it'd be to his parents, osamu, his friends, during interviews, one way or another he'll always mention your name. he claims he isn't trying to brag (he is), he just simply can't shut up about you.

msby boyfriend! atsumu who is the same drama queen as he was when you guys were younger. they say you mature with age, but atsumu will still throw himself and sprawl out on the floor just because you forgot to give him a kiss goodbye.

msby boyfriend! atsumu who takes the worst candid photos of you. the amount of pictures you've found as you scrolled through his camera roll of pictures of you mid-sneeze or sleeping with your mouth open was concerning. but he claimed you were the cutest thing he'd ever seen and saw nothing wrong with those pictures.

msby boyfriend! atsumu who hates arguing with you. getting into small, petty arguments with him was common. but guarantee that 5 minutes later he'll come knocking on your shared bedroom, with a small pout and glistened eyes while wrapping his arms around your waist. ‘i don't want to fight anymore.’ he mumbled into your neck. ‘i hate fighting with you.’

msby boyfriend! atsumu who lets you do whatever you want to him. you want to give him a makeover? go ahead. you want to give him a manicure? have at it. a pedicure too? make sure it's a pretty color.

msby boyfriend! atsumu who gives you random life updates throughout the day. you both could be doing with own thing, going on with your life, when you'd suddenly get an every minute update on what he's doing. ‘i'm brushing my teeth.’ ‘i'm putting clothes on.’ ‘i'm putting on my left shoe rn.’ ‘now i'm doing the right.’

msby boyfriend! atsumu who's love language is annoying you. he'll tickle you, lick stripes up your cheek, bite you, ruffle your hair, do anything to bother you because his heart can't handle seeing how cute you look annoyed at him.

msby boyfriend! atsumu who loves you unconditionally. more than words and even his actions can describe. when it's late at night and you're fast asleep, he looks at you softly while gently smoothing the hair off of your face as he presses a fat kiss on your forehead. the love physically hurts, and he can't wait to put the ring that was buried in the drawer next to your bed on your finger and call you his forever.

"we love you atsumu!" my ovaries shout in unison.

#rea writes !#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu smut #atsumu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #miya atsumu #hq atsumu #atsumu x you #atsumu headcanons #atsumu smut #hq x y/n #hq x you #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq

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cumironi · 2 months ago

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I’VE GOT YOU, BABY jjk men

feat. gojo geto nanami toji sukuna shiu higuruma

sum. they thought it would be a normal night. playful bickering, eat dinner together, maybe makeout session while you two are giggling like a lovesick fool. but heart cancer? stage 3? yeah, not on their bingo cards.

warning. non-sorcerer jjk men! 23 you & 31 them, established relationships, heart cancer, death mentioned, bit angst to comfort, fluff, and not very heart warming.

GOJO SATORU

he was supposed to be in meeting.

supposed to be.

but instead he was dramatically sprawled on the couch in your apartment, shirt half-buttoned, socks mismatched, one leg hanging off the edge like he was modeling for an early 2000s teen magazine. blue eyes flicked up from your coffee table, where your textbooks were open and your laptop screen glowed with your thesis draft. he had the attention span of a goldfish, and you were used to it by now. what you weren’t used to was the man pausing mid-ramble about how coffee shops should have loyalty programs that give hugs instead of free drinks, the moment you slid the envelope across the table toward him.

“what’s this? did you finally write me a love letter?” he grinned, picking it up and waving it. “wait—let me guess, you’ve confessed your undying love for my devastatingly good looks and impeccable fashion sense. i knew the mismatched socks would win you over.”

you smirked, resting your chin in your hand. “close,” you said. “just my medical results. fun lil update from my body.”

he blinked. the paper unfolded in his hands, and for once, he was quiet. his eyes moved faster than usual. you could feel the shift in the air. from playful to something dense. cold. heavy.

he read the words again.

“stage 3, heart cancer… twenty-four percent chance to live…”

“i know, right? guess my cells just got bored of behaving,” you laughed. it was too loud. too sudden. too wrong. “could be 24% chance or survival. maybe 50%. depending on how charming i am in the oncology department.”

you force a shaky laugh. “guess i must’ve loved you too much. my heart couldn’t take it.”

for a beat, there’s nothing. nothing.

it’s a joke. a bad one. a last-ditch attempt to soften the punch. your eyes betray you anyway — tears sparkle at the corners like broken glass, and the tremble in your fingers doesn’t go unnoticed.

“shut up,” he whispered. not in his usual joking way. his voice cracked at the edge, like he’d bitten into something sour and was trying not to spit it out.

you shrugged, crossing your legs like you were just talking about the weather. “i’m still hot though, right? at least if i kick the bucket, i’m going down with great cheekbones.”

“no. nope. return to sender. i don’t accept this bullshit,” he murmurs, voice cracking through the sarcasm. “you don’t get to pull the tragic heroine card on me. that’s my thing.”

you try to laugh. “so dramatic…”

“i’m the drama. not you. you’re the soft, pretty, sunshine type who cries during dog movies and hogs the bed. you’re not allowed to die. i won’t allow it. i’ll— i’ll—”

“you’ll what, kiss it better?” you tease.

“why the fuck would you joke about this?” his voice rose. panic behind the volume. the paper in his hand crumpled a little.

“because if i don’t, i’ll start crying,” you replied, softer now. looking at him with tired eyes. “and i really, really don’t wanna cry in front of you. you’d never let me live it down.”

“you idiot,” he breathed out, standing up so fast the coffee table shook. his hands were trembling. he paced once. twice. then suddenly dropped to his knees in front of you like gravity had yanked him down.

“you’re not going to die,” he said. like a promise. like a threat to the universe. “i’ll fight death himself. with my sunglasses. and sarcasm. and maybe a bazooka.”

you blinked. “you don’t know that.”

he grabbed your hands, clutching them so tightly you could feel how cold his were. “you think you can drop something like this on me and then just—laugh about it? you think that’s fair? i love you, you dumbass.”

you looked down at him. this ridiculous, beautiful man kneeling like you’d just proposed marriage instead of dropped a medical bombshell.

you sniff, smile crookedly. “i love you too.”

he grins, forehead pressed to yours. “good. you’ll fit right in with the chaos i’ve got planned for your recovery. step one: we replace your heart with mine. step two: we break into a hospital and demand glitter IVs. step three: we live. got it? we’re gonna fight this. i don’t care if i have to bribe, blackmail, or bend space-time — you’re staying with me. you’re not allowed to leave.”

you choke out a laugh against his shoulder. “that’s a pretty bold threat to make to the universe.”

