#fucking pink crocs

[vindieselsfacebook-blog]

barbie platform crocs you are mine

#crocs #barbie #its called fashion look it up #the fucking pink disco ball jibbit!!!!!!

[transgenderdragons]

so crazy when parents talk about someone whos cool as fuck in a negative way. like ok sorry ur boring????

#my mom was telling me about an older guy she saw at her job wearing boyshorts a suit jacket and pink crocs. #she described him with horror as if that outfit doesnt fucking rip like crazy????? like sorry that ur lame ig #if i had seen him it wouldve made my day just sayin #chatty catty #she said he looked like he was in his 60s and had a handlebar mustache. like if thats not cool as fuck to you idk what to tell you

[dilfl0v3rss]

Hear me out 😮‍💨 - ony and y/n get in a argument but ony in the wrong and he look for a way to apologize

omg yessssssss bc usually we be the ones in troubleeee. i like how you thinking boo. we gon use basketball player!ony for this one since a lot of people liked it. aight so boom...

the argument

cw: smuttttyyyy

word count: 2.6k

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

it was eleven o'clock when your boyfriend finally decided to come home. he had his duffle bag on his shoulder as he roughly kicked off his crocs at the door. you can tell he had an attitude, probably due to something that happened at practice, but so did you. it had been about a month since the the two of you have had so much as a movie night together because he's been so caught up in basketball and school. this was no where near your fault given that you've tried to spend time with him at every opportunity you had, but ony always had an excuse.

"can't mama, finna go to the weight room wit the guys." or "another time baby. coach had us running like a track team at practice." and other excuses like that caused you to stop even trying. and the worst part was, he didn't even notice. ony continued to come home late into the night because of basketball and leave early in the morning for class without batting an eye. tonight you've had enough. he promised to be home by eight since he only had practice from three to six, but lo and behold, this nigga didn't come home until eleven.

"do you know what time it is?" you stood up from your seat on the couch, placing each of your hands on your wide hips. you had to stop yourself from swinging on this nigga when you heard him mumble an "oh my fucking god" after sucking his teeth. "excuse me? you got sum to say nigga?" your were ready to scream. how could he have an attitude right now when he's the one completely in the wrong. he could've at least called to let you know he wouldn't be able to get home on time, but nooooo. he says nothing, and now he comes in the house acting like a child.

"ion got time f'this y/n. i been running around like a chicken wit its fucking head cut off all practice because niggas on the team don't know how to make simple jump shots." you scoff as you heard his excuse. "so first, you come home three hours late. don't call or text me to let me know that you were even coming late. and now, you come in here, don't even apologize, and have an attitude? that's cute. you sleeping on the couch."

your words must've set him off because ony immediately started raising his voice. "here you go wit that shit bro. the world don't revolve around you y/n." you started getting into his face. "i never said it did, but m'not finna sit here and act like ion deserve at least a little of your time. i'm your fucking girlfriend ony. don't you think it's a little odd that you be picking literally everything little fucking thing to do instead of spend time with me?" you can tell you struck a nerve when he folded his lips, looking straight ahead as if you weren't even there.

this was something ony did to keep his anger at bay since he was known to have a really bad temper. "chill wit allat cussing lil girl. m'not finna go back and forth wit you cause you being clingy." you was on ten at this point. you just told this man what he was doing wrong and all he registered from it was that you were cursing? "are you kidding me? you know what? you can have the bed. m'finna just go since m'so 'clingy'. when you ready to be a man and talk then you can call me." you went into your room and grabbed your PINK duffle bag before heading to your dresser to start packing.

ony watched as you stuffed clothes from each drawer into the bag, not even looking at what you were grabbing as tears blurred your vision. as soon as the words left his lips, he immediately regretted them. you had every right to want to spend some time with him given how much he's been neglecting you for other things. he let his stupid attitude get the best of him as soon as he walked into the door. he knew he should've apologized once he got home, but, being the prideful man he was, he decided to just make things worse by being a dickhead.

and now the woman that he loves is crying, trying to leave the house because he doesn't know how to control his emotions. before he knew it, you were at the door. holding your phone in your hand as you dialed your friends number for her to pick you up. ony listened to the phone ring twice before the girl known as eboni answered. "hello?" he wasted no time snatching the phone from you, hanging it up and putting it in his pocket. "the fuck you doing. gimme my pho-"

"you not leaving me y/n."

