#✶ — sunnie writes challengers!

[cybersunnie]

18+ / MDNI situationship; angry sex; college!art; f!reader; possibly ooc; art calls reader a slut (wc 975) with ART DONALDSON

Your relationship with Art Donaldson was complicated.

You two teetered between the line of friends and something more. A relationship that consisted of words left unspoken and constant what-ifs. (A dilemma he could never escape).

But the longing to become something more often felt one-sided. Because, for Art, it was always Tashi, tennis, Patrick, and then you. You were his fallback. Someone he went to when he needed a distraction. You just refused to believe you were so far down his list of priorities because how could you be with the way he kissed and touched you? Whispered your name in the dead of night like it was holy? Knew the ins and outs of you like a lover would? 

It was confusing—exhausting, even, having him all over you one day, then uninterested the next. Hot and cold. Cat and mouse. A never-ending cycle you grew comfortable with.

You figured that was how you found yourself bent over a bathroom counter on Saturday night, forced to you look at yourself in the mirror as Art fucked you from behind.

Art didn't want to go to the stupid frat party in the first place. He was only there because he let his tennis friends pressure him into going. And, as he expected, it was like every other party he attended at Stanford. Mundane. A pretty girl here and a pretty girl there to pay a compliment to. But most of the time, he kept to himself, hugging the walls to avoid being swept up into the rowdy crowd.

That was until he saw you.

You were as gorgeous as ever. All dolled up and wearing a mini skirt that left little to the imagination. Smiling and swaying your hips to the music like you didn't have a care in the world. Except you were dancing with another man. Your back flushed with his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist as his other hand drifted down to your thigh, holding you close. Too close. And, like you had been aware of his presence this entire time, your eyes locked with Art's, and he witnessed your sweet smile form into a smirk. 

Blood pumped through his veins, his stomach churned, and an unbearing heat encompassed him. 

He knew he had no right to be angry. You weren't his. Not officially, anyway. But that didn't stop him from seeing red. That didn't stop the green-eyed monster from consuming every rational thought in his mind.

And now, Art had you all to himself in a bathroom upstairs. 

The loud chattering and booming music from below did wonders to drown out your whimpers and cries. Art had your panties around your ankles and skirt flipped up over your ass, one hand on your hip and the other on your jaw as he fucked his cock into your tight cunt. 

"Is this what you wanted?" he rasped, his voice wrecked, almost unrecognizable. "Dancing with that guy, knowing it'd make me jealous—is this what you fucking wanted?"

While you intended to make him jealous, this wasn't what you expected him to do.

You just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, to let him know how it felt to be on the back burner. Art usually wasn't quick to anger. Unlike Patrick, he would try to refrain from giving in to his impulses. But you must've caught him on a bad day. You weren't complaining, though.

When you didn't respond, his grip tightened along your jaw, your cheeks smushed between his fingers. "Tell me."

You stared at his reflection in the mirror, the mess of blond curls and flushed cheeks, an all too familiar sight for you. "Fuck you."

The anger in his eyes disappeared for a split second. He almost looked hurt. "Why're you acting like this, huh?" Art asked softly, words tumbling from his mouth with urgency. He pulled you closer, his breath hot against your ear. You shuddered. "Acting like you're not my girl."

"Because I'm not."

"You are."

You cursed under your breath, trying and failing to keep your composure. "We're not—shit, together, remember?" 

Art scoffed, the irritation he felt earlier flooding back. "So you just let anyone fuck you like you're some slut?" He let go of your jaw to wrap his hand around your throat, relishing the subtle whimper that slipped past your lips. You shook your head. "Yeah, didn't think so. You only let me fuck this pretty pussy when I want, wherever I want, right?"

You braced yourself against the mirror, the glass cool on your forearms, your legs shaking as you struggled to keep yourself up. He hissed, "Say it."

Dumbly, you asked, "What?"

"Say that you're my girl."

Lost in the pleasure, you nodded without a second thought. In this moment, it was the truth. "I'm your girl."

"That's right. All mine." You heard the smile in his voice. "Fuck, wanna cum in your mouth—y'gonna let me, hm? Gonna let me fuck your throat?"

You realized a long time ago that you would let him do anything.

And then you found yourself on your knees, staring up at him with watery eyes like he was some sort of god, trying not to gag as he came down your throat. Soon after, Art helped you off the ground, your legs quivering, the taste of him fresh on your tongue. You heard his whispered praises from below while he pulled up your panties and felt the soft kisses he left on your thighs.

Once he stood up, fixing your skirt, you couldn't help but ask, "Do you actually like me?"

He stilled, and you didn't miss how he clenched his jaw. Instead of answering with words, Art leaned in and kissed you. That told you all you needed to know.

Of course, Art liked you. He just didn't like you enough.

author's note: i hate this but its been sitting in my drafts for too long 😭 and by too long, i mean since june (oops!)

LAST EDITED — 09.15.2024

[chaitantei-ao3]

just going over the season 16 scripts but do we see how that scene in 'frank v. russia' has dennis becoming more and more upfront about being johnny - dennis has been hinting that he is johnny to mac in private over months but then he is angry enough to confess that he is johnny in front of everyone

dennis is synonymous to rage in the show (with waxing and waning cycles) but he's been generally mellow post s12 hate crimes... (notice that he wasn't the sin of wrath but lust in the s11 finale cause he reached his apex point in mac and dennis move to the suburbs, this continues through seasons 11 to 14... rising slightly as we reach the castle in s15 but still... pretty mellow) dennis has generally been on the mellow path and the best evidence of this is in 'the gang inflates' where he is willing to share an inflatable bed with a man actively trying to off himself by being completely unaware of his nut allergy despite the obvious evidence (as mac cycles through cycles of being deeply unaware of himself to being somewhat aware), dennis's mellow moments are sadly layered with moments when mac is The Most Unaware person on the planet, he has always been delusional, but when dennis is the most accessible and not clouded with wrath, mac just happens to be the most unaware person around him (notice how he is deeply unaware of what dennis thinks about him in s12 the gang tends bar, so much so that charlie is trying to tell him what dennis feels, yes he knows how dennis might be feeling in general (by getting him what he wanted) but he fails to understand dennis's feelings when he himself is involved

there are moments where they are in the same orbit so to speak, where dennis is mildly annoyed at him (and doesn't push him away) and mac is a bit more aware (of his importance to dennis) and these moments are the ones where we see their friendship, so underrated, shine in the very early seasons (season 5 and 6 especially)

these ships keep passing each other by... and now well, we are on another turning point as s16 finale actually saw dennis's rage simmer after reaching another apex (not in mac's presence this time, though he is halfway there, seething in 'frank v. russia') as dennis reaches the apex of his rage, mac says this to dennis in the episode before it happens, "yeah, we're hoping that you get mad out there and then you come back and you're happy."

[sunshiline-writes]

Sunny's Personal Horror November 2024 Challenge

Hello everyone. I am doing a personal Drabble challenge with mostly horror concepts. It's 300 words a day and was suggested to me by my dear lovely friend @/crash-bump-bring-the-whump . The list will be posted here and the links will be updated as I write them.