“you think i won’t square up with the universe?” he pulls back, eyes shining with something wild and terrified and real. “i’ll fight fate with one hand and spoon-feed you pudding with the other.”

you look at him, tears falling freely now, and he smiles — a little broken, a little soft.

“besides,” he adds, voice trembling as he kisses the corner of your mouth, “you still owe me like, twenty dates. and my hoodies back.”

he stared at you.

you smiled. a little cracked. a little crooked. “worth it.”

“i swear to god,” he growled, burying his face in your lap. “if you die, i’m haunting your ghost just to yell at you.”

you ran your fingers through his hair. soft. familiar. he was shaking. he didn’t want you to see. “you’re not going to die,” he whispered again, like if he repeated it enough times, it would rewrite your diagnosis.

“but if i do,” you said gently, voice steady for both of you, “please keep wearing mismatched socks for me. preferably ugly ones. the uglier, the better.”

he lifted his head and kissed your knuckles. then your palm. then your wrist. like he could map your pulse, hold onto it, anchor it. i’m gonna annoy every doctor on this planet if that’s what it takes,” he muttered. “i’m gonna sit in every waiting room and argue with every nurse and—”

“you’re already annoying,” you smiled, brushing tears off his cheek. “just keep being you, toru. okay?”

he choked out a laugh. a real one. raw and messy and breaking. “yeah,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “okay. but just so you know—if you think i’m gonna let you go without a fight, you’re really underestimating how stubborn i am.”

and you believed him.

because it was satoru gojo.

and he was chaos and comfort and love in human form.

GETO SUGURU

you didn’t expect him to come over tonight.

he had been buried in work lately—endless stacks of logistics and community events and trying to solve the world’s problems like he didn’t already carry the weight of it on his shoulders. so when he texted you “omw. bring that pouty face I like,” you assumed he was just being his usual flirty self. nothing serious.

you didn’t expect to be sitting on your bedroom floor in an oversized hoodie with a manila envelope on your lap, legs tucked beneath you, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you heard the familiar knock-knock-knock. two beats, then one. his rhythm.

he walked in with a drink carrier balanced in one hand and a bouquet of flowers that looked like they were arranged by a man who walked into the shop and said “whatever she’ll like, just make it look expensive.” his eyes lit up the second they saw you, and he gave you that half-lidded smile that made it look like he knew every secret about you.

“what’s with the envelope, babe?” he asked as he kicked his shoes off and slid beside you on the floor. “you trying to sue me for being too good-looking? because guilty as charged.”

you snorted. “nah, i’d win that case against gojo way faster.”

“mm, true.” he nudged your knee with his. “what is it then?”

you clear your throat and drop the letter dramatically on the floor next to him like it’s a bomb. “got a broken heart. me. officially. medically. romantically tragic.”

geto raises a brow, gaze drifting from the letter to you. “did i forget an anniversary again? that sounds serious.”

giving him a lazy smile. “worse. i’m in a love triangle with death and a statistics chart.”

you handed it over. said nothing after.

he cocked an eyebrow but took it. slid the letter out like he was opening one of your essays. started reading.

his smile dropped.

his breath caught.

and for once—suguru geto didn’t say anything.

he finished the page. eyes moving over the last line again. and again. his fingers curled around the edge of the letter so tightly it crinkled.

you felt like vomiting.

“stage 3, heart cancer,” you said lightly. like it was the weather. like you’d just found out the vending machine was out of your favorite chips. “only twenty-five percent chance of making it. which is still, like, a quarter! that’s one out of four. i’ve played worse odds at those arcade claw machines. like flipping a coin with feelings.”

“don’t—” his voice was hoarse. “don’t joke about this.”

“why not?” you forced a grin. “i thought you liked my dark humor.”

he turned to you so fast, your smile faltered.

“i do,” he said, barely a whisper. “but not when it’s hiding how scared you are.”

and that was the worst part. the way he saw through you. you looked away. bit your tongue. tried to force another joke but your throat closed up and it never made it out. “you should be crying,” he said softly. “you should be screaming. you should be throwing things or cursing god or making me carry you everywhere like a princess.”

“yeah well,” you mumbled. “you’ve always liked me better when i’m quiet.”

“don’t say that.” his hand cupped your cheek, turning your face toward him. “don’t ever say that.”

you blinked. his thumb wiped away something you didn’t realize had fallen.

“baby—”

“i’m going to be here for all of it,” he said firmly. his voice steady, even if his hands trembled. “chemo. surgeries. crying fits. mood swings. i’ll buy you every stupid snack craving you have, i’ll hold your hair back if you puke, i’ll even let satoru come over if you’re bored enough to tolerate him.”

“wow,” you said, voice thick. “must really love me if you’re willing to suffer through that.”

he laughed, but it cracked halfway through. he leaned in and kissed your forehead. your nose. your cheeks. slow. deliberate. like he was memorizing your face before the world dared to change it.

“you’re the love of my life,” he murmured against your skin. “and i don’t care what percentage the doctors give. you’re not leaving me.”

you tried to joke again. to keep it light. but when he pulled you into his arms and held you like you were made of glass and might disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough—

you broke.

and he just let you.

silent. steady. his hand rubbing circles into your back. his voice a whisper. “i’ve got you, baby. every step. every breath. we’re fighting this. together.”

NANAMI KENTO

he was never one for surprises.

nanami lived his life in clean lines and structured time—an adult in every sense of the word. the kind of man who folded his clothes before bed, who ironed your uniforms when you were too tired, who always had a clock running in his head. you were chaos in comparison. soft blankets thrown over chairs, tea mugs with lipstick smudges left by your bedside, textbooks covered in doodles. yet somehow, you and him had always fit together like an odd, unlikely pair.

tonight, he showed up exactly at 7:00 p.m.

punctual, like always.

“i brought you dinner,” he said, holding up two paper bags. “i made sure it’s from that place you like with the spicy tofu you claim doesn’t make you cry but always does.”

you smiled, opening the door wider for him. “ah, you remembered. see? you do love me.”

he gave you a flat look, setting the bags on your kitchen counter. “i tell you every day. if you need evidence beyond that, i can start writing it down in your planner.”

“ooh, planner declarations of love? sounds sexy.”

he gave a soft, almost-smile. you could tell he’d had a long day. the way he rolled his sleeves up, undid the top two buttons of his shirt, and sighed like he was finally somewhere safe. you wanted so badly to keep it peaceful. to let him enjoy one evening without—

but the envelope sat on the kitchen table. taunting you.