you looked up at him and were surprised to see water in his eyes. of course the tears never fell because ony never liked to cry in front of anyone, but the fact that they were getting to this point was surprising. you sigh calmly. "m'just gonna stay at eboni's for a couple days until you get your head right." you felt his strong arms wrap around you, holding you tightly as he spoke. "my head is right y/n. i was being selfish and stupid and prideful. i shoulda called or at least said 'sorry' when i got home, but i didn't. i called you clingy and invalidated your feelings. m'sorry furreal baby please just-....just don't leave me."

ony felt you shuffling so you can wrap your arms around him as well. the two of you staying like that for a while before you broke the silence. "i'd never leave you baby, just want you to be a little better wit your time management." he squeezed you tighter. "i will mama. i will" as the two of you loosened your grips on each other, ony lightly gripped your face in his hand before giving you a bunch of soft kisses on your lips, forehead, and cheeks. you were a giggling mess before you lightly pushed him away, making a fake serious face. "you still need to make it up t'me. what you said was mean."

a smirk crept on your boyfriends face as he led you to your bedroom. "ill make it up t'you right now baby." ony lied you down on the bed, removing his clothes until he was only left in his boxers. "take allat off mama i got sum else for you to wear." you gave him a confused look before eventually just shrugging your shoulders and removing all of your clothes. you lied naked on the bed as you watched ony pull his jersey out of his bag, bringing it to you. "put this on." was all he said before you gave him another questionable look.

"cmon pretty i wanna make love t'you wit it on." you had no idea what he was getting at, but you put in on anyways. ony was way bigger than you so the jersey was almost like a dress on you, stopping right below your ass before he lifted it up over you stomach and lied you back down. his body between your legs as he looked up at you. "ready?" his breath instantly touched your pussy, making you jump. before you could even reply, ony got to eating. he licked and sucked your clit like a starved man. long middle finger prodding at your entrance before he slowly pushed it all the way in .

your back arched off the bed as he kept sucking on your clit, middle finger reaching deep inside of you while you moaned his name like a prayer. "f-fuck onyyy" he moved his eyes towards your face, taking in your beauty before removing his mouth from your heat. "look at me baby. wanna see those pretty eyes." you slowly opened your eyes, pretty black lashes fluttering as you tried your best to focus on on him. a small smile crept onto ony's face as he added another finger into you, middle and index fingers digging you out as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull.

there's no way you could keep them open when he's making you feel this good. maybe you should get mad at him more often. your back was still arched off the bed before you felt your lover place his large hand on your stomach, pushing it down as he started fingering you faster. you felt your orgasm approaching as ony held his fast pace, licking and sucking on your clit to bring you to the edge faster. "ahghh...ohh my goddd...oouuhhh shit." you were losing it, hips fighting ony's hand as they twisted and turned all over the place. "i know mama. i know....jus let it out for me." the coil in your stomach snapped, liquid ecstasy flowing out of you and all over your mans face.

you shook in overstimulation as he kept eating without batting and eye. ony's fingers still held their fast pace as your hands flew to his head, trying to push him off and move back from him before you made an ever bigger mess. he bound both of your wrists in his hand before laying it back down onto your stomach. "stop runnin’ mama. m'not done." you were moaning so loud you had to make a silent prayer that the two of you don't wake up with a noise complaint notice on your door in the morning. "f-fuckk daddy ima make a mess pleaseee." you whined, but ony ignore you.

it actually felt like he started getting rougher. licking and sucking your clit harder while his fingers were now pounding into you. before you knew it, you were cumming again, making the mess you were trying to warn him about. you squirted everywhere from his face to his chest, some of it even running down his body and wetting up the waistband of his black briefs. ony sat back on his knees he looked down as your disheveled state. "look so pretty." he mumbled before pulling his underwear down right until his dick sprang free.

his hard length slapped onto his stomach before bouncing up and down due to gravity. doe eyes followed its movements. ony chuckled as he watched you become entranced by his dick. "y'ready mama? if its too much jus scratch my back cause m'not stopping until this this whole bed is wet." you nodded your head he lined himself up with your entrance, sucking his teeth at your lack of vocalization. "cmon baby talk t'me. you ready for daddy to make love t'you?" you look up to see his brown orbs already staring down at you. lips curved into a soft smile as he awaited your reply.