Feel free to join if you feel particularly inspired and @ me if you do! I would love to see everyone's little takes in my silly little challenge. Enjoy my little drabbles! _____________

1.) Rest

2.) Whipped

3.) buzzard

4.) Soft  

5. )Blood 

6.) Burrow 

7.) Pinned 

8.) Freeze 

9.) Lightheaded 

10.) Sleep Deprivation 

11.) Delicious 

12.) Small Town 

13.) Silence 

14.) Bone 

15.) anticipation 

16.) Crucifix 

17.) Sweet 

18.) Absence 

19.) Objectify 

20.) Watching 

21.) Howl 

22.) Shatter

23.) photograph 

24.) Kettle 

25.) In the Woods 

26.) Jaw 

27.) Piercing 

28.) Parasite 

29.) Drained 

30.) Throat 

31.) Alone

[lilac-udon]

Cringe au note for basil , wow I finally refining him

Trying to write mythical au basil, making more og basil alike, more depending on a toxic level. In my old drafts of maid Basil seems/felt more free and independent because he came out of that state (after realizing, the drafts of the jumping cliff incident) so became manageable to be more focused on stuff, having a very unstable goal to blindly following, but still heavily hallucinating just more manageable. This is also why he is always smiley, it is a state of detachment from reality. Prior to that he first becomes someone having difficulty living alone, any connection, or touch to him becomes obsession, and any form of interaction becomes “love(something)” in his eyes. And having sunny in his life reverses himself back to this unstable self. Personally see it more like a painful healing but both him and Sunny are very clueless of normal humans' kindness and normalcy. How they appreciate each other in action becomes very violent.

more easily to describe, Basil blocked/ lost self and senses I guess, he is scared of Sunny being different, someone the same as him that’s not the norm who won’t perish. This connection he never felt before in his hundreds of life driving him crazy, the funny of you don’t have anything but you also can’t have it

schizophrenia of continuous hallucinations and hearing voices, years of torture to the point he cannot live without it, it easier for others to tell (force)him what to do. That must be “love”, the only thing that is pleasurable in life, however, they never lasted. I am their _ _ _, love , hate, jealousy, kindness, obsession, anything, please look at me, please stay with me, please don’t let me alone

add, maid basil is not servicing towards sunny, and sunny rarely dominates towards basil. Basil acts randomly but he does not serve him, the man looks more like going to kill Sunny and himself if serious. Sunny shows aggression when hungry, rage, and low sanity. They act equally towards each other, and do things mostly independently, with no bluntowner, servant dynamics because of the outfit. ( was told by ppl they imagine it is like a very servant-owner type dynamic or something like that I’m shocked

[six-eyed-samurai]

trainers sunny and ying challenge you to a battle !

OMG OMG OMG DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW LONG I SAT THERE GAPING STUNNED LIKE

IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL I LITERALLY EXPLODED I'M GOING TO BE RANDOMLY SMILING AND GIGGLING WHILE KICKING MY FEET AT SCHOOL NOW BECAUSE I'LL SUDDENLY THINK OF IT I'M SO PROUD OF IT I'M SO HAPPY YOU DREW THIS I LOVE IT SO MUCH ONTO MY SCRAPBOOK, CORKBOARD, LOCKER AND SCHOOL DESK IT WILL ABSOLUTELY GO YOU BET YOUR ASS I'M SHOWING IT OFF SO PROUDLY

Sedate me I'm cackling so hard-

[ilovelickingrocks]

something to be said about the deeply dysfunctional and abusive but also tightly bound relationships and dynamics in it's always sunny in philadelphia. "shut up, charlie, i can talk to my son any way i want" says it all. frank traumatized both dennis and dee for their entire childhoods and then they end up stuck with him as a permanent fixture of their friend group when they're almost 30 and he stays with them for twenty years, and in that time he grows, he changes as a person, he becomes a surrogate father figure to charlie and mac, but at the same time, he becomes even more of a demented, morally corrupt person. he continues to mentally scar dennis and dee, showing them their dead mother's skeleton for the hell of it, but at the same time, he is part of their group. he's part of the gang. even when he stops being their dad, he's frank.

[wronghandcomic]

Here’s a color wheel for the characters from my comic Wrong Hand! I’m really happy with this.

[villainsidestep]

fawniel thoughts hour….

[ampheenix]

Sunflower Week 2023, Day 3- Movie Night!

“Wait, what?!”

The chair screeched loudly as it was pushed back, Hero standing up as he gaped at Sunny, who was  blinking at him from the other side of the table. “You two haven’t been on a single date?!”

Sunny slowly reached out and grabbed a slice of pizza, chewing thoughtfully.

After a moment he shook his head, and Hero’s eyes widened even more, practically bulging out of his skull. He grabbed his head with his hands, practically tearing out his hair as he whisper-yelled across the table.

“HOW?!”

Sunny shrugged, feeling unsure all of a sudden.

…It wasn’t that big of a deal, right…?

“But- but you two have been going out for months now!” Hero said in shock, slowly falling back onto the chair. “I- I mean, you have been, haven’t you?”

Sunny nodded.

“But- then… then, how- how..” Hero gestured helplessly, and Sunny shrugged again as he bit into his pizza, grimacing slightly as his fingers got all greasy.

Hero let out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the back of his seat, nabbing a piece of margherita from the plate. “Well then, there’s only one thing for it.”

Sunny simply raised an eyebrow in response, and Hero grinned.

“You need to plan a date, of course!”

- - -

Basil froze, damn near dropping the phone where he stood as a flush steadily rose on his cheeks. Was he dreaming?

He had to be dreaming, or- or mishearing somehow, there was no way...

“…Basil?” Sunny’s voice said softly down the phone, a bit scratchy from disuse.

“S-sorry, I’m here!” Basil said nervously, pressing it back against his ear as his mind raced. There- there were so many things that could go wrong!!

What if Sunny realised how horrible of a person he was and didn’t want to be with him anymore?? Would it be different from when they normally spent time together??

Would it be… He swallowed.

…Awkward?

“Are you f-free… um, Sunday?” Sunny’s voice said hesitantly, and Basil’s heart swelled, a small smile appearing on his face. Then again, it was Sunny, so it’d be fine no matter what, right?

“U-um���” He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I- I think so! Is it.. is alright if I just check with Polly quickly?” Basil said, smile widening.

He couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

“Okay.” Sunny’s voice murmured softly. “Sh… should I wait here?”

“U-um, yeah! Sure!!” Basil said quickly, before he put down the phone and sprinted out of the room, skidding into the kitchen where Polly stood, looking confused as she peered down at a recipe.

“Hmm…” Her brow scrunched up as she squinted, looking from the recipe book to the bubbling pot and back again. “This is not what the recipe says it should look like…”

“P-POLLY!!” Basil yelped, and that got her attention. He hardly ever raised his voice, after all.

“Basil? What’s the matter? Is something wrong??” Polly said worriedly, instantly looking up from her book and scanning him up and down for any injuries.

She sighed with relief as she found none, thank goodness. Her nerves still hadn’t recovered from that horrible scare a year or so ago…

“Polly.” Basil said, voice shaking, and she instantly looked up with concern only to see a huge, warm smile spreading across his face.

He reached up to fidget with the flower in his hair, the silly smile still on his face, before mumbling something.

Polly smiled, sensing good news already. “Sorry, what was that?”

“S- sunny asked me on a date.” Basil said softly, voice trembling from sheer excitement as his smile grew even wider.

Polly’s eyes widened, and her face split in a matching grin.

“Oh my! Basil, really?” She laughed, ruffling his hair and feeling her heart swell as he leaned into the touch slightly. This time last year, he would flinch back from gentle touches before she could even get close. “That’s just lovely, oh, Sunny’s such a sweet boy! When’s the date?”

