2P!England x Rebel!Reader - Eye Candy (Sequel)

How did this happen?


This was a thought that passed through Oliver’s bizarre mind continuously like a record player repeating the same annoyingly catchy note when it can’t get over that one verse. As strange as he was, he couldn’t help but feel shivers run down his spine at the entirely unfathomable being that was walking next to him. For many saw Oliver as a peculiar man, but even they would agree that the creature besides him was by far more unearthly.

It was like the perfect juxtaposition to be blathered about in an English test. Oliver, the childishly giddy gent that always seemed to have something sweet up his sleeve with…her; a lady who doesn’t just roll with the punches, but uppercuts it right back into the attacker’s crooked face.

That’s why Oliver couldn’t comprehend how someone like her could possibly have put him into this position. A woman, as strong as a battle warrior and as cunning as the panther itself, handling him like remote-control car; making him curve and bend into any means for her satisfaction. It was so deviously unacceptable, that Oliver couldn’t help but wiggle at the idea that someone could be so dominating. He may look as harmless as paper in his little pastel sweater to be easily oppressed, but don’t forget that paper cuts, and so does his usual bubbly confidence.

That’s why he didn’t understand what was going on.

Even as the day had gone from dawn to dusk, his conscious was completely immersed on solving the mysterious crime. He stared into her, as if she were a broken mirror, with features that jetted out into so many different shapes and figures that Oliver would never be able to see his reflection from it. Sparkling hues were the only image Oliver would be able to see perfectly, however even that did not hint to manifestations of indistinguishable.

On the other hand, it had indicated to her attention.

“I know I’m hot an’ all,” she cooed mockingly, pearls peeking out of the clam of her mouth, “But why you staring?”


Oliver – being caught in the act by this world’s most offending police officer – tried to recover from this setback with a Cheshire grin, although he couldn’t deny that he wasn’t a little bit embarrassed that he had been caught in the act. “Oh, I hadn’t realised I was poppet!”

She didn’t believe him, he knew that, but she didn’t give a damn to dispute over it. Instead, she had a better argument. “Would you stop calling me that? I gave you my fucking name for a reason.”

“Why? Don’t you like the nickname poppet?” Oliver questioned like a child questions why a swear word was wrong, “I think it suits you quite well!”


“I think you’re blind,” she retorted harshly, her eyes flicking downwards to Oliver, as there was a very noticeable height difference between them, “If you think such a cutesy name suits me, then you’re out your bloody mind. Now stop calling me it. It makes me sick.”


“How blunt!” Oliver commented with a silly pout, knowing how childish he was appearing at the moment. He had learnt not to punish his date’s colourful language the first time he tried to use his ‘swear jar’ on her so she could pay in compensation only to get her stick her middle finger as close to his face as she could and state that if she saw the thing against her again, she’d ‘write every swear word on paper and dump it into the container’. Needless to say, Oliver decided not to bring it up again since he didn’t want to ruin the chances of romance between them. That, and he didn’t want to learn any more vulgarities. 

Although, this seemed to be the right response, even though Oliver had no idea why, because the edge of her addicting lips tugged upwards in a curl that got Oliver’s body thumping in many different organs. “You’re such a weirdo, no wonder your brother called you a pansy.”


“Now Allen may be rude but he simply doesn’t know the meaning of the word yet – he’s very young still after all. He probably heard it from those naughty older kids!” Oliver explained with the twist of his heels, as if Allen was attending an offensive secondary school rather than the neighbourhood’s respected primary school.

The ‘poppet’ scoffed as she rummaged through her pocket to eat a sweet. “I think he knows what he’s saying pretty damn well actually.”


Oliver seemed to be flabbergasted by this opinion, his jaw slacking whilst he seem to flail and panic as if she had just told him that his homemade cupcakes that he had brought to the picnic were disgusting.


For one of the few times this evening, her beautiful vocal chords flowed into a surprisingly elegant tune as she ruffled the strawberry-blonde’s hair, trying to soothe the poor naïve soul of the news. “Shit, you are just too cute sometimes. How long have you deluded yourself into thinking Allen was innocent and stuff? At least you got the adorable genes in the family.”


Even though the petting was not necessarily the best comfort to Oliver, he couldn’t help but flush at the punkish Amazonian’s unconventional signs of affection. He cupped his own chubby freckled cheeks to try and stop steam from escaping them.

Getting over her initial amusement, she brought her limbs back to her side, much to Oliver’s doggish disappointment, and shoved them back into her tight-fitting jean pockets. How? There would never be a scientific explanation, since they fitted as tight as damn leggings. Her whole fashion statement seemed to have much the same image, but it had already transfixed Oliver before that it never seemed to cross his mind anymore.