“ken,” you said softly, “before we eat… can you read something?”

his brow furrowed. “is this another one of your thesis drafts? i told you i am not proofreading any more literary analyses about how tragic men are secretly hot—”

“it’s not,” you said, quieter this time.

he walked over. saw the envelope. took it wordlessly.

you watched him read. nanami read carefully—line by line. never skimmed. never rushed. so it took longer. you could hear the second his breath changed. shallow. barely audible. then it stopped altogether.

he didn’t speak. didn’t ask questions. he simply folded the letter back up and set it down with precision. like it was something sacred. dangerous.

“why didn’t you call me when you got this?” he asked, voice low. serious. his control was razor sharp, but you could hear the grief pressing against his throat.

“i… didn’t want you to leave work in the middle of a meeting,” you muttered. “and i didn’t wanna cry about it either. figured i’d tell you in person. like a grown-up.”

“stage 3, heart cancer is not something you break like a casual news update,” he snapped—then immediately closed his eyes, sighing. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“it’s okay,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself. “i figured you’d be mad.”

“i’m not mad,” he said, walking around the table toward you. “i’m terrified.”

“it’s still there,” you whispered. “it’s just… fuzzy now. like a dream i can’t quite remember when i wake up.”

you looked up at him. that composed, unshakable man. and for the first time in a long time, nanami looked lost. “you’re young,” he said, almost to himself. “you’re in college. you have plans. you talk about the future like it’s something guaranteed.”

“you really mean that?” your voice cracked.

his jaw clenched. he pulled you into his chest, his hands pressing against your back, like he could physically hold you together. you could feel how hard he was trying not to fall apart. “then i’ll remember it for you,” he said quietly. “your future. your dreams. if you forget them… i’ll carry them until you can take them back.”

“of course,” he said, resting his chin on your head. “you’re the love of my life. i didn’t choose you for convenience. i chose you because i wanted every part of your life—good and bad. if this is what we’re facing now… then we face it. together.”

you buried your face in his chest, inhaling that familiar scent of bergamot and black tea. the comfort of his heartbeat. the way he was always so steady, even when the world wasn’t.

“but just so we’re clear,” he said, pulling back slightly to look at you, “you’re not going to die. not anytime soon. not before i make you my wife.”

you blinked. “wait—what?”

“i’m not proposing,” he said flatly. “not while you’re crying. but you should know… that’s where this was always headed.”

your tears doubled. “ken—”

“shh,” he kissed your temple. “we’ll talk about it after dinner. and after you stop pretending tofu doesn’t make you sob like a child.”

you laughed. you couldn’t help it.

and for the first time since getting the diagnosis, you let yourself feel safe.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

toji was already lounging on your couch when you got home.

shirt half unbuttoned, legs spread like he owned the place—which, okay, he kind of did at this point, considering how often he crashed here. one arm slung over the back of the couch, the other nursing a can of beer he probably picked up on the way over. he didn’t look up when you walked in, just tilted his head slightly and smirked like he could smell the anxiety radiating off you.

“you look like shit,” he said casually, eyes still on the muted TV.

“thanks, baby,” you replied, dropping your bag by the door. “your romantic side is really showing today.”

“you want romance, go read a damn poem.” he finally looked at you. eyes narrowing. “you okay?”

you shrugged and walked into the kitchen, not answering. you knew that tone in his voice. low. suspicious. the kind he only used when he felt something off and didn’t like it one bit.

you took your time. poured a glass of water. leaned against the counter. stared at the envelope in your hand like it might explode if you set it down.

“toji,” you called.

“hm?”

“can you come here?”

he groaned dramatically but stood, beer in hand, and sauntered into the kitchen. he leaned against the counter across from you, expression unreadable. he scanned your face like he was piecing something together.

you handed him the envelope without a word.

he took it. read it.

you watched every flicker of emotion pass through his face. confusion. stillness. a furrowed brow. the tightening of his jaw. and then—rage. not loud. not messy. quiet. slow-burning. the kind that sat in his chest like a bomb with no timer.

he didn’t say anything at first.

just set the envelope down and looked at you. dead in the eye.

“how long have you known?”

“just a few days.”

“and you didn’t tell me?” his voice was low. flat.

you sighed. “i didn’t want to see your face like this.”

“like what?”

“like the world ended.”

he stepped closer. his voice dropped even lower.

“you think i give a fuck about the world?” he said slowly. “i care about you. you think you can just carry this shit alone and joke your way through it? you think that’s cute?”

“i didn’t want you to panic,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze. “i didn’t want to cry. or make it real. if i said it out loud—”

“then i’ll say it for you,” he interrupted. “you have heart cancer. stage 3. twenty-four percent odds. and guess what?”

you finally looked at him.

“we’re beating the shit outta those odds.”

you blinked. “what?”

he crossed the distance between you and pulled you into him. his grip wasn’t gentle—it was grounding. like he needed to feel your heartbeat against his chest to believe you were still here.

“you’re not dying on me,” he said, voice rough. “you hear me? i’ve lost enough people. you’re not going to be one of them. i’ll chain you to the damn bed if i have to. feed you. fight the doctors. i don’t care.”

“toji—”

“nah, shut up. you’re not allowed to talk until you admit i’m right and that i’m hotter than your oncologist.”

you choked out a laugh. “okay. you’re right. you’re hotter than any man with a medical license.”

“damn straight,” he muttered, lips brushing your forehead. “we’re getting through this. and i don’t care if you lose your hair or your strength or your mind a little bit along the way. you’ll still be mine. all of you.”

you didn’t say anything. didn’t need to. you just stood there with his arms around you, the only place that felt like home when everything else felt like hell.

he kissed the side of your head and sighed. “fuck. now i gotta start acting like a responsible adult.”

“guess you better start taking your vitamins, old man.”

“if i die before you, i’m haunting your ass. every time you try to pee, i’ll slam a cabinet door.”

you burst out laughing. crying. something in between. he held you tighter.

“that’s better,” he muttered. “cry in my arms like a normal person, not in the shower like a movie heroine.”

and just like that, you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

you found him in the bedroom, stretched across your bed like a damn king—which, technically, he insisted he was. shirtless, as usual. arms behind his head, eyes closed, expression too calm for a man with a bloodstained past and a mouth as foul as his reputation. the room smelled faintly like sandalwood and your shampoo, which he secretly used but would never admit to.

you stood in the doorway with the envelope clenched in your hand.

“oi, sukuna.”

his eyes cracked open, one brow lazily lifting. “what, brat? come to beg for kisses or annoy me until i carry you to class again?”

you forced a grin, walking in slowly. “tempting, but no. i’ve got something for you.”

“better be food or something perverted.”

you sat beside him, the envelope now shaking a little in your fingers. you hated how that tremor betrayed you. sukuna didn’t miss it. his eyes shifted to your hand, narrowing.