"yes. i want you t'make love to me" ony’s smile widened before he pushed himself into you slowly. eyes never leaving yours, reading your expressions to know when to stop to let you adjust. you were grateful for this because he was nowhere near small, and his girth alone would had you ready to cry at times. soon enough, the space between the two of you was completely gone. dick fully sheathed inside your pussy as ony waited for you to give him the okay to move. the two of you never broke eye contact through all of this and once you gave him a small "okay" he wasted no time.

slowly stroking you as he stared into your eyes. it was like the two of you were taking a look into each other souls. he began picking up his pace, pounding into you the way he knew you loved which caused you to tear up from the pleasure. "how it feel baby?" your back arched into him. the two of you stomach to stomach as ony intertwined both of his hands with yours. you couldn't even speak, using jumbled moans to reply. "aahghh...mmmughh." your eyes were at the back of your skull as you felt the tip his dick begin to kiss your cervix, making your legs open wider as you freed your hands from his and raked them down his back.

ony continued his onslaught on your pussy. letting you scratch up and down his back as he lied his hands flat next to both sides of your head, pounding into you harder. "mhmm sing f'me baby." you screamed as you felt your orgasm come out of nowhere. squirting once again on his dick, but he didn't stop. he fucked you through it, letting your essence splash all over your lower halves as he continued to look down at you. you were absolutely stunning. tears running down your cheeks as you looked up at him. bottom lip being tugged on by your teeth as your body jerked from his hard thrusts. "made my pretty girl cry. you should never be cryin'. daddy can't give you those babies if i be making you cry like that." he groaned before pressing his hand on the big number three on his jersey. he was so deep in you he felt the bulge he was making in your stomach under his hand.

your tears reminded ony of how you were earlier. angry and ready to leave him after he hurt you with his cruel words. he vowed to never do nothing that dumb again. "you only supposed to be crying from pleasure, never pain. m'sorry mama. s-so sorry." you began to spasm around your boyfriends dick, fourth orgasm of the night ready to come out. ony felt this and sped up, feeling close to the edge as well. "you forgive me baby?" his eyes never left your face as you whined out your reply. "i-i f-forgive you daddy. i f-forgive you." you smiled up at him, shakily putting your hand on his cheek. you caressed his dark brown skin as you felt your orgasm approaching. "i wanna cum together papa."

ony kissed into your palm before leaning down and softly kissing your lips. "cum mama. m'right there wit you." the both of your threw your heads back in unison as he gave you three hard strokes before stilling inside of you. cream leaking onto his base as you felt his hot load fill your pussy. you stayed like that for awhile, kissing each other while you caught your breath. ony saw your eyes flutter as you fought off your sleep. removing his jersey from your body before carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. he sat you on the toilet the turned on the shower. "need you to pee before i can let you get in." after you peed then the two of you showered together, ridding each others of the evidence of your earlier activities.

as you got dressed, ony changed the sheets and remade the bed so you wouldn't have to lift a finger. he then carried you to the bed, knowing your legs were probably still a little week before laying you on top of him. "mama?" he grumbled, you can tell he was getting tired as well. "hmm?" "im real sorry okay? never ever meant to hurt you." you lightly chuckled while tracing different shapes on his chest. "i know baby. and i know basketball and stuff could be time consuming and you just wanna do your own thing sometimes, but i just wish you'd give me just a little of your time y'know". ony rubbed on your lower back as he hummed in agreement. "ima do better. tomorrow i got early morning practice so im all yours after class. how that sound." you looked up at your boyfriend. he's doing better already. "sounds great."

#aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot x black reader #aot #aot smut #onyankopon x black!reader #onyankopon

[go-go-gadget-autism]

I just know that husband!simon would be a fucking suburban dad. tumblr hear my pleas

would absolutely wear khaki cargo shorts

crocs/sandals with socks. would also get little skull croc thingies i forgot the name

skull themed hawaiian shirts, leaves them unbuttoned around the house

dad bod, esp after he doesn’t work in the military anymore (he’s secretly embarrassed by it) <3

would probably invite the 141 to watch football

would also probably do that thing where he gets mad at a play and stands up and angrily paces, before sitting back down

grill. grill. grill. has a pink “kiss the cook” apron that you got him as a gag gift. he wears it any time he cooks

johnny tries to take this literally, and ends up walking away with a spatula mark on his face

price thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s every seen every time without fail. ghost can sense johnny approaching from inside the house

would stand around the hood of a car with some buddies, having a chat

“yep, she isn’t goin’ anywhere” after securing something to the back of his truck

would absolutely get one of those big trucks people hate on highways

would buy his kids fancy water guns and teach them to snipe the other kids from the roof of their house

also probably makes his kids mow the lawn lol

coolest dad on the block

would share stories from his time deployed to the kids if they asked (they always ask)

the kids all call him ‘mr. ghost’

would absolutely trash kids in FPS games, including his

gives them tips so they can get better

cries tears of joy when they beat him for the first time

just husband!simon things

#cod ghost #cod modern warfare #ghost cod #cod #cod mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty #modern warfare #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon ghost #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon cod #simon ghost x you #husband!simon #john price #ghost mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #ghost modern warfare #modern warefare ii