“Next Sunday!” Basil said happily, before his smile slipped off his face, brow creasing in worry. “Oh no… what am I going to wear?! I-I mean, I don’t even know what type of date it is…”

Polly smiled devilishly. “Oh, don’t worry about that… Let’s just say I have a few ideas I’ve been storing up…”

- - -

Basil knocked on the door of the Suzuki household, an excited grin on his face. He bounced on his heels to try and get rid of the nervous energy that was stirring up his insides.

The door opened almost instantly. Sunny stood in the doorway, his eyes widening as they landed on the flower adorning Basil’s hair:

A creamy-white tulip, fresh from the garden.

Basil’s small smile grew as he noticed the blush slowly growing on Sunny’s cheeks… Polly was always full of such good ideas!

“Hi Sunny!” He said happily, but soon he was the one turning scarlet as Sunny took his hand, leading him inside. It felt… a bit different from normal, for some reason.

He felt a bit nervous, butterflies roiling in his stomach, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad different… it’d just take some time to get used to.

They settled themselves on the couch in front of the TV with plenty of blankets and a plate of choc-chip cookies, courtesy of Hero.

And with no further ado they pressed play, snuggled up on Sunny’s ridiculously comfy couch (after they cancelled the move they ended up buying a new sofa, as the old one had been all old and moth-eaten anyway, and it still had that delicious, leathery new couch smell to it.)

About half-way through Basil felt a small weight on his shoulder, and glanced over in confusion to see-

Oh. Oh.

Basil’s face slowly heated up as he realised Sunny’s head was resting on his shoulder… but this wasn’t right, what if Sunny wouldn’t want this if he was awake??

Basil subtly moved over slightly, hoping he wouldn’t be disturbed (the other’s sleeping face was adorable).

…But his plan backfired when Sunny ended up just slipping down further, until his head was resting on his chest. Sunny let out a small sigh as he seemed to unconsciously nuzzle into him, murmuring something softly as he slept.

Basil was a full-blown tomato at this point, not moving a muscle lest Sunny wake up.

Silently, he lifted a hand up from under the blanket, wondering if… if it was okay, if…

Carefully, Basil rested it on the other’s inky-black hair, a small smile spreading across his face as he gazed down at the Sunny’s rosy face, wholly relaxed in sleep. Basil slowly stroked the other’s hair as he continued watching the movie, a giddy grin on his face (it felt a bit creepy to just stare at Sunny’s face like that, heh.)

A small smile rested on Sunny’s face as he nuzzled further into Basil, melting into the gentle touch… it reminded him of when Mari used to play with his hair, half-asleep on the picnic blanket as the sun set…

It was warm. And safe.

…He liked it very much.

(And Hero’s suggestion to get Basil to cuddle with him had worked as well, surprisingly…)

Hope you enjoyed :))

[cybersunnie]

18+ / MDNI cock warming; f!reader (wc 992) with PATRICK ZWEIG

There was a story about the tortoise and the hare, and Patrick Zweig was the hare. 

Slow and steady wasn't exactly his style. 

He was quick and impulsive. Careless and arrogant. Annoyingly—or admirably?—persistent like the suffocating heat on a hot summer day. If you spared one glance at Patrick, you'd think he was nothing but smug. And he was well aware of all of this, too. He just never cared much about what other people thought of him, to begin with. 

But Patrick loved a challenge, and he sure liked taking his sweet time with you. Or, more accurately, he enjoyed making you squirm.

He'd have his cock stuffed inside your cunt, and tease you with lingering touches and chaste kisses until you caved in and begged him to fuck you. With Patrick, it was all fire and the wrong kind of love. But sometimes, when he felt a little nicer, he just wanted to be close to you, to become one with you, heartbeats linked and breathing the same breath.

And with how poorly he had been doing in his last few matches, he needed that semblance of human connection he had lost years ago.

The night was young, but Patrick was eager to have you. His hungry kisses left your lips raw, and his mouth traveled south and started to nip at your jaw, his nose digging into your cheek. Everything he did was to distract you. Distract you from the burning sensation you felt as his cock stretched you out.

"There you go, atta girl."

Patrick kept a firm grip on your hips, his thumbs caressing the skin there to soothe your nerves. You always got so flustered whenever you tried to take him. And that was because you felt all of him. The tuft of hair on his pubic bone, the veins on his cock. You'd whine, tell him that it was too much, that he was too big, as if your pussy wasn't made for him.

He liked it, though.

Because in the end, you looked so pretty, sitting on his fat cock. 

You heard him groan, low and guttural, and his large hands snaked up to your ribs, stopping just beneath your breasts. His touch was electrifying—everything about him was—and it sent a slight buzz through your body. And the sight of him alone wasn't helping. Patrick's wild hair and deep green eyes and that fucking smirk he never went without. But as much as you wanted to move, you couldn't. He wouldn't allow it. Not yet.

"Fuck, look at you." Patrick slid a hand further up to cup your breast, and you wondered if he could feel your pounding heart. "I could stare at you for hours."

You raised a brow. "I hope that's not the only thing you'll be doing."

"No, no," he said softly, his gaze darting over your face while he let his other hand wander, fingers tracing up your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. "But it's tempting."

Patrick watched you roll your eyes, and he chuckled, grasping your hips once again and squeezing. He wished he could just keep his cock inside you all night, your cunt keeping it warm and wet and snug. But you were always too fussy to stay still for long. He supposed that was his fault—he did like spoiling you, after all.

"I have an idea."

Ideas and Patrick Zweig didn't mix well. You learned that early on when you first met him. And as you looked into his eyes, seeing the playful mischief within, you knew you were in for a treat whether you liked it or not. 

He took your silence as an invitation to continue, so he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear and voice velvety, "We should do this in front of a mirror next time." 

Or maybe ideas and Patrick Zweig did mix well.

Your mind started to reel, imagination running wild. But Patrick painted the picture for you like it was something he had been thinking about for a while. 

"You'd have no choice but to look at yourself—to look at just how fucking pretty you are when you're like this," Patrick whispered, his voice beginning to get lost in the heat and longing. "I'd keep your legs spread nice and wide so that you can see how my dick looks stuffed inside your sweet pussy." You squirmed, but his grip tightened around your hips. A silent warning to stay still. "Maybe you'd finally understand why I do this to you every time."

He pulled away from your ear, a hand leaving your hip to caress your cheek, his touch soft despite his calloused palm. All you could do was stare at him with a tight chest. "I care about you, you know," he laughed as if to hide the sincerity behind his words. "I'm not just trying to get a quick fuck. I wanna take my time, stay close to you longer." 

For once, his name tasted sweet on your tongue. "Patrick."

It was a prayer disguised as a whisper, a plea for his words to be true. And he hummed, his lips brushing yours as he uttered your name back. If this was the wrong kind of love, why did it feel so right? Why did he feel so right?

You tried to swallow down your pride. "Please."

"Please, what?" Patrick asked, but he knew what you wanted. He was connected to you. Your thoughts were his, too. "C'mon, use your words, baby."

But you couldn't bring yourself to say more, to accept defeat. You pulled your lips taut.

"No? Nothing?" He tilted his head, and his signature smirk was back. "Well, let me know when you figure it out."

And while Patrick was much like the hare, he knew he needed to take it slow and steady when it came to you. You would surrender to him sooner or later. You always did.

author's note: i have very mixed feelings abt this 😄 ANYWHO i will gladly give patrick everything he needs which is a shower and a bed

UNEDITED — 05.14.2024

[chaitantei-ao3]

15

“Dennis, Hey! Wait for me!”

A plaster stricken Charlie hobbles towards him, there’s water spots all over his pants and his lips are grey and smeared like he’s huffed glue.