She took strides of pride down the busy pavement, sending glares to people who stared at her for too long. She wasn’t intentionally trying to come across as rude, Oliver knew, she just remembered that many people who glowered at her wouldn’t usually be thinking the kindest thoughts. He probably wasn’t much helping in the situation either, not that he noted or anything.

Whistling flowed between them from the ancient and chilly articulation of the wind, it’s curling tune brushing against Oliver’s ears, sending noises of distressed harshness and freezing touches for Oliver to nearly tremble in his very spot. The once arrogant and powerful sun had grown old and withered like the Kings of old, and as they too had fallen to succumbing darkness after their glorious years of royalty, the sun was seduced by the moon to run away with it, even if it were only a night. It hadn’t completely disappeared yet, showing a level of stubborn uncertainty, but all Earthlings knew that soon it would fall to its lover’s arms and disappear for the moon to take the throne above its starry subjects. Tis’ such a shame that the moon has no idea how many monarchs have been assassinated by the same people they thought they loved.

‘Oh my, the day has certainly gone by fast,’ Oliver thought to himself, as he watched shops, that had been opened when the two of them had walked to the spot on the hill, with ‘WE’RE CLOSE’ signs dangling and clanking against the wooden doors on the way back home. Had it really been so long they had been out? If so, Oliver hadn’t felt it, but I suppose that’s why they say the best moments go by so quickly.

Though this same thought caused Oliver to ponder. Had she felt the same? He glanced to her obsessively but secretly like an illegal addiction, trying to see if her features would solve the puzzle. It didn’t of course, but it was worth a shot.

Oliver’s eyes trailed down to the picnic basket that dangled from his hands holding the handles as tight as the clothes on his partner’s back. It was practically empty of everything besides its plastic canisters and chequered blanket, but he still regarded it as valuable as a jewel. For you see, it was an access to the memory of this day. He only hoped, like he had numerous times in the twenty-four hours, that she had enjoyed her time as much as he had, and that she had enjoyed his choice of food and beverages and the secret ingredients he added to them.

“You’re acting really quiet, you know that?” she interrupted, her profile scrunched in introspection, “During the picnic you were rambling on as if someone died, and now you’re just all… I don’t know, silent and such. What happened to my little cutie who ran around my sweetie store as if he were Hansel?”


“If I’m Hansel, does that make you Gretel?” Oliver enquired with a freaky grin on his face, trying to recover himself with the worst pick-up line he could fathom. You can’t blame a man for trying, no?


She snorted in mirth and shoved his shoulder. “That was terrible.”


“Now stop trying to change the subject and answer my question.” She added, her legs slowing down their march so she could keep in time with Oliver’s smaller beat.

To be truthful, Oliver didn’t quite know how he was going to word his reply. Sure, he had a million reasons why he was quiet, but how do you put every reason into one simple sentence? So, he resorted to lying. “Oh I don’t understand at all what you’re talking about poppet! I don’t think I’ve been all that-“


A hand smacked against his mouth and his arm was forcefully tugged to stop him from going any further. Oliver was certain he would have gasped and used some self-defence if he hadn’t realised whom the palm belonged to.

“Don’t bullshit me Oliver,” she hissed, having used her fist by no means for physical harm. “Don’t ruin the day by lying to me, you’ll learn that it’s a turn-off for me. If you didn’t like spending time with me, I get it, okay? You’re not the first one to have told me. I know I’m not a girly girl, who’ll suck your dick on the first date, but hey, I’m trying, you get me? Just…if you don’t like me, you just got to say so.”

Oliver’s bubble-gum planets widened from Pluto to Jupiter. What was she saying? Why did she think this? Had he given her the wrong messages all this time? He tried to remove her hand from his mouth, but being the passionately headstrong woman she was, he didn’t have a chance till she simmered down.

“But you want to know something? At least I tried. I’ve tried to be all presentable and attractive and whatever else you want to call it, but I failed, I get that. You probably like those girls who can flower arrange some bouquet for you everyday and all I’ve got is some sweets that I can shove in a bowl and give to you like some Halloween fetish. It’s not my fault I don’t reach your expectations! If you weren’t so out of reach and stuck up in your head, maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about all these damn things! I made the first move and stuff thinking that maybe you’ll just have to learn to like me but Jesus Christ it’s like being back at school in the worst subject! You don’t even love me enough to talk to me!” Ranting seemed to be a speciality of hers, and it seemed the further she talked the more she spiralled into this imaginary nightmare that wasn’t true in the slightest.