[hollytoshaw]

hiii i know you havent posted in a while but if you are still taking requests would you do blurb or smau of harry and reader buying a new house maybe in guernsey or london and its just cute domestic vibes ? love your work :)

ahhh love this idea!!! i'm still taking requests just been a bit slow getting round to them all because i'm back at uni and have a load of work i need to do :( but hope you enjoy this little blurb!!! xx

home | harry lewis

summary: y/n and harry move in to their forever home

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mostly just a cutesy/fluff blurb but references to sex at the end

The day had finally come for Y/N and Harry. The day they were about to move into their new house. Sure, they had shared a quaint but homely London flat for the past five years, but now they were onto bigger things. Their first proper forever home. 

To say Harry was bricking it was an understatement. Of course, the pair had done their fair share of moving around, life tucked away in cardboard boxes, but this was the real deal—probably the last time they’d ever have to do this, and God, there was so much to do, and Harry felt completely hopeless. He’d spent the last half an hour trying to get the garage door to open, slapping the remote aimlessly with his hand to try and get it to work, and pulling his hair in defeat when it didn’t. It turns out he had been using the wrong remote the whole time, and instead of opening the garage door, he had been toying about with your house's light system, the lights inside the house flickering on and off as he sighed in frustration outside unknowingly. He was stressed, and Y/N was inside, thinking they had faulty electrics.. It was a great start. 

Another five minutes passed, and Harry had given up, deciding his car looked much better parked on the driveway anyway, and took it upon himself to unload some more boxes from the boot of his car. He walked up to the house, rummaging in his pockets for the house keys, cursing under his breath when he saw sight of that stupid remote that had caused him torture for the last few minutes—he'd have chucked it in the bin at this rate, but knew Y/N would give him a telling-off for being so silly. Shoving the key in the door, he opened the blue door that had drawn the pair in the first time they came to view the house—his favourite colour being blue and Y/N loving the pop of colour it gave—a warm welcome to future guests that the two would definitely have. He placed the two boxes he had managed to carry from the car and kicked off his Air Forces, abiding by Y/N’s  ‘No Shoes’ rule that she had gone on and on about, not wanting to dirty the brand new floors. 

He could hear the faint sound of some pop song he didn’t know the name of as he made his way down the hallway, a fresh smell of paint wafting into his nose. He leaned on the doorframe, not before tapping his finger to check if the paint had dried and luckily it had as he couldn’t think of anything worse than getting paint all over his new hoodie. He could see the woman he loved trailing around the kitchen, cupboards open, and boxes all over the marble kitchen counter. She had a determined look on her face as she placed different glassware and plates into cupboards—shiny new ones but also some that Harry had recognised from their old flat. She couldn’t see him as he watched her intently, struggling to lift a heavy box that was filled to the brim with more kitchenware. He knew he’d ought to help her because she was struggling, but the sight was something to enjoy, and a smug look was present on his face as he watched his love scuffle around the kitchen in her pink crocs and his old jumper that was a few sizes too big for her. 

‘’You need a hand, lovely?’’ he teased as she whipped her head around at the sound of his voice, plates nearly falling out of her hands.

‘’Fucking hell, Harry’’ She gasped, steadying the plates in her hands, leaving them down on the counter as she looked properly at him. He had a cheeky grin on his face that made her want to slap him and kiss him at the same time. ‘’Don’t sneak up on me like that.’’

‘’I would have warned you, but I can’t bloody hear myself think over this shite music.’’ he laughed as he made his way over to the counter and pressed the volume down on the speaker that was bellowing endless pop tunes. 

‘’Don’t hate on Sabrina Carpenter; she’s an icon.’’ 

‘’I haven’t a clue who that is.’’ Harry narrowed his eyes at her as she made her way towards him, wrapping her hands around his waist. 

Looking up at him, Y/N laughed, ‘’Course you don’t, you old man.’’ With a kiss to his lips, she smiled, and she took her arms from his waist, wanting to get a better look at him. ‘’How was your day?’’

‘’Was alright.’’ Harry sighed, ‘’Saw the lads for a bit and picked up the last of the boxes from storage, but that’s all. How was yours?’’

‘’OK. Better now you’re home.’’ she smiled. 

The word home almost made Harry’s heart explode out of his chest. It just sounded so good and so right. This place was home, especially with the two here together. 

‘’Think there’s a problem with the electrics though; the lights kept flickering earlier. I hope this place isn’t haunted - they never advertised that.’’ She laughed. 