“What.” Dennis says and Charlie stops in his tracks staring at him, his body fidgeting involuntarily, he runs a hand through his grimy hair. “Dude, what have you been doing here?”

“Fixing Dee’s pipes.”

“What about Paddy’s?”

“Man, they are very different from Paddy's, you know. I licked one in the back which was like zinc instead of copper. You can’t really make it out like that. Also it also had a rusty taste…I need to tell Dee’s to get hers repainted. You do not know how crazy the prices can get later. If you do the small stuff today it really pays off. You know what I mean. Anyway… she might have a leak, I think. The sanitation inspector would have shut down the place the minute they stepped in but that’s like a hygiene thing and more of a worry at Paddy’s which-”

“Enough!” Dennis shouts, briefly looking at his side and about to say can you believe this guy . But Mac’s not there. “Why are you not fixing Paddy’s pi- er whatever there’s to fix?”

“Mac fired me.”

“What?”

“We got into this thing in the morning, you know. Mac said-”

“Charlie I was there. ”

“You were?” Charlie looks at him, “Oh yeah. I was about to talk to you about it. He was going about the crucifix and it’s like- God saving the bar and…” Charlie raises both brows, “That’s kinda- I told him that it doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Yes.” Dennis says, “Yes! It’s complete nonsense.”

“Yeah.” Charlie looks at him. “But then he fired me. And… that’s not fair. That’s not American.”

Dennis raises a hand, “You know what. I agree with you. I’ll talk to him.”

Charlie grins wide, “Cool.”

“After all, you know that it was… me who ended up saving it, right.”

Charlie squints, “Save what?”

“The bar.” Dennis deadpans, “I was the one who stopped you from making that mistake and the reason Frank got back those papers.”

“ You were?” Charlie’s forehead creases. “When you knocked down my crates. That was a total bastard move, man.”

“That is what saved the goddamn bar!”

“I mean-” Charlie says, “I don’t like exactly see the-”

“You were going to burn it up. You know what-” Dennis pinches his forehead. “Forget it.”

“Look. I mean…” Charlie rotates his fingers, “If you wanted the trash man, I get it. You could have told me you wanted to plug holes, I saved some for myself cause Frank-”

“I did not want to plug any holes!”

“Well then-” Charlie says, “I guess whatever happened…. Frank’s staying so… it’s good? Sometimes things just…play out?”

“Just.. play out?!”

“Yeah like I was supposed to play this thing for Ms. Betty’s music class but I couldn’t really um see those uh weird squiggly things on paper. But then I closed my eyes and I thought about the wind and-and the way Ms. Betty’s foot went tap tap and tap. And how this one key made a very high noise like a cat’s yowl and I watched out for the spider cause he fucks things-”

“Is there any point to this?” Dennis says watching Charlie’s grime covered nails move slightly up and down like he’s playing an invisible piano.

“I thought it was in my head but then I could hear it everywhere. And I feel like… that’s just how the universe is. Like… it’s this big song and if you listen to it…things just play out? And hey maybe you heard it-”

“Yeah...Charlie.” Dennis says and pastes on a big smile, “The song. You’re right, let’s just wait for the universe to play it out. Let the stars align in harmony. hm.” Dennis spreads his arms out, looking at Charlie “-so that when Mac looks at the night sky they-they sing to him.” he turns around, “and give him your message cause I will not.”

“I mean that could work too.”

“Charlie?!”

“Coming!”

Dennis shakes his head and leaves.

Read more

[sunshiline-writes]

She had never seen so many flowers.

(For five-sentence fic prompts!)

The town burned behind her. Making her eyes water with smoke. She walked away from the scene behind her. Taking a deep breath of fresh air once she was far enough away. Isobele kept walking, kept walking until she was over a hill and the sight over the hill took her breath away again. She had never seen so many flowers. Isobele wondered if they were as many as the lives she had taken. Falling to her knees, she then turned and laid on her back in them. The flowers she had never seen. Will probably never see again. She surrounded herself in them. Even if it was just for a second.

[xawkward-ariesx]

I'm rereading a fic of mine to contextualise a comment I got it and my god I meant to write 'tooth and nail' but the dw brain rot is so deep that I unironically put 'tooth and claw' kill me

[sunnie-angel]

help, i’ve been working on a fic and it is fighting me so hard. i’ve written three successive conversations (set in the same day) and i’m already past 2.5k. ordinarily I would be happy to write so much for a single fic already, except i need to move this chapter several months along so i can get to the actual plot development.

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

author’s note thank you to this anon!! this fic deviates from canon. timeline is s2 when rafe is at his most unhinged.

» masterlist

disclaimer there is no explicit s/xual assault scene in this story, but it is referenced and the trauma that comes with surviving it is explored. it is committed by an original character. when writing this, i pulled from personal experience, so please be mindful that if you comment, do not engage in any victim-blaming as it is triggering to me and others.

·········

In a single harrowing moment, you’ve learned that there’s truth to the expression that the enemy of your enemy can be your friend.

Rafe looks all too comfortable holding a gun. The rage coursing through you is deafening, persuading you that the person he’s pointing it at deserves to die.

And then, you utter the words rising in your throat.

“Do it.”

╰┈➤ two days earlier

Your shifts at the country club are a repetitive motion of driving over the golf course’s hills, handing the island’s wealthiest people their overpriced drinks, and accepting their money with a fake smile.

The job was always a predictable bore. Until a week ago, when you started seeing a familiar face.

The moment Rafe’s eyes landed on you and he realized that one of the Pogues he revels in berating is the new cart girl, his lips twitched into a smirk.

Every time you see him, he does the same thing. He orders a beer and says here you go, sweetheart when he tips you.

It’s always a fifty. No other club member gives you nearly this much. It’s like he loves reminding you that this type of money is pocket change to him.

Every time you serve him, you subdue your glare and take the crisp bill that sits between his fingers, wondering why even though the man is an arrogant asshole, you can’t stop staring at him.

You feel weak for not hating him all the way. You can’t help that over the years of your tense, sporadic interactions, a part of you has always wondered if he feels the same pull of attraction that you do.

You have to remind yourself of who he is. A man committed to letting everyone know how much better he thinks he is because he was lucky enough to be born into money. He’s heartless. And you can’t wait for the day that you finally rid yourself of this fixation you have for him.

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon at the end of a long shift and you’re parked by one of the paved pathways on the course, recording your last transaction in your logbook.

You hear the familiar whirring of a cart passing by. It stops. You don’t think much of it until you hear his voice.

“We’ll take two beers,” he calls from behind the steering wheel. You look up to see him. Rafe.

“I’m obviously off duty,” you reply curtly, looking between him and his friend.

“What, so you can write in your diary, but you can’t give us some drinks?” he calls.

“It’s a logbook,” you reply coldly. “It’s called having–”

You flatten your lips together, trying to control yourself.

“Having…?” he challenges. The mocking tone of his voice is what makes you snap.

“A job,” you reply. “Not everyone can live off of daddy’s money.”

Rafe huffs a laugh, a wisp of amusement flashing on his face.

“Careful, Pogue,” he says. “What’ll your boss say if he knows that’s how you’re talking to me?”

“I’m off the clock, Kook,” you say the label with the same vitriol. “I can talk however I want.”

You close your book and start up your cart before he can irritate you any more. Even though there’s something aggravatingly magnetic about him, you refuse to allow him to taunt you any longer.

·········

You meet up with your friends on the beach that evening, zoning out as the three of them chatter around you, passing a joint you brought.