“what the hell is that?”

“diagnosis,” you said simply, tossing it onto his chest.

he caught it midair, scoffing. “what, did they finally diagnose you with being insufferable?”

“close. heart cancer. stage three. they gave me a twenty-four percent chance of living.” you tried to say it lightly. like it was a weather report. “cloudy with a chance of death, haha.”

sukuna didn’t laugh.

his eyes scanned the page. slower than usual. and his silence—it wasn’t dramatic, it was dangerous. the air felt like it thickened. you could almost hear his jaw clench.

“tch,” he scoffed. “twenty-four percent? what a bunch of weaklings. you don’t need their odds. you’ve got me.”

you blinked at him. “...you?”

“yeah. i’m keeping you alive. i’m not letting you leave me over some pathetic little tumor.”

you tried to keep the smile on your face, tried to keep the mood light like you always did. “damn. here i was thinking i’d finally get some peace and quiet.”

he sat up then—so suddenly the bed shifted with the force. his hand gripped your chin, tilting your face toward him, his expression unreadable but his eyes blazing.

“don’t you dare joke about dying,” he growled. “not to me. not when you know what it would do to me.“

you tried to look away, but his fingers held you still. “sukuna…”

“do you know what i’ve done to people who’ve left me?” he whispered, and for once his voice wasn’t teasing—it was trembling.

“terrible things,” you murmured. “you’ve told me.”

“and yet, you’re the only one i’ve ever let touch me without blood on your hands,” he hissed. “the only one i’d share my bed with. laugh with. let sleep on my chest like some damn lovesick fool.”

you bit your lip. your bravado cracked. “...i’m scared.”

and that was all it took for him to pull you into his lap, arms winding around you with the kind of desperation he rarely ever let surface.

“good,” he muttered into your shoulder. “you should be. but not because of death. because if you think i’ll let you go through this alone, you clearly don’t know who the hell you’re dating.”

you buried your face into his neck, breathing in his warmth, his scent, the familiar thrum of something ancient and furious living in his chest.

“you’ll lose your hair?” he murmured. “i don’t care. you’ll puke every day? i’ll hold the damn bucket. cry at three a.m.? i’ll cuss out the moon for looking at you wrong.”

you choked out a laugh. “the moon, huh?”

“fucking moon thinks it’s allowed to shine on you while you’re in pain? not on my watch.”

he leaned back slightly, cupping your cheek now with uncharacteristic softness. “you don’t need to act strong for me, you little brat. cry. scream. sleep for days. whatever you need. i’ll be here.”

“...even when i look like a zombie?”

“you already look half-dead when you wake up. won’t be much of a change.”

you smacked his chest. he grinned.

and then he pressed his forehead against yours, a rare show of intimacy, his voice dropping so low you barely caught it:

“you’re mine. and i don’t give a fuck if it takes all my strength, my fury, my everything. you will survive this. not because the doctors said so. but because i won’t let you die.”

and for once, even with your heart breaking and your future uncertain, you believed him.

because when a monster like sukuna swore something, the universe listened.

SHIU KONG

the sun was already setting by the time you made it to his office.

you found him exactly how you expected: sleeves rolled up, shirt slightly wrinkled, tie loosened like he’d been too busy all day to care about appearances. he was hunched over his desk, fingers typing something sharp, probably threatening someone with policy violations and scary legal jargon. a half-empty glass of whiskey sat beside his monitor, untouched for hours. the room smelled like cologne and stress.

you stood in the doorway, clutching the envelope.

“shiu.”

his eyes didn’t lift right away—just one flick of them toward you, annoyed, until he saw your face. that was all it took.

he straightened. “what happened?”

“nothing,” you said too quickly. “or, i mean... something. yeah. i brought you something.”

you walked in, trying to act normal. like this wasn’t going to detonate his whole night. you placed the envelope on top of a stack of case files like it was a stupid postcard or a coupon for pizza.

he picked it up, his frown deepening with every line he read.

“you’re joking,” he said flatly.

“i wish.”

he looked at you. hard. no emotion at first—just that sharp, calculating gaze that made grown men fold. but you knew him too well. you saw the cracks right away: his fingers tightening around the paper. the twitch in his jaw. the breath he held too long before letting it out.

“stage three?” he said. “twenty-four percent survival?”

you leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to keep it light.

“well, if i was a stock, you probably wouldn't invest in me, huh?”

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped.

you blinked.

“jesus, shiu, calm down—”

“no. i’m not calming down. you walk into my office with this,” he shook the letter, “and joke about it? you think this is funny? you think i can just read this and go back to work?”

you stayed quiet.

he stood up, pacing now. one hand dragging through his hair, the other still holding the paper like it was covered in blood. his voice dropped low. rough.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“i didn’t want to ruin your week.”

he turned slowly. "you think any of this matters if you’re not in it?"

that one hit harder than you expected. your throat tightened.

he sighed harshly and stepped toward you, eyes dark, voice steadier now but no less intense. “look at me.”

you did.

he cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he was trying to memorize every inch.

"you don’t get to carry this alone,” he said. “not with me around. not for a second."

you bit your lip. “i didn’t want you to treat me like i was dying.”

“i’m not treating you like you’re dying. i’m treating you like you’re mine. and you are. and i don’t care how brutal this fight gets, how many appointments we sit through, how sick you get, how tired—i’m staying.”

you exhaled shakily, and his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you against him like he could keep the sickness away just by holding you tighter.

“you’re not allowed to go before me,” he murmured into your hair. “i’m the old one here, remember?”

you smiled weakly. “so what, you’re giving me permission to outlive you?”

“i’m giving you orders. and you always listen to your boss.”

“you’re not my boss, shiu.”

“wanna bet?”

you leaned your head against his chest, finally letting your tears soak into his shirt. his arms stayed locked around you like a shield.

“i’m scared,” you whispered.

he kissed your temple, voice rough and sure.

“then be scared. just don’t be alone.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he always stayed up too late when he was working. piles of case files, half-drunk cups of green tea gone cold, classical music humming low in the background like it could drown out the weight of the world. the desk lamp lit his tired eyes in soft gold, his brows furrowed in that focused way you knew meant he hadn’t even noticed the time—or eaten.

you hovered at the doorway for a second, gripping the envelope. stage 3. 24%. ugly numbers typed in a clinical font that suddenly felt louder than the damn music.

“hiromi.”

he glanced up, his features instantly softening the second he saw you. “you’re still up. what’s wrong?”

you tried to smirk. “well. i’m about to ruin your night. so buckle in, counselor.”

he frowned and pushed his chair back, straightening. “what happened?”

you crossed the room, placed the envelope down in front of him like you were handing in an assignment. “that’s my diagnosis.”

he didn’t move for a few seconds. just stared at it. like touching it would confirm the dread blooming in his chest. but he opened it, scanned the words, and then—

his shoulders stiffened. just slightly. like a man being sentenced.