To some luck, she had finally removed her mitts away from the baffled Englishman to grumble to herself on all the conceptions she had fabricated in her wild mind. Oliver was completely tongue-tied. The fact that this incredibly strong and independent lady was now angrily distraught on the idea that Oliver didn’t like her was probably the most unexpected but charming sight he had set his eyeballs on all day.

The same woman who he had seen as a feminine fighter was also the same woman he had stared at to see the doubt in her eyes and the flicker of her black eyelashes as she tried to brush off her feelings like the eyelashes brushed off any dust from the earth. Lips that closed off foreign subjects from entering her mouth had been broken down so that even her own pronunciations couldn’t be protected from herself; and her nose flared as though she had only herself to blame, even though she tried numerous times to pin it on him.

“My dear, you’ve done nothing wrong!” Oliver outburst, his free hand trailing over to tug at the end of her dark sleeve in order to get her attention. “In fact, I’ve had a lovely day! More fun than I’ve had in a long while! I…”


As he slowly started to gain her attention, Oliver’s throat seemed to choke him, his words kicking at the back of his Adam’s apple. It bopped like an apple on water, and only when he learnt that he’d just have to ignore his fuchsia blush did he continue talking, “I’ve really liked spending time with you... I was a bit nervous on saying anything because I wasn’t so sure you felt the same way. I’m terribly sorry for worrying you.”


She slowly tried to decipher what Oliver had stated, and slowly then eased herself into her usual calm façade. It was then a genuine smile crossed her features as she hiccupped in merriment at her own foolishness. “My god I’m as much a pansy as you are. Kill me now!”


“Hey, now that’s just rude!” Oliver retorted, his face looking away from her comeliness in order to hide his enormous embarrassment, “And you haven’t even mentioned if you liked me back! No wonder I didn’t say anything! I’ll have you know-“


For the second time today, Oliver had been intervened in his conversations, and each time it was by her. However, the difference between the first time and the second time was that instead of her hand, it was her mouth.


Oh the British baker would never be prepared for her addicting kisses, even if it had only happened twice. Why it could never be on normal situations, he never knew, but he didn’t very much care to interrogate it if it meant he wouldn’t be able to get another again.

She broke away, her tongue licking her lips, “Still taste like sweets? I’ve got to say I’m impressed at this point.”

Moving her hand from his arm to his free paw, she grabbed it and pulled him closer to her, continuing on the journey home; ignoring the gawking of other strangers that sauntered past. She seemed very content by Oliver’s bashfulness, as an eyebrow raised itself, and she leaned down to whisper something into his ear.


“You’re mine. Now lets go treat you to a little snack for your sweetness.” she muttered.


Oliver blinked in confusion, for she had recovered quickly from her setback only moments ago, although his body warmed up to the fact that her breath was so much smoother than the breeze’s. He looked up at her and with a quirky voice, wondered, “What snack would you be making?”


“What the hell do you think I’m going to make you?” she questioned.

Seeing that he had not answer to this, she smirked gracefully and whispered, “I’m going to make you some of my personal cupcakes.”


His breath caught itself in his heart, his dimples denting itself onto his skin, his cheeks painting themselves the colour of red velvet cake, his breath coming in short pants, and his arms swinging as if he were skipping on cloud nine.


“Can I please…marry you?” he eagerly declared, his accent sent into waves of girlish giggles, his more childlike creepiness coming back to him that she much rather preferred to his solemnity, whether the people around them disagreed or not. She was almost surprised that his eyes even seemed to form the shapes of love hearts at the idea of her making him his favourite nourishment.

“I’m not that easy love,” she crooned, popping a spare sweet she had in her pocket into Oliver’s mouth to satisfy him.  “You’ve got to earn it.”

So the two travelled back to the domains of their individual houses, and hoped that their footsteps wouldn’t awaken Oliver’s siblings into rage. For you see, they didn’t know he had gone out at all. He didn’t mind though, for people had their secrets. Some darker than others, and Oliver couldn’t deny that his shadow seemed more unnerving and menacing compared to hers. For if a murder was enacted, Oliver knew whom they’d blame, and it never stopped him from feeling cosy inside to know that it wouldn’t be him.

Though that was not what had Oliver’s mind or eyes swirling so deviously; it was the desirable lass. After all, how does one tell another about their immoral actions and desires? He knew that she was an accepting mortal, but how tolerating was she truly? All Oliver could assume was that once he eased her into the security of his virtuous veil, she’d simply be able to welcome the rest of his repulsing humanity.

She was a strong girl, after all.

However, as they scurried away, leaving behind a trail of bewildered human beings in their trek, there seemed only one possible explanation to their daftness.

They were one peculiar couple.