You stare ahead at the soft waves under the setting sun, thinking of Rafe’s cold stare, thinking of the smirk he seems to always have etched on his face reserved especially for you, thinking of how you wish your body would catch up with your mind because how can you dislike somebody this much but also be so attracted to them?

“Who’s your plug?” JJ asks, seemingly impressed. He pulls you out of your daze as he passes you the joint. Smoke curls out of the end of it, twisting in the wind.

“That guy, Porter,” you say flatly. You take a puff, thinking back to the shaggy-haired Kook who approached you at a party on the north side of the island the other night, offering you half the price on your first buy.

He also tried to convince you to try something harder, but you told him you’re sticking to pot. You weren’t about to get hooked on coke, especially not because a drug-dealing Kook wants to take more of your money.

You continue to stare ahead, passing the joint along.

“What a trust fund kid name,” JJ laughs. “Fuckin’ Porter.”

Your friends chuckle around you, but you continue to stare ahead.

“Hard day at the office?” he says in response to your absentmindedness. You meet JJ’s gaze, shaking your head as if to dismiss your own thoughts.

“Rafe is such an asshole,” you say.

“What’d he do this time?” Pope asks. Your friends await your response, already well aware of your history with the bullshit you’ve ever had to deal with at work lately.

“He said something about ratting me out to my boss for talking back to him,” you reply. You scoff, getting mad all over again. You need to pull yourself out of this funk. “Whatever. All I do is complain about him. He’s not worth it. This is the last time you’ll ever hear me talk about him. I mean it.”

You make an effort to join in your friends’ conversations, feeling guilty that you’re so spaced out. With parents who never give you much attention at all, the guys surrounding you are your family. Your brothers. They deserve better than to hear you ramble on about Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes travel over the silhouettes sitting along the darkening shoreline when he arrives at the beach with his friends.

It’s the sound of his pick-up truck’s door shutting that gets your attention. You look over your shoulder. Then, you glance away, indifference on your face.

It pisses him off. Rafe has always craved what he can’t have. Power. Self-control. You. Every time he talks to you, you act like he’s such a bother, a sharp thorn in your side.

You get under his skin. And he’s never wanted a girl this bad. A goddamn Pogue of all people. Something about you lures him in. It makes him want to see what really lies behind the irritation that burns in your eyes every time he speaks to you.

He needs to crack your armor. And he has always loved a challenge.

As the beach populates, the division between the Kooks and the Pogues is clear, as if an invisible line is drawn in the sand. He stays on his side, you stay on yours.

When night falls, you and your friends have all smoked through the entire joint, and you’re a bit buzzed but not nearly as high as you’d like to be.

You spot Porter by the shoreline, drinking with his friends, and dust the sand off your knees when you stand up.

“I’m gonna go buy some more,” you say to your friends.

“Going into enemy territory?” JJ asks.

“It’s nothing new to me,” you laugh. “I work in enemy territory, remember?”

“You need company? Or cash?” John B asks.

“All good. My treat,” you say. “I’m loaded with tips.”

You don’t mention that a majority of the money in your pocket is from Rafe.

As you approach the boisterous group, you cross your arms and feign confidence. In reality, being around these types has always put you on edge.

Kooks give off a sense of invincibility, almost impunity, like predators at the top of the food chain, perpetually safe from harm and always on the brink of inflicting it.

You notice Rafe’s stare on you from his place in the large group and your stomach twists. Your eyes flit off of him and you wonder how it’s possible to wish someone would stay away but also so deeply crave they’d come closer.

Truthfully, within the tangled way he makes you feel, you’re kind of scared of Rafe, too. He’s reckless and unpredictable. And yet, that side of him excites you. There’s a complexity to him that has an inescapable effect on you.

“You holding?” you ask Porter once you approach him. He’s one of the few Kooks you don’t mind so much. He doesn’t have the cold air of arrogance that you’re so used to.

“It’s good shit, isn’t it?” he says with a smile. “How much you want?”

You leaf through the bills in your hand.

“Just a joint,” you say. The waves crash behind you, almost drowning your voice out. You make the exchange and push through the crowd, eager to get back to your friends.

You thought you managed to get away without any complications, but two words stop you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Rafe, overwhelming heat rushing through you as he closes the distance between you, towering over you as the breeze brushes his hair over his forehead.

“What, ‘cause I’m on your side of the beach?” you mutter. “Grow up.”

Rafe smirks. He gets such a kick out of fucking with the Pogues. Especially you.

“Is that what you’re spending my tips on?” he asks, eyes darting down to the joint in your hand.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can tell your father I say thanks.”

Rafe’s mouth curls into a bigger smile. When he looks at you like that, like he wants to be around you, you wonder if he secretly enjoys your company.

“How long you been buying from him?” Rafe asks.

“Why?” you say. The way you glare at him makes every muscle in his body tense. He’d be an idiot to deny how attracted he is to you. “You gonna tell my boss?”

“It was a fucking joke,” he mutters with a laugh. “You Pogues all have sticks up your asses, I swear.”

You grit your teeth. He’s clearly pleased when he riles you up like this. You don’t understand how somebody could be so spiteful.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you say.

Silence settles between you, the chattering of people on either side of the beach intertwined in the air, an overlap of worlds far apart. He reminds himself that he has something important to ask you.

“Did he offer you anything else?” he says. You’ve already heard the gossip about how Rafe’s selling coke now. He must want to offer you a better price.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you reply. Rafe scoffs, his tongue jutting under his cheek as he takes you in.

“I’d never sell to you.”

You huff a flat chuckle. You’re tired of his juvenile obsession with the class divide that sits between you.

“So, I’m good enough to serve you drinks, but not good enough to buy your drugs?”

You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when his face hardens with anger. For a second, you worry that you’re just as spiteful as he is, that you’re no better than him.

Rafe scoffs. He’s seen what coke does to people. To himself. He refuses to see it happen to you. But of course you expect the worst of him. Like everyone else does.

“Did he offer you anything else or not?” Rafe repeats with a note of irritation.

“Why?” you sputter.

“I need to know if he’s trying to steal from me.”

Rafe refuses to be in competition with anyone. Other Kooks can sell weed all they want, but coke is his territory, and if he has to claim his territory, so be it. He’s heard rumblings that Porter’s expanded his offerings now. And Rafe isn’t going to let him fuck him over.

“He did,” you finally answer. “Coke. He said it’s the purest on the island.”

He only nods tersely, lips twisting in frustration, before he turns around and storms away from you. So, that’s all he wanted from you. Information.

“You’re welcome,” you half-shout. Curiosity pulls you in as your eyes follow him into the crowd. Sure enough, Rafe pushes Porter to the ground, shouting indistinctly, earning jeers from the crowd.

It’s typical. Nearly every time you see Rafe out socially, he’s yelling and fighting someone. You walk back to your friends, hoping you can shake off the feeling he left you with.

·········

The only thing getting you through your shift the next day is that tomorrow is a holiday. The night of the Fourth of July is an escape from the stresses of your life, an excuse to get wasted with your friends under the fireworks and let yourself drift off into oblivion.

After you clock out, you’re pacing through the country club’s bar when you hear your name called from the patio. You look to see Porter sitting at a table with a couple of friends, his smile wide.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he says when you approach.

“Yeah, I’m a server on the course,” you explain. You almost expect him to ignorantly ask for a drink, but have to remind yourself that he’s not like Rafe.

“How is it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on, we won’t tell,” Porter chuckles. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes,” you reply with a laugh. “Depends on the day. And on the person I’m dealing with.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He pulls out his phone, punching in the password. “I meant to tell you last night that you should have my number. You know, for when you need to stock up.”