“heart cancer,” he murmured, voice almost too calm. “stage three. twenty-four percent survival rate.”

“yeah,” you said with a dry chuckle. “bit dramatic, right? could’ve given me a 30% for optimism.”

his eyes snapped up to yours, unreadable.

“you’re making jokes?”

“if i don’t, i’ll cry. and i figured one of us should hold it together.”

his jaw tensed, and he stood slowly, walking around the desk with a kind of methodical grace that always made your heart skip. he stopped in front of you, one hand resting on your cheek like he was scared you’d vanish.

“you’ve known… how long?”

“got the results a few days ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?”

you looked down. “i didn’t want to be the reason you stopped working. you’ve got enough to deal with. i didn’t want to be another case file on your desk.”

he flinched like you slapped him.

“you’re not a case file,” he said firmly. “you’re not just another name. you’re—” his voice broke, just a little. “you’re everything.”

you couldn’t hold it anymore. your voice cracked. “i’m scared.”

his arms were around you instantly, firm and grounding. his hand cupped the back of your head, pressing you into his chest like you belonged there and only there.

“then be scared,” he whispered into your hair. “and i’ll be scared with you. but don’t think for a second i’ll let you go through this alone.”

you held onto his blazer, gripping the fabric like it could anchor you. “i don’t want you to see me fall apart.”

“i’ve seen people fall apart,” he said. “i know what that looks like. this isn’t that. this is you being brave. this is you still showing up, still standing, even when you're hurting.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy. “what if i die?”

his hand slid to your cheek, thumb brushing a tear away. “then i’ll have spent every last day making sure you knew you were loved. and if you live—and you will, because you’re stronger than any verdict—they’ll write books about how you told death to wait.”

you laughed through the tears. “that’s a little dramatic, even for a lawyer.”

he smiled, just barely. “i learned from the best.”

and then he kissed you—soft, reverent, like a man clinging to hope.

“we’ll fight this,” he whispered. “and i’ll be with you every step of the way. suits and all.”

i made this after re-watch now is good and just can’t help myself. i know, i know it was basic, classic drama, the girl is sick, has cancer, everyone wrote about it, i know. but i enjoy writing this so much, i may or may not make a mini series about them, do you guys will enjoy it if i make this longer? please let me know! 🫣

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koshercosplay · 6 months ago

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alrighty folks buckle up for the fifth year of menorabilia ratings! I've scoured the internet (and my eyeballs) so get ready for the best and worst chanukah merchandise of the year

okay first I just need to get these fuckin gnomes out of the way. ideally permanently. this guy's hat has so much going on I don't know where to begin. the menorah? not kosher. also wrong. the dreidels? certainly have,,, something written on them. everyone knows reindeer love chanukah, the lighting fires holiday. 5/10 at least it's got SOMEWHAT of a cuteness factor

turning old CDs into fake sufganiyot is certainly creative bc that's the only explanation for those monstrosities that I'll accept. please don't spin your spontaneous combustion menorahs on top of your dreidels. it won't bring the next season any faster. 4/10 I'll put up with a lot if you're offering to pay for my netflix account

they are Setting That Torah On Fire. is that why there's an oil jug next to a candle menorah. 6/10 the פ instead of a ש‎ on the dreidel is because the miracle is just the torah not bursting into flames

this really puts the messy in messianic. it's got the wrong amount of branches. why is the shamash just two stacked cups. the cross looks like an airplane. oh god it also has the jesus fish. -76162802492/10 never knew a single image could contain so much No.

some of these menorahs are kosher and some are not which really spices things up. what a fun little game of I spy for me. I enjoy the addition of various happy animals celebrating chanukah but were the santa hats really necessary? 7/10 that bottom dreidel has two נ‎s. none dreidel with left coins.

I can acknowledge that it's an attempt to jewish-ize a christmas thing but tinsel is, unfortunately, occasionally, pretty. weird choice to have all the menorahs have נ‎s but sure. what's that? those are dreidels? wrong. take a look at the helpful next image of this item.

do you see it yet? here let me help.

clearly those are menorahs. we light them on fire and spin them as fast as we can. first one to die loses. 5/10 google is your friend

move over fiddler on the roof chassidim with bottle balancing skills, here come some cats with impressive candle dexterity. this may not be a kosher menorah but their TAILS are the BRANCHES. 7/10 I am easily won over by the presence of cats okay

canon jewish representation, a spinning dreidel, a kosher menorah, some chocolate gelt, and they're eating fresh latkes. I needed these yesterday. 10/10 rugrats my beloved never lets me down

(previous years 1, 2, 3, 4)

#here it is!#man there is. So Much terrible stuff out there #every year im so grateful for the good ones i encounter because #the bad ones are BAD #anyway enjoy!#chanukah #lol #hanukkah #jewish humor #judaism #jewish holidays #chanukah ratings #chanukah ratings 2024 #jumblr #cultural christianity

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whorelaud · 2 months ago

Text

WRONG NUMBER, LOSER – rafe cameron (1)

a rafe cameron mini smau series

summary Rafe gets tangled in a complex love-hate relationship when shooting his shot at a party, merely for him to end up with the wrong number instead, leading to a new beginning, or so he assumed, unaware of who really was behind the screen; his next door neighbor, whom he'd define his sworn enemy. contains neighbor!reader, enemies (?) to lovers, wrong number trope, mostly texts, sexual jokes, shameless flirting, loser!rafe, lots of tension, attempt at humor

NAVIGATION. main masterlist; 01 ¡ 02

Unknown Number: Hello there, I don't know if you remember but I asked for your number earlier

Unknown Number: I know I’m moving rather fast, but I couldn't help myself you’re too pretty ;)

Unknown Number: I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner. Only if you're down of course ❤️

You: im sorry who?

You: oh that red heart you must rlly like her

Unknown Number: What? What do you mean?

Unknown Number: Is this not Brian?

You: this aint no brian

You: no way did brian turn you down

You: Wowwww very low of her im so sorry king

Unknown Number: You don't know that

Unknown Number: She probably mistyped one of the digits by accident

You: Dawgggg ☠️☠️

You: no way you believe that

You: she told you her name was brian what did you expect

Unknown Number: Hey what’s wrong with that

Unknown Number: My dad’s name is Brian

You: woahhh :o

You: is it actually

Unknown Number: No I made that up

You: Haha Very Funny.