''Oh, for fuck sakes.’’ Harry cursed, pulling her hand so that her body was nearer to him and away from the counter. ‘’Well, at least I’m here now to protect you from anything scary.’’

Y/N snorted, ‘’Some job you’d do at protecting me—you're scared of everything, silly.’’

''Oh, shut up and gimme me a kiss.’’ he said before separating the space between them once again. 

✩ ✩ ✩

A couple of hours had passed, and Y/N and Harry had managed to unpack all the boxes from the kitchen, living room, and bedroom, leaving all the others piled up in a spare room, ready for them to tackle the following day. To say they were exhausted would have been an understatement.

‘’I’m here all day tomorrow.’’ Harry hummed, ‘’What’s the unpacking plan?’’  

‘’Hmm, I’m thinking we start with the spare rooms.’’ Y/N yawned, her body relaxing into Harry’s body as the pair lay on the sofa, his hands delicately playing with her hair. ‘’Then maybe we could do your filming room; you’ll need that soon enough, won’t you?’’ 

‘’What about your office?’’ Harry asked, knowing Y/N loved her little office she had in their old flat. The two loved one another’s company, don’t get them wrong, but sometimes it was nice that they had their own separate little rooms where they could get on with whatever they needed to that day with no distractions—Harry mostly shouting at his computer filming a More Sidemen video and Y/N working on her fashion blog, headphones on so she didn’t hear her lover screaming every ten minutes. 

‘’That can wait. You need your room done more than me; you have all that filming to do.’’ She poked at his side. 

‘’You’re an angel, d’you know that, ’’ Harry smiled. ‘’We’ll try to do both.’’

Y/N hummed into him, knowing that they probably would only end up doing one room before Harry ended up getting distracted while he unpacked, finding some random useless item he had kept from 2014. ‘’We’ll try.’’

‘’You feeling tired?’’ Harry asked as he kept playing with her hair. She always got tired whenever he did it, usually lulling to sleep half the time, but Harry didn’t mind; he enjoyed watching her pretty eyes flutter to sleep, knowing she felt safe in his embrace. 

‘’Not really.’’ She lied. ‘’Why, what are you thinking?’’

Pulling his hand from her head, she looked up at him dreamily, and it was like she could see the thoughts spinning around his head as he watched her intently. 

‘’Just thinking we haven’t christened the house yet is all.’’ He smiled, a smirk toying at the corners of his mouth. 

‘’Christened the house?’’ Y/N laughed, moving to prop herself up to get a better look at her smirking boyfriend. 

‘’Yeah, you know, like they do in the movies.’’

‘’What sort of movies have you been watching?’’ Y/N snorted. 

''Oh, shut up, don’t you start,’’ Harry tutted playfully, ‘’Y’know what I mean.’’

‘’Go on then; tell me more.’’ Y/N teased.

Harry laughed. So she wanted to indulge him. Thought she was tired? Bullshit.

‘’Just feel like we’ve got a lot of rooms to christen, big house and all,’’ He pressed a kiss on her cheek. ‘’I’m thinking we start upstairs and work our way around the house.’’

‘’All in one night? You’ll be knackered.’’ She teased again.

‘’We’ve got forever, lovely, not just the night,’’ Harry smiled. ''Plus, I think you’ll be the knackered one once I’ve had my way with you.’’ Pressing another kiss on her other cheek. 

‘’Is that so?’’ Y/N’s voice spoke. Yeah, she wasn’t tired anymore at all.  

‘’Yes, doll,’’ Harry grinned, ‘’Don’t pretend you don’t know it.’’

‘’Hmm,’’ she sighed before getting up from the sofa, untangling herself from his grasp and the mounds of blankets that surrounded them. ‘’Race you upstairs then.’’ She said this before legging it out the living room door. She could hear Harry groan from the sofa as she waited momentarily outside the doorway, not wanting to run too far ahead of him. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fast in his life, chucking the blankets and his phone to the side as he raced out the door to see her not that far ahead of him, nearing the staircase. 

‘’Thought you were faster than that, lovely.’’ He laughed as he chased after her, hands flying out in front of him to try and take hold of her hand but failing as she was always just a few inches ahead of him. 

‘’Come on, slow coach.’’ She echoed from the top of the stairs, and he could see that his hoodie that she’d been wearing for the past few hours had been discarded over the bannister. What a menace, he thought. 

With her just out of sight, he took heavy steps up the stairs before pausing at the top, letting out a sigh of happiness. His favourite girl in the world, running around their house as she shouted for him from their bedroom—he could so get used to this, he knew that for sure. 

Their home together, forever.