You take his phone, cluing in that he’s making himself more accessible to you for the next time you need to buy from him. As you text yourself his name, one of the men at the table motions to Porter.

“Bro,” his friend says, gaze trained ahead. Porter looks past you to the bar and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Can’t escape him,” he sighs.

You follow his eyeline to spot Rafe at the bar with a friend, dark liquor sitting in the glass he’s holding.

“Not a fan?” you ask.

“Is anyone?” Porter laughs. “He’s a nutcase.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” his friend murmurs.

“Yeah, he’ll kill you,” the other guy laughs.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Porter replies.

Your eyes linger on Rafe a second longer than they need to. Your curiosity for why he’s the way he is is like a flame that won’t burn out. He has everything he could possibly want. Why is he so mean?

“Yeah,” is all you can say. You turn around again and give Porter his phone back.

“Oh, there’s a party at my beach house tomorrow night. My neighbor does this crazy fireworks thing every year,” he tells you. “I’ll text you the address.”

You nod appreciatively, glad that at least some of the rich people you deal with don’t buy into the idea that you’re beneath them.

·········

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you make it to the beach house the next night. The guys are rambling on behind you as you step inside the massive, humid house, filled with chattering people and loud music.

“Where are your car keys?” Pope asks.

“Right here,” JJ says, jingling them in front of his face. “Do I need to show you every five minutes?”

“I’ll just take them,” Pope says, grabbing them and stuffing them in his pocket. “You can’t be trusted.”

“It was one time,” JJ says. You laugh as you think of last weekend when he’d lost his car keys at a party in the Cut.

“Yeah, and we had to search the sand for, like half an hour,” you remind him.

“You know what I’m not hearing?” JJ says. “A thank you for driving all the time.”

“Remind me, who actually drove last time?” John B asks. “And who was hurling in the backseat?”

JJ scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m a man of honor,” he says. “I’m not not going to chug when I’m told to chug.” His eyes fix on something across the room. “Speaking of…”

He heads towards the keg and you and Pope share a disapproving shake of your heads. You follow your friends, grabbing a solo cup and sipping on beer.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a text from Porter: You here? Want to buy?

You’ve already smoked through the joint you bought two nights ago and quickly reply: yes.

He texts: come upstairs.

“I’ll be right back,” you quickly tell your friends before you push through the crowd.

You duck under the string tied across the bottom of staircase, a sign that warns partygoers that it’s off limits hanging in the middle. One door is open in the upstairs hallway. You see Porter sitting on a bed, rolling a joint on a book that’s sitting in his lap.

“Hey. Got a fresh one for you,” he says.

“Thanks.” You dig into your pocket. “Same price?”

“Sure.” He cocks his head. “It’ll take a while. You can come in and chill.”

You sit at his desk close to the door, talking as he packs the thin white paper.

When he stands up, instead of giving the joint to you, he darts across the room abruptly. Your brows knit in confusion when he shuts the door, the loud music reduced to muffles now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fear twisting your heart in a vise.

He must have read things wrong.

You assume he’ll stop when you tell him no.

He doesn’t.

·········

You fall to the hard floor. You grip the edge of the bed, hardly any light spilling into the room from the hallway as you blink rapidly to gain your bearings.

A loud slam was what woke you up. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t even know where you are.

Two shadowy figures stand on the other side of the room. One roughly pushes the other to the floor. You stay still, peeking over the bed. Your body is trembling with pain and you don’t know why.

“Do you think I’m joking?” a man spits.

You know that voice. It’s Rafe.

“Dude, relax,“ the man on the floor says.

You might be sick. It’s Porter on the floor, whimpering like an idiot. You remember why your body is aching now.

He hurt you. He hurt you and you retreated into your mind and you fell unconscious. A cold swirl of anger and disgust and sadness twists your stomach into a knot.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking way,” Rafe shouts. “Where’s your stash?”

“In the desk,” Porter says quietly. “Just take it. I’ll stick to selling weed, okay? You have my word.”

You watch from the floor, Rafe’s broad figure leaning to pull open drawers and shove items off the desk, objects clattering on the floor in the dark. They don’t know you’re here.

Consciousness slowly grips you. Rafe confronted him about selling coke. He told him to stop. And Porter didn’t listen.

Your eyes flood with hot tears. He didn’t listen to you, either.

You just want to leave. To get out of this horrifying room. To figure out how to put yourself back together after surviving one of the worst ways a person can break another.

Loud fireworks abruptly crack in the sky, startling you, shining light in through the window. And that’s when you see it. Porter is by the other side of the bed, still on the floor, and in his raised hand, something is gleaming.

A gun.

“Rafe!” Your throat is dry, sore from the way you’d screamed.

He suddenly turns towards you, confusedly finding your face across the room. Then, his gaze snaps down at Porter. He notices the gun. And he lunges.

You stand on shaky knees as you watch Rafe land vicious punches, every blow making Porter groan.

“Gonna pull a gun when my back is turned, pussy?” Rafe bellows. “Really?”

You round the bed, staring in horror, your mind still in fragmented shambles. You’d told Porter to stop so many times and every strike of Rafe’s knuckles against his jaw gives you a jolt of satisfaction, a desire for him to suffer more.

He was never a nice guy. He’s just like all of them. A predator.

Rafe scrambles to his feet, heavily breathing as fireworks continue their pops and sizzles over the beach.

The gun is in his hand now. His heart is thrumming, his blood boiling hot. He could’ve died. If you didn’t call his name, he could’ve lost his life.

Rafe’s steady and firm, holding the weapon still, a sharp contrast to how hard you’re shaking.

“Do it,” you say. Rafe’s eyes finds yours, his lips parted, blood splattered on his face. It’s not his. Porter didn’t land any punches. Rafe beat him that badly.

“What?” Porter cries. “Are you insane?”

He’s staring up at both of you through wide eyes as the barrel of the gun remains directed at him. You imagine how terrifying you must look to him, standing over him in the dim room with his pathetic life in your hands.

“Me?” you mutter. Hatred courses through your veins when you glare at him as he lies on his side, bloodied and weak.

The power has shifted into your hands. He was the one looking down at you earlier, hurting you. And now that your body is yours again, you don’t hesitate to kick him in the stomach.

He grunts when you make contact, his body curling forward.

Rafe watches, rendered speechless. He thought he’d seen you angry before. He hasn’t. This is new. This is pure rage. This is a level of wrath he didn’t know you were capable of.

Even through the darkness, Rafe can see that your eyes are shiny with tears when you turn your head to look at him again.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” you snap, your words dripping with agony and rage. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Rafe is powerless against the angry, malevolent instinct that’s guided him all his life. He doesn’t think.

The blow of the gun cuts through the air.

Your breath catches.

And he’s just a body. Lifeless on the floor. Gone.

You look up at Rafe. Your chests are heaving, broken and shaky breaths spilling out of your mouths. The colors lighting up the night sky tint your tear-streaked face. He’s never seen agony personified. He has now.

You glance down at Porter again. His mouth is agape. His eyes are shut. Forever. Forever.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. Hot tears fall over your cheeks so quickly that you fear they’ll never stop. The adrenaline escapes you like water spinning down a drain, replaced with a bottomless dread.

Rafe realizes he’s still pointing the gun. He lowers his arm, his palm sweating against the grip. He had to do it. He had to. He didn’t know that taking a life would feel this good. He doesn’t feel a shred of regret or remorse. For once, he has real power.

But then he watches the way you sink down to the floor.