Unknown Number: This sucks

Unknown Number: Why am I even talking to you

Unknown Number: I thought what we had was real wow I’m offended

Unknown Number: Who would even think of rejecting me

You: smb get this guy’s phone before i beat his ass ☠️☠️

Unknown Number: Bruh

Unknown Number: I’m already going through enough can’t you at least be nice

You: the audacity of you to say that after disturbing MY peace

You: you got the wrong number loser

You: i'm no brian, i think ive made that clear. im sorry some girl rejected you, im sure she had her reasons, as ive seen enough!!! but yeah, i think now’s a good time to delete my number and never contact me again 👍

Unknown Number: This is my cellular device

Unknown Number: I’ll do what I want

You: … ermmm 😅

You: is this your way of hinting you still wanna talk to me?

Unknown Number: Maybe

You: damn

You: youre one clingy bitch

You: I see Why Sh e rejected You.

Unknown Number: She didn't reject me.

You: And I didn't fail my calculus exam.

Unknown Number: What? That doesn't even make sense

You: wah wah cry me a river

You: youre really annoying has anyone ever told you that

Unknown Number: Plenty actually

You: love a self aware king

Unknown Number: Why do you keep assuming im a man

You: no woman texts like you

Unknown Number: Is that supposed to hurt my feelings

You: take it as you will

Unknown Number: Ah man

Unknown Number: What should I refer to you as

You: that shouldn't be any of your concerns???

You: who said im contacting you after this.

Unknown Number: Me.

You: nah fuck that im blocking you

You: dealing with a lousy bitch of a neighbor has alr done numbers on me i do not want to associate with you in any way or form.

Unknown Number: WHAT DONT BLOCK ME

Unknown Number: I am in no way or form associated with your lousy bitch of a neighbor. Do not block me please.

You: How do you Know That.

You: You Seem Just as Annoying as Him.

Unknown Number: I just noticed

Unknown Number: Are you mocking me?

You: ?? why would you Assume That

Unknown Number: You are

Unknown Number: See you did it just now

You: Nahhhh this fool is crazy We Assuming things Now?

Unknown Number: Bruh

Unknown Number: You’re so mean

You: glad you noticed that

Unknown Number: im into it

You: what

You: pardon me

You: am i seeing things

Unknown Number: Definitely

You: bye

You: im done

You: i no longer want to be apart of this conversation

Unknown Number: Ugh

You: ugh??? UGH???????

Unknown Number: Whatever 🙄 can you just tell me your name at least?

You: no

Unknown Number: Why

You: im not telling a random stranger online what my name is

Unknown Number: That’s just not a good reason

Unknown Number: Fine I’ll come up with something to call you then

You: uhh??? i never agreed to any of this

Unknown Number: Sugar is cute

You: what the fuck

You: that is diabolical (get it cause its sugar) don't you dare fucking call me that

Unknown Number: Sugar it is then

You: stop

You: STOP.

You: NO

You: how did that even come to mind

Unknown Number: Cause you’re as sweet as sugar, baby ;)

You: youre doing this on purpose aren't you

You: including you in my suicide note

Unknown Number: Have fun doing that

Unknown Number: You don't even know my name sugar

You: Dtop It.

You: It feels like You're flirtinf With Me.

You: I Do Not like That.

Unknown Number: Deal with it.

You: no

You: is this you admitting you're head over heels in love with me

Unknown Number: Definitely

You: im leaving

Unknown Number: Joking hahah haba Ha ha

You: i actually have to leave

You: i own a needy cat who demands my attention

Unknown Number: Oh okay

Unknown Number: Have fun with your cat

You: thanks boo

You: it was (not) fun chatting with you i guess…

Unknown Number: It was a pleasure chatting with you sugar

Unknown Number: I look forward to more in the future

You: die

You: it feels like youre mocking me.

Unknown Number: I am not you.

You: hey whats wrong w me…

Unknown Number hearted your message!

a/n hi!!! hehehe lmk what u think this was so much fun 2 write! dk if im making a taglist or not but we'll see, this is chapter one for now :p i also wanna make a masterlist but idk GRRAHH well see

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #rafe cameron smau #obx social media au #rafe cameron fic #rafe smau #rafe cameron social media au #rafe obx #outer banks

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dollgxtz · 4 days ago

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Can you write a short somno fic for Sylus but he’s already been doing it for awhile? And he feels so damn guilty about it but genuinely can’t stop because it’s like an addiction to him now? :)

In Somno

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, nonconsensual somnophilia, noncon, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, facials

Summary: Sylus just can't help himself when it comes to your sleeping body <33

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

AN: Sorry anon, I know you said "short" but I got really excited and got carried away. So lets just say this is my version of a short fic LOL. Also thank you thank you thank youuuu for requesting this, I've been itching to write another somno fic hehehe. Btw the title means “In slumber” in Latin!!! :33

He hadn't intended for things to escalate to this point.

Normally, Sylus was a master of self-control, able to reign in his desires with ease. But on that particular day, something had been stirred within him, something that he couldn't quite explain. It had started when he saw you lying in his bed, fast asleep and naked, after a long and exhausting mission. You'd taken a shower and had passed right out. Your fatigue had been palpable, and he had gone to cover you with a blanket, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast.

Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't meant to touch you like...that. His hand lingered for a moment, a mere whisper of contact, before he moved it away as if it burned. He stared at you, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the turmoil his innocent touch had ignited within him. He had always prided himself on his ability to control himself. Yet here he was, his heart pounding, his body betraying him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was just a touch, he told himself. A harmless, accidental touch. But his body refused to listen, his mind refusing to let go of the softness of your skin, the warmth that had radiated from you. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to touch you again, to trace the curve of your breast, to feel more of your warmth.

He knew he should leave, let you rest, should respect your sleep. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He had seen you naked before, had seen you sleep countless times. But this was different. This time, he felt something stirring within his groin as he watched your naked chest rise with each breath. Your beautiful, peaceful face was messing with his senses. He tried to dismiss it, to attribute it to the fatigue of the long day, the heat of the room, anything but the truth.

The truth was, you two hadn't had much time for each other lately, and even less for anything intimate. The lack of physical connection had left him pent up, achingly so. He couldn't remember the last time you'd both had a moment to yourselves, a moment to explore each other's desires and needs.

As he sat there, looking at you, he couldn't help but feel a surge of longing. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to calm himself down, but it was no use. Better to quell the urge to touch you now, and then forget about this, he figured. He reached back over, his hand gently touching the soft roundness of your breast, giving it a light squeeze. The touch sent a spark of electricity through his body, and he felt his cock harden in his pants.

Shit. He had definitely just made it worse.