✩ ✩ ✩

a/n: hope you enjoyed this little blurb!!! i'll try and get back to doing my requests and series updates more frequently - just need to find the time x

#w2s #wroetoshaw #w2s x reader #harry wroetoshaw #harry lewis #harry w2s #sidemen #w2s fic #w2s imagine #wroetoshaw imagine #wroetoshaw oneshot #hollytoshaw #chris md #arthurtv #sidemen x reader

[jocelynscrazyideas]

Coffee Breath | Quinn Hughes x Fem Reader

Summary: Quinn and Y/N go to Starbucks and Target after Team practice, and they prep for the Hughes Brawl that is being played in 4 hours.

Warnings: language, and only one kiss (it’s a peck)

A:N- I hate this sm but I needed to post smth 🫶

All i know is that you talk to much

You’ve got those big blue eyes

Drive me crazy, make me fantasize

‘Bout you baby

After team practice before the next game, Quinn and I leave the rink and we pick up some coffee. Quinn is wearing a letter this year on his jersey so, he has to take his body seriously now. All he does is workout. I’ve been dragging him to get coffee with me, just like it was in the past.

“You wnat your Gingerbread Oatmilk Chai?” Quinn says as he looks into my eyes. All I see is his light blue eyes, almost as if they were grey.

I look to his right eye, and to his left, then down to his lips, I love him. He sees my trick, and he grabs my thigh, as he moves his fingers into my warm special place.

He’s such a cunt.

“Yeah, the chai is perfect. And could I get a Gouda sandwich- the one I like.” I say as we pull into the Starbucks drive through. He turns his head as he pulls his blue hood off his head.

Said you can’t trust me

I said it’s fine.

I’m wearing the perfect outfit. Black leggings, pink sports bra, and of course Quinn’s hoodie. My shoes, are also his, they’re wayy too big, but they’re just crocs. Quinn, in the drivers seat wearing a blue hoodie, black sweatpants, and his grey slides. We’re matching. I love him.

“Mobile order for Maya Ray.” Quinn says as he looks at me with a smirk. Maya- which isn’t my name, and Ray- is also not my name nor his name. We use fake names, out of our safety, and for fun. He pulls up to the second window and he grabs the Iced Chai and swings his arm to me, and he also grabs the sandwich I asked him to get me.

“Don’t get crumbs in my car. I’ll kill you.” Quinn snaps out at me.

What an actual cunt.

“Cuntasaurus.” I say underneath my breath. I grab the drink and the sandwich and place the chai into my lap. I unwrapped my sandwich and started to bite in.

“Do you have change?” Quinn asks. Weird. He payed online, he doesn’t need more money- unless he’s going to leave a tip. Then I thought that he could already leave a tip online.

“Why.” I say in response, only after I remembered to answer his question. I was lost into thought that I literally forgot to respond.

“So I can leave a tip, I forgot to tip online.” sure. I think to myself, I know he’s lying, he’s a freaking millionaire, he should have at least $10 freaking dollars on him.

“Yep.” I say and grab my phone case. I pull the $20 out and hand it to the lady, only because I know if I gifted it to Quinn, that money wouldn’t make it to the tip jar.

“I could have done that.” Quinn says snapping at me… again.

“Well obviously not.” I say as I open the middle console that splits our seats apart. I pull out $100 dollars and shove it in his face.

a side eye is all I get in response from him.

“Shocker. You know where my money is.” Quinn says after we turn into the parking lot of a target about 10 minutes later.

he’s literally the sassiest man I’ve ever fucking met. He’s… so, teenage boy. Literal brain rot. We need to pick up some groceries so I made a list of things that I needed. Of course I made a list of things that again only I need.

“So, why did you need to stop at Target?” Quinn says as he finds the farthest fucking parking spot there is. God, he better carry me back out here. I look into his blue eyes again, he literally drives me crazy, I can smell his cologne, and that makes me insane.

He smells like flowers, but in a masculine way. It’s hard to describe, he’s just so beautiful. It’s just a normal day for us, but it’s THE Hughes brawl. New Jersey Devils vs Canucks in Vancouver.

I’m excited, but no matter what I’m going to be proud, I’ve known Luke for the longest of times, and even before I met Luke and Wuinn I was friends with Jack.

“You coming?” Quinn says as he opens my door and grabs my left ass cheek. Let’s just say his love language is physical touch, he’s really touchy, clingy and childish, but so am I.

“Yep. Also Quinner-” I say before he freaking cuts me off.

“I know. you always make your own list. Never something that I would need, it’s always oh, what do I need? And oh, I ran out on shampoo, better get ME some.” Quinn says as he mocks me. He’s such an ass. But an ass taht I love.