“What did we…” you whisper, words rushed. “What did we do? Rafe, what did we do?”

There’s a dead body next to you. Cold permeates your bones. You know it’s the type of chill that will never leave you.

Rafe kneels in front of you. The gun hits the floor with a heavy thump. The air smells like gunpowder, fried and smoking. He’s trying to meet your eyes, but your gaze is skittering around as you sit, crumpled and trembling.

“Hey,” he says clearly.

You’re staring at the ground, your breaths shallow.

“Hey,” he repeats louder. Finally, you look at him. “It was self-defense.”

You nod weakly, processing how within a second, you’ve tangled yourselves together into a knot that you can never unravel. Rafe pulled the trigger, but you told him to. And you’re sure you would’ve done it yourself if Rafe didn’t. You’re murderers.

Rafe’s hand is an inch away from you, almost putting it on yours, almost touching someone with tenderness instead of anger for once. You saved his life. You loathe him, but you saved his life, reacting in a split second.

“Why were you even up here?” he asks.

“Just be glad I was,” you say, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

If you weren’t so shellshocked, you’d laugh. You never expected Rafe to have manners, and you never expected that if he did, it’d be a show of gratitude for helping him kill somebody.

Nausea pools in your gut at the reminder of why you were so angry. Did Porter plan it? Did he always have his sights set on you, like a vulture circling the sky, ready to attack?

What happened earlier tonight flashes through your mind. He deserved to die. He did something unforgivable. He said things about how girls always do this, they always tease but never give it up.

You didn’t just save Rafe. You saved all the girls who were fated to cross that monster’s path. You pushed a soul to its death, but it was one not worthy of life.

Rafe stares at you as you blink rapidly, your mind clearly racing.

“He rip you off or something?” he asks, at a loss for why you’d encourage him to pull the trigger.

Of course Rafe thinks it’s about money. That’s all that matters to him.

“Yeah,” you lie, voice cracking. You can’t tell him. You can’t relive it. Especially with someone who you know is cold-blooded. Someone who might blame you for coming up to this bedroom in the first place.

Tease. Porter called you a tease while you pleaded for him to stop. You drop your head in your hands, chest stuttering with your breathy cries, remembering how he’d hurt you.

Rafe stares at you, confused, wondering how you could be so angry and vengeful and ruthless, just to regret it a second after the bullet left the chamber.

“We had to do it,” he states.

“I know,” you tell him. You wipe your cheeks with your palms, well aware that he could never understand why you’re really crying. “We’ll just tell the truth.”

He shakes his head at you.

“Tell who the truth?” Rafe mutters, his stare hard. “We’re not telling anybody.”

Your breath shakes. He wants to hide this. To try to get away with it.

“What if someone heard the gunshot?” you murmur.

“Everyone’s outside,” he says. “And those stupid fireworks are so fucking loud. Nobody could tell the difference.”

You wipe your face again, considering his words. Your phone is buzzing in your pocket. Someone’s calling you. Surely one of your friends. Why didn’t you just tell them where you were going? Why didn’t you just have one of them come upstairs with you?

Impatience quickly rises in Rafe while you stay silent.

“I almost knocked him out the other night,” he says. “In front of everyone. You think backing me up would be enough for anyone to believe I was protecting myself?”

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. Rafe has a reputation for being violent. Porter put up a front that he was a nice guy. His friends even said right in front of you that Rafe would kill him. Who’d believe that Porter actually pointed a gun first?

Besides, if you vouched for him, who’s to say they’d trust you? They could spin it and say Rafe paid off a Pogue to lie for him.

“And then the cops would dig and find out it was over coke,” Rafe sputters. “It’d be a fucking mess. We’re not telling anybody.”

He’s right. Confessing wouldn’t do you any good, either. It could go sideways and you could never afford a good lawyer.

Nobody deserves to be punished for taking down the evil, lifeless man lying on the floor. Not you. Not even Rafe. You won’t take the risk.

You gaze into Rafe’s eyes, finding comfort in the striking blue hue for the first time, feeling a newfound sense of loyalty to him.

He gave you vengeance in a world that would never punish the man who hurt you. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you whisper. “What do we do now?”

“We get rid of the body.”

next >

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[chibinasuu]

Date? | Zoro x Reader

Summary: Zoro asked you out on a date. (You thought it was just an errand run at the market)  Tags: fluff, pre-relationship, first date(?), GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

a/n: happy birthday zoro!! this is not a birthday-centric fic, just wanted to write something fluffy for the birthday boy :)

You sat on one of the swings on the main deck of the Thousand Sunny, gently swaying as you waited for Zoro. As the minutes ticked by, you started impatiently glancing at the door to the boys’ room. 

It was taking Zoro unexpectedly long to get ready today when he usually only needed less than five minutes to throw on whatever non-wrinkled, semi-clean clothes he could find strewn around beneath his hammock. 

“Want to go to the market with me today? Just us two?” was what Zoro asked you this morning. Of course, you said yes without a second thought. It wasn’t unusual for you to accompany Zoro on errand runs whenever you docked at a new island – it seemed the crew had appointed you as his (un)official chaperone, tasked with ensuring the directionally challenged swordsman could find his way back to the ship at the end of the day. With that being said, you couldn’t say that you didn’t enjoy every single second you got to be alone with your green-haired crewmate.

The Sunny was currently docked at a small, but lively harbor town. Nami already scoped out the area this morning, and she reported that, thankfully, there were no marine bases here, so the crew could spend the next three days in peace while waiting for the log pose to set.

Some muffled bickering came from inside the boys’ room and you were straining your ears to hear what they were saying when the door suddenly swung open. Zoro was quickly shoved out of the room by a pair of hands you recognized as Usopp’s, and a telltale flash of blonde hair, before the door slammed shut, told you that the cook was also in on… whatever this was. 

You looked at the man in front of you, his green hair still slightly damp from a bath (he took a bath?) but combed neatly. He was wearing a black, slightly oversized, short-sleeved shirt – unbuttoned over a white tank top – paired with some light blue jeans. 

You could only gape in awe, genuinely taken aback at the sight of him actually dressing up for once, but at your silence, Zoro stiffened and did a one-eighty, reaching for the doorknob, “I’m gonna go change.”

You touched his arm lightly to stop him, “No, don’t.”

He turned to face you again, and you placed your hand on his shoulder as you admitted, “You look really great. It suits you.”

The tips of Zoro’s ears turned red at your compliment. A breeze suddenly picked up, bringing about faint traces of lemon and eucalyptus… Was he wearing cologne?

You couldn’t help but lean towards him, inching your nose closer to his neck to catch another whiff of the lovely aroma. As if reading your thoughts, Zoro said, “Usopp sprayed it on me before I could get away.”

Ah, so that’s why the scent was familiar. You’ve smelled it on the sniper a few times before, but on Zoro, the cologne smelled slightly different, tinged with a scent that was so uniquely him. 

“Well, you smell fantastic.” You reassured him. “Shall we go?”

The walk to the market was brief, with you and Zoro strolling side-by-side in companionable silence. As the hustle and bustle of the market came within sight, you nudged him and asked, “What did you need from the market, by the way?”

“I didn’t really need anything in particular,” He thought for a bit, “But I guess I’m running low on sword polish.”

After Zoro made a quick purchase at the arms shop, you two wandered around the market with no directions in mind, stopping at whichever stall caught your eye. 