You stirred, letting out a soft whine, and he felt his heart skip a beat. The sound of your voice was like music to his ears, a sweet melody that only added to his arousal. He quickly withdrew his hand, however, as you began to shift and turn your body away from him in your sleep.

Your butt was now completely visible to him. His heart dropped into his stomach. You had always been the only one to undo his calm, to make him feel this way. He ran his fingers through his hair, now having an internal battle within himself. It felt wrong...undeniably wrong...and yet…

One thing had led to another, and he found himself carefully pushing his fingers inside your wet folds. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he was breathless as your cunt sucked in his fingers bit by bit. The feeling of your inner walls clamping down on his fingers sent his mind into a frenzy, and he couldn't help but think about how much he wanted to be inside you.

How wet you'd be.

How tight you'd be.

His cock was rock hard and throbbing in his boxers, pressing against the back of your leg. He pressed himself against your butt lightly, trying to relieve some of the ache that had been building up inside him.

It wasn't enough.

You began to squirm, your body shifting slightly in your sleep, and he froze. He didn't remove his fingers, but ceased his motions...as if pausing could erase what he’d just done. He watched you closely, heart pounding, waiting to see if your eyes would open. If they did, he told himself, he’d just say you two had dozed off like that. Just a sleepy accident.

The lie formed easily in his mind, but the weight of it hit hard. He had never lied to you before...and now, standing on the edge of it, he felt something bitter twist in his gut. Shame crept up his spine, hot and sharp, settling in his face until his skin burned. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. He smothered the guilt with silence, burying it under the oldest excuse in the book: what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.

As you pressed your backside against him, unknowingly in your sleep, he felt a surge of desire wash over him, replacing all guilt and shame with a primal, aching need. The pain in his groin became almost unbearable, and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything else except satisfying his craving for you.

Within the next few minutes he had rid himself of his underwear, lifted your leg and slowly began to sink his aching, throbbing cock inside you, only a little bit at first. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he felt himself plunging into you over and over, his hips moving in a slow, rhythmic motion. His hand gripped the roundness of your ass, holding you in place as he thrust into you, his fingers digging slightly into your skin.

"Ah...fuck. Kitten, Im sorry..."

He bit his lip, trying to suppress a groan as he sunk himself deeper, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. The room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting, the creaking of the bed, and his ragged breaths. He could feel every inch of you, tight and warm around him. He wanted to savor this moment, to imprint it on his memory forever. He reached around, finding your clit with his fingers, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You moaned softly, still deeply asleep, arching your back to meet him.

"Mghn...S-sylus..."

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He was worried that you had woken up, that you would discover him inside you, and that everything would be ruined. He lay there, holding his breath, as he frantically thought of excuses, of ways to explain what was happening.

But as the seconds passed in silence, and you didn’t move, he began to ease—just slightly. He glanced over, searching your face for any sign that you were awake, that you knew. But your eyes stayed shut, your expression calm, untouched. Still lost in sleep.

You looked so docile, so innocent and soft with your mouth agape, small snores escaping your lips. He hates that he feels a rush of arousal looking at you in such a vulnerable state, peacefully sleeping in his bed.

He wondered if you were thinking you were having a dream, if your subconscious was responding to his presence inside you. The thought sent a thrill through him, and his cock twitched in your inner walls. Maybe you wanted him too? Even in your dreams?

As he began to thrust again, this time with a bit more force, he could feel the pressure building up inside him. The ache in his groin was becoming almost unbearable, and he knew he was on the verge of cumming. He groaned, the sound choked out of him as he struggled to maintain control.

But as he looked down at you, still asleep and unaware of what was happening, he knew he had to pull out. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't risk finishing inside you. Surely you'd put two and two together when you woke up and he'd be caught.

With a strangled groan, he forced himself to pull out, his cock throbbing with the effort. He gripped the sides of your hip, holding himself up as he shot a hefty, sticky load of his cum all over your inner thighs. The sensation was intense, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he finally released the pent-up tension.

As he looked down at the mess he had made, he felt a pang of guilt and anxiety. What would you think if you woke up and found out what had happened? Would you be angry, would you be scared? He didn't know, and the uncertainty was eating away at him.

So he simply cleaned you up as best as he could, and when you awoke the next morning you were none the wiser. You did question the ache between your legs, but fortunately for him you simply chalked it up to pushing yourself too hard during the mission. Besides, your entire body hurt already. What was one more area?

He swore that would be the last time.

Except it wasn't.

You didn’t always spend the night, but when you did, it was usually because you were too tired to head home after a long day. Sylus would swing by and bring you back to Onychinus’s base without complaint. You’d shower, get comfortable, and eat whatever dinner he’d ordered the chef to make you—just like always.

Then the two of you would settle in. Maybe you’d watch a movie, maybe listen to one of his new records. It was an easy routine. Comfortable. Soothing.

Eventually, you’d get too tired to keep your eyes open, and drift off beside him on the couch.

Then he’d carry you to the bedroom—slow, careful, as if you might break in his arms. On the surface, it was about comfort. He wanted you to sleep well. To feel safe.

But underneath that was something more selfish. He wanted to test the limits. To see how close he could get, how much movement he could do before you would stir, how long his hands could linger on your skin.

Most nights, you didn’t even move. You stayed limp and warm in his arms, face tucked against his neck, breath slow and even. It should have calmed him.

Instead, it made things worse.

Guilt curled in his chest like smoke. You trusted him. Implicitly. You let yourself go completely in his care. And he hated how that trust made something coil low in his groin, thick with heat and desire to strip you down and plunge himself in your wet walls.

And that's exactly what he did. Night after night, he'd start carefully moving your underwear to the side, swiftly inserting the head of his hardened cock inside you, and fucking you until a creamy white ring of your juices formed around the base of his shaft. Touching your breasts, butt, and pussy in ways you'd never let him before. And just as he felt himself about to release, he'd quickly pull out, covering your soft skin in his cum. Sometimes it was your thighs, sometimes your back. He'd even gotten bold enough to do your face at one point.

To compensate for the guilt that gnawed at him every time he let himself fall into his dark cravings, Sylus had started buying you more gifts.

At first, it was subtle—a snack you liked, a book you’d mentioned in passing. But it escalated quickly. If you so much as glanced at something in a store window while the two of you were out, or paused a moment too long while scrolling on your phone, it would show up in your hands within days. Sometimes hours.

You noticed, of course. It was hard not to.

“Another one?” you’d ask, brow arched in amused suspicion as you unwrapped a new plushie, or a piece of jewelry that matched your favorite dress, or a gadget you’d casually mentioned needing just once.