Again as he swipes his right arm under my butt, he grabs my back with his left arm, and he tips over to the left as he swoops me into his arms and over his shoulder. Quinn pulls my leggings over my red lacy thong that I’m wearing under.

“I hate when you do that.” Quinn states as he closes my door and locks the car. He grabs my hand and we walk to the the doors of the store.

“Do what?” I say in actual confusion.

“You tease me, then you follow up with that with oh, I’m too tired and sorry I’m not in the mood.”

Quinn seems really upset, which is why I love to do it. I pull my hoodie down over my butt and I get an cloud of Quinn. I love him. I really do.

I’m hit with this wave of horny desperation.

“Hey, give me a kiss. Please!!” I say as I stop him and we stand in the middle of the parking lot. I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. I look deep into his eyes in pleading guilt.

“I know what you’re doing.” He says, he’s convinced that I’ll do the thing.

“Omg, just kiss me.” I say. But he won’t. So I grab his hand, and pull him back to the car, and I grab his keys form his pocket and unlock the doors.

“Please. Quinn I’m ready. Right now.” And I pull him into the backseat.

I pull at his silver chain that I bought him, its charm is a heart, and the back of the heart is a photo of us. When we were like 16.

“Please. Don’t. Not right now.” Quinn says as he pushes up agisnt me. I feel him getting hard. There’s truly a tent being built in his sweatpants.

“We have like 4 hours until the next game. We have time.” I say as I look into his neck ready to make a move. I can feel his pulse penetrating from his artery.

“No.” Quinn’s consistent with his answer. And I respect it. So I climb into the passenger seat and I forget about the target trip in general. And he climbs back into the drivers seat as well. And he pulls my cheek towards him. And he leans in for a kiss.

Taste like coffee.

#jocelynscrazyideas #umich hockey #hockey #nhl #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #umich #vancouver canucks #🍇🍇🍇

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - One

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

This is my first original fic after The Pilot and his Girl and it will be a very different read (just in case you're totally traumatised by The Pilot...😬)

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve short stories, each set in the same bakery. The plan is to post one chapter every Sunday night so hold me to that schedule when my procrastination kicks in!

Warnings won't be very serious, just lots of fluff, lots of food, some mention of drugs because you know some of these Pedro boys are just like that.

Series Master List

@harriedandharassed tagging you in this because you said you wanted to read anything new ❤❤❤

The drawback of being a baker is that your working day starts when others are still tucked in bed with hours left to sleep. Or just coming home from a party. But you don’t mind all that much, there’s a certain tranquil peace to being awake and working in the bakery while the rest of the world sleeps. 

In the warmer months you prop open the back door so that you can hear the birds starting to sing as the sky slowly grows lighter outside, today is just one of those mornings. 

The early morning radio show is on low in the background as you prepare the day. Yesterday's loaves have proofed overnight in the cold storage and are ready for the oven, the pie doughs taken out and softening while you prepare the cookie doughs. 

People don’t often knock on the bakery's back door before you open for the day, but it happens, so when you suddenly hear someone shuffle and knock, you’re not surprised. Wiping your hands on your apron you turn the corner into the small back room. A man is leaning on the door frame, but not the sexy, romance novel leaning. No, this man is leaning in a ‘lean-or-fall-over’ kinda way. His eyes are covered by large black sunglasses that he pulls down as you spot him, a tired but cheeky smirk on his face. 

“Hey, baker girl,” he grins, his voice gravelly like he’s chain smoked all night, “got any sna- oh whoops!” he giggles madly as he loses his balance and tumbles sideways, catching the other door frame before he grabs onto your arms and almost manages to stand up straight. 

“You might need coffee, not snacks,” you say, holding onto him to stop him from falling face forward into your apron.  

“I’m fine,” he grins, pushing himself upright again but still holding on to the door frame, “I just came from this party, were you there?,” he asks, giving you another over the glasses look, this time clearly checking you out as his eyes drag up and down your form, lingering on your pink crocs. 

“Actually, I would’ve remembered if you were there, love the crocs,” he chuckles. 

“What’s wrong with my crocs?” you ask, slightly offended, “They’re great for people like me, you know, people who actually work on Thursdays.” 

“No, no, I mean it, I love your crocs!” the man says, wide eyed and shoving his glasses up in his wild curls, “I have like ten crocs, one pair is pink too.” 

He furrows his eyebrows, giving you a confused look, “Wait, it’s Thursday?” 

“Yeah, five am, Thursday morning,” you say, wondering how to get rid of this disheveled man so that you can get back to the cookie dough. 