An old lady sat behind one, carefully weaving a bracelet out of thin, colorful threads. Her table was filled with more of her creations, each of them with unique patterns and color combinations. You picked one that you thought was the prettiest, admiring the intricate details of the different shades of green mingling to create a mesmerizing design. You checked the price tag and put it back down. As much as you wanted it, you really needed to restrain yourself. You told yourself you didn’t need another accessory – not when you just purchased a pricey silver necklace at the last island. 

A few stalls down was a table laden with vials and bottles of all sizes, and you excitedly dragged Zoro by the sleeve towards it. 

“Welcome, welcome!” The owner of the kiosk greeted you, “We have fragrances of every kind here – even imported oils from Alabasta! Do you have any particular scent you prefer?”

“Oh, it’s not for me!” You smiled before jerking your thumb at your companion, “I want to find something for him.”

“Well, take a look around.” He gestured to the samples, “I’m sure we can find something suitable for your boyfriend.”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks as you frantically waved your hand, while Zoro was similarly flustered.

“He’s not–”

“We’re not–, I mean–”

The two of you gave up explaining as the man profusely apologized for making inappropriate assumptions. After you assured him that it was fine, he began putting drops of the different fragrant oils on small pieces of paper and handed them to you. You sniffed each of them, bringing the ones you found interesting up to Zoro’s nose. All of the scents were alluring in their own ways, but one in particular stood out to you. It opened with a fresh burst of bergamot, layered with a spicy rush of cardamom and a hint of green tea. 

“How’s this?” You offered the paper to Zoro.

He took a cautious sniff, and his eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Zoro was never really into colognes or perfumes, but he was surprised at how much he actually liked the scent you picked for him.

He nodded and you beamed, turning towards the merchant, “We’ll take this one!”

As the man filled a vial with the fragrant oil, you reached into your pocket for some Berries, but Zoro’s hand on your wrist stopped you, “You don’t have to–“

“I know.” You cut him off, “But I want to.”

You grinned at him, “You can wear it the next time we hang out, so you don’t have to borrow Usopp’s.”

A smile slowly crept up Zoro’s lips, “Thanks.” 

The merchant was wrapping up the glass vial when Zoro tapped you on the shoulder, “Hey, I need to go to the restroom. Wait here for a minute.”

Before you could stop him, he was gone. 

Your heart dropped. If there was one rule to going anywhere with Zoro, it was to never let him out of your sight.

You quickly handed some coins to the merchant and began searching in the direction that Zoro went, standing on your tiptoes to look over the crowd in hopes of catching sight of that familiar green. You were just starting to descend into a panic when a hand suddenly grabbed yours. 

“I’m right here,” Zoro said softly into your ear.

You smacked him lightly on the chest, “Don’t run off like that again! You scared me!”

“Sorry,” He grinned, before shrugging and saying nonchalantly, “But you know what, I don’t know how but I could always find my way back if it’s to you.”

You wondered if he knew the effect he had on you.

Your grip on his hand tightened just a little bit. You knew he was just holding your hand so you wouldn’t lose each other in this crowded market, but you couldn’t prevent your pulse from quickening at the feeling of his strong hand in yours. It certainly didn���t help that he didn’t let go even after you left the market and the crowd behind you. 

You caught a glimpse of a massive flower field at the edge of town and tugged Zoro’s hand to grab his attention, “Nami heard that field’s a popular picnic spot for the locals. Sure looks pretty, doesn’t it?”

“Wanna check it out?” 

You looked at the field longingly before shaking your head, “It’s getting late, maybe tomorrow. We should probably head back to the ship for dinner soon.” 

“Actually,” Zoro said, “I was thinking we could try out one of those restaurants in town, if you’re up for it?”

You were surprised at Zoro’s suggestion – he was normally the type to return to the ship as early as possible and take a good, long nap after a day out – but you agreed to it nonetheless. When else would you get a chance to dine with your swordsman, just the two of you?

The restaurant Zoro took you to was a quaint place, but the food they served was beyond your expectations. Zoro was unusually talkative throughout dinner, and you couldn’t say that you didn’t adore this side of him. You two laughed and chatted through bites of steaks and sips of beer, and then dinner was over before you realized, far sooner than you would’ve liked. 

The walk back to the ship was also shorter than you remembered. As you walked beside Zoro, fingers brushing in featherlight touches, you had to resist the temptation of linking your fingers with his. The night was getting chillier and you would give anything to feel his warm hand in yours again, but you know you shouldn’t. This was just a friendly outing anyway – you wouldn’t want him to think that you got the wrong idea, or worse, what if he rejected your advances?

Zoro walked you all the way to the door of your quarters, “Did you have fun today?”

“I did.” You smiled up at him, “Best day I had in a while, to be honest.”

All of a sudden, Zoro took your wrist and slipped something onto it, “A return gift. For the perfume oil you bought me.” 

Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed that it was the green woven bracelet that you admired earlier. He must’ve gotten it when you were briefly separated at the market.  

“Oh, Zoro,” You leaped toward him, bringing your arms around his neck and enveloping him in a big hug, “Thank you!” 

Zoro’s arms tentatively wrapped around your waist and you melted into his embrace. You leaned back and brought your wrist with the bracelet to beside his head, giggling as you noted, “It matches your hair.” 

Zoro’s expression was unreadable as he gazed at you, and then, without warning, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. You froze at the sudden act, your smile dropping in shock. Your heart was pounding faster than ever, and your fingers unconsciously went to the spot where you could still feel the touch of his chapped lips.  

Zoro mistook your surprised reaction as rejection and immediately dropped his arms from your waist, stepping backward as he brought his palm to his forehead, “Sorry, fuck, I shouldn’t have taken that dumb cook’s advice.”

“Huh?” You voiced, still in a daze and not understanding a bit of what he was saying, “What advice? What’s Sanji got to do with this?”

He hesitated, before admitting in a small voice, “He said a kiss on the cheek would be okay for a first date. If it went well.”

“D-date?” You asked in confusion, “Are you telling me today was a date?”

Zoro ran his hand through his hair in frustration, “Well, what the hell did you think it was then?”

“I thought it was just one of our usual errand runs!” You stammered out, before jabbing your pointer finger on his chest accusingly, “You didn’t say it was a date!”

After belatedly realizing that he, in fact, did not, Zoro flushed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Uh, I did say it would only be the two of us?”

You blinked, still processing his words and this absurd miscommunication.

“You know what, forget it.” Zoro's face was bright red as he began walking away from you in the direction of the crow’s nest, “Good night.”

“No, wait. Zoro.” You caught him by his hand, before placing yourself in front of him. “It was a really nice day.”

He refused to look at you, but you placed your hand on his chin, guiding his eyes to yours, “But if you wanted to ask me on a date, maybe you could’ve been a little more… explicit?”

You laughed in embarrassment as you gestured at your casual t-shirt and shorts, “Gosh, look at me! I would’ve dressed up better!”

“You look great no matter what you wear.”

You flushed at his sincere compliment, before taking his hands in each of yours, “I’d love to go on a date with you again, you know.”

You squeezed his hands, “Preferably one where I knew it was a date?”

He was silent for a few seconds, before muttering, “Tomorrow then.” 

“Tomorrow what, Zoro?” You teased, “Use your words.”

Zoro took a deep breath, looking you right in the eyes, “Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow? We can have a picnic at the flower fields. You wanted to go there, right?”

“It’s a date.” You smiled, before giving him a peck on the cheek, “Good night, Zoro. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You entered your room, quickly shutting the door as your legs gave out under you. You sat stunned on the floor, hand on your chest to dampen the drumming of your heart, cheeks hurting from the wide grin you were sporting.

You knew you probably wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight, too filled with excitement for what tomorrow would bring.  

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