When you asked him why he was suddenly giving you so much, he’d just shrug—casual, like it meant nothing.

“You've always been spoiled, why question it now?” he’d chuckle.

As if that explained everything.

And maybe it did. At least, enough to keep you from pressing further.

Because to him, each gift was a way to say I’m sorry I touched you too long, I’m sorry I wanted more than I should, I’m sorry I’m not being honest. I love you so much.

It was his way of trying to be good for you.

Even as the craving got harder to ignore.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

He found himself unable to stop. Would you really blame him if you found out? You must clearly want it too...the way your body greedily sucked in his cock, squeezing around it like a warm, wet vice. It was as if your body was begging him not to pull out, to keep going, to keep giving you more. Every time he thrust into you, your muscles would contract, holding him in place, and then release, allowing him to slide back out, only to repeat the process again. It was a sensual, intoxicating rhythm, one that threatened to consume him whole.

And the soft little whines you made when he was stretching you out or when he pumped into you a little harder than he meant to drove him absolutely crazy...

He'd promptly cease his movements, gently shushing your little noises while he waited for you to calm.

"Im sorry, baby. I didn't mean it, stay asleep for me," he would coo, his voice a soft, gentle whisper, as he gazed down at your sleeping face. He would pause for a moment, his chest heaving with desire, as he struggled to control his own needs. But then, with a quiet sigh, he would resume his movements, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of you with a smooth, gentle rhythm.

As he moved, he would continue to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, his words a soothing balm to your sleeping form. "Just need to see you covered in my cum one more time..." His voice was a gentle hum, a vibration that seemed to resonate deep within your body, as he continued to pump into you.

He did this for several weeks, reassuring you whenever you began to grow concerned at the continued ache between your legs. Of course, you'd trust him. Relax after. He'd feel terrible but he'd tell himself it was for your own good. You just felt too good. Too soft, so warm.

Tonight was no different. You both were watching a new movie in his home theater this time, when you promptly yawned. Immediately he felt his breath get shallow, and his pants get tighter.

“Tired, kitten?” Sylus asked, his voice lower than usual—rough around the edges, like he was holding something back. He reached for the remote and shut off the screen, the soft click echoing in the quiet space between you.

You nodded through a sleepy stretch, arms lifting lazily above your head before collapsing into your lap.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes already heavy. “We never finish these movies. I just…I don’t know. I’m always so tired now.”

There was a faint furrow in your brow as you said it—genuine regret, like falling asleep beside him was some kind of failure.

He leaned in without hesitation and kissed your forehead, slow and deliberate. His lips lingered there a moment longer than they needed to, soaking in the warmth of your skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for being sleepy,” he said softly, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “You’re welcome to come back and finish it any time.”

You didn’t respond.

He was rock hard now.

As he rose to his feet with you cradled in his arms, your body melted into him completely. Your head dropped to rest against his collarbone, lips parted in the beginnings of sleep. He felt the small puff of your breath against his neck—warm, steady.

Halfway down the hallway, he glanced down at you.

Out cold.

He smiled. There was something in your face when you slept—unguarded and soft. Your lashes fluttered faintly, cheek pressed against the curve of his chest like you belonged there.

“They must be working you to the bone,” he muttered to no one, voice barely audible.

Unfortunate for you.

But for him…

You felt incredibly wet and tighter tonight. He'd boldly set you on your back this time, not wanting to miss a single facial expression or noise. Even if it meant being more gentle than usual. He watched greedily as your breasts bounced up and down with his movements. He leaned down, hands on either side of your head, trying with strained effort to quiet his groans.

"How am I ever going to stop doing this to you? You feel so good," he hissed through his teeth, his voice a low, tortured whisper, as he struggled to keep his gentle rhythm. His cock was buried deep inside you, and with each thrust, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. The sensation of his tip grazing your cervix was almost unbearable, threatening to overwhelm him.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched in a fierce effort to hold back, but it was no use. The feeling of being inside you, of being surrounded by your warm, wet flesh, was too intense, too addictive. He couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get enough of you. And as he looked down at your sleeping face, he knew that he was doomed, trapped in a cycle of desire and pleasure that he couldn't escape.

His hips moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, as he chased the sensation, as he sought to prolong the pleasure. And with each stroke, he felt himself getting closer, closer to the point of no return, closer to the moment when he would finally succumb to his desires and let go. "Hah...gonna cum...," he growled, his voice a low, animalistic snarl as he felt his orgasm building.

"Mmmm..."

As you began to squirm under him, your eyes peering open just a bit, but still not enough to be considered awake, he felt a surge of panic mixed with excitement. Were you waking up? He should stop, he knew he should, but he couldn't. He was too close, too caught up in the moment, too desperate to cum inside you.

He leaned in closer, his large body encasing yours, his warm breath whispering against your ear. "Shh...I'm almost there baby...don't wake up..." He pleaded, his voice a low, husky whisper, as he tried to calm you down, to keep you from waking up and discovering what was happening.

But you whine, sleepily grabbing onto his arms, your hands wrapping around his biceps like a vice. You clearly aren't aware enough to even realize what's happening, and he takes advantage of that, using it to his benefit. He continues to thrust into you, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into your wet flesh with a relentless rhythm.

As he looks down at your face, he can see the faintest glimmer of awareness in your eyes, but it's not enough to stop him. He's too far gone, and he knows that he's going to cum inside you, no matter what. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Fuck..."

As he pushes as far as he can go, his hips stuttered, jerking forward with a mind of their own, as his cock pulsed, throbbing with the intense force of his release. As he came, he felt his cock unleash a torrent of cum, wave after wave of it flooding into your body, filling you to the brim. A wave of relief crashed over him, drowning out the relentless hunger that had been gnawing at him all night.

As he looked down at you, Sylus noticed you were starting to squirm again, your body shifting slightly under the covers. You were clearly on the verge of waking up. Your brows twitched, your breathing changed, and your fingers gave a small, unconscious twitch.

Thinking quickly, he moved to wrap himself around you, encasing your body in his arms in a way that was both protective and possessive. His chest pressed against your back, one arm curling securely around your waist, hand resting just beneath your ribs.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering open for a brief moment—glazed, unfocused—before slowly slipping shut again. He felt your body melt against his, the subtle tension in your shoulders and spine easing as sleep reclaimed you. Your breathing evened out. You relaxed fully in his grasp.

Relieved, Sylus allowed himself a quiet breath of his own, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissipate as he gazed down at you. He looked down to see the remnants of his cum slipping down the trails of your thighs, a warm, sticky liquid that glistened in the dim light.

He would definitely have some explaining to do when you woke up...guess it was time to buy that cart full of items you'd been begging for...

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