“Fuck, oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck….” the man groans, bending double and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I’m so fucked…I thought it was Wednesday.” 

He stands up again and you can’t help but feel sorry for him, he looks devastated. 

“I was meant to fly out to San Antonio yesterday and take my nice to Six Flags for her birthday, and I fucking missed it!” 

He slumps against the door frame and thumps the back of his head against it repeatedly, moaning, “I’m such a fuck up, I’m such a fuck up.” 

“Hey, take it easy, I’m sure it’ll be fine, just apologize and take her another day,” you say, putting your hand on the man’s arm to stop him from giving himself a concussion in your bakery, “I’m sure she’ll understand.” 

“You think?” he says, “I’m not the best at remembering birthdays, I may have missed a few in the past.” 

“Well, then she’ll be mad at you, but all you can do is apologize right? And try to make it up to her as best you can.” 

“Yeah…yeah…maybe you’re right, thanks baker girl.” He gives you a lopsided smile and you notice the smudges of dark eyeliner around his eyes, “How about those snacks? I’m fucking starving.” 

You can’t help but laugh, the man’s a mess but somehow adorable at the same time with his wild hair and stained t-shirt. 

“Sure, I’ll get you something, what do you like?”

“Do you have sausage rolls?” he asks, following you into the kitchen, “I fucking love sausage rolls.”

“What, like those things they made on the Great British Bake Off?” you reply, opening your walk in fridge to survey the snack options. 

“Yeah, I did this movie once, in England, and there was a bakery next to my apartment and whenever I got back from a party, early morning, I’d knock on their back door and they’d sell me these fat sausage rolls, fresh from the oven, fucking amazing.” 

“Sorry, no sausage rolls in this bakery,” you say, “but my cookies will be done soon, if you can wait.” 

You turn back to the man and realize he’s wandering around the kitchen, sticking his nose in your bowls, sniffing loudly. 

“Hey, don’t stick your finger in that,” you say, “Health and Safety are going to have my license if they catch you.”

“Sorry, I’ve just got the munchies, I’ve been high for like, two days,” he says, waving his arms around, “this place is torture for a high pers-OH! Do you know what I love?”

“No,” you sigh, exasperated, “I don’t know what you love.”  

He completely misses your tone as he spins in a circle around the kitchen and you realize that he’s wearing what looks like very expensive pajama pants and no shoes, just socks.

“I love those…what do you call them, like…millionaire’s something?” 

“Millionaire's shortbread?” you ask and he spins around to you with a big grin. 

“Yes! Those! With like the chocolate and the peanut butter and they’re like the best Reese’s ever, only even more fucking amazing. Can you make those?”  “I don’t know, maybe,” you begin and the man actually falls to his knees, shuffling over the floor to you. 

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’m dying here, beautiful baker girl, make me happy!”

“Are you asking me to bake for you or proposing?” you laugh, this man is too ridiculous as he grins up at you. 

“If you make them for me, I won’t marry you, but there are many other things I can do,” he says, pulling down his dark sunglasses from his head and winking at you from over the edge, his cheeky grin making it impossible to scowl at him. 

“Fine, I’ll make them for you, just get up from my floor, please,” you say, reaching for his hand. He takes yours with a bright smile, kissing the back of it, before he stumbles to his feet and follows you over to your big workbench.

“I’m Dieter, by the way. Can I sit here?” he asks, pointing to the stool that stands next to the bench. 

“Nice to meet you Dieter,” you say, “sure, go ahead, it’s got wheels on it though so be careful.” 

“Awesome,” Dieter says and sits down, immediately speeding across the floor with a kick of his socked feet. He stops himself from crashing into the fridge door by grabbing on to the handle before he shoots off again, rolling all the way over to the open back door. 

“Don’t fall out through the door please,” you call after him and you hear him giggle, a second later he comes spinning into the kitchen again. 

“This thing is awesome, I need to buy one for my house.” 

“Happy you’re enjoying yourself,” you laugh and walk to where yesterday’s bakes are stacked on trays. You’d made a layer of shortbread yesterday, you were planning on making lemon bars but Millionaire’s shortbread will work too. As you bring it over to your work station Dieter rolls past you and stops by the bench.  “Can I help?” he asks, looking up at you, his sunglasses back in his messy hair. He’s kinda cute when you think about it, gorgeous brown eyes, and the smile he’s giving you is open and curious with an adorable dimple. 

“Yeah, sure, you can be in charge of peanuts,” you say, walking over to the dry storage, “They need to be bashed into chunks with a rolling pin, something tells me that’s something you can probably handle.” 

“That sounds fun, please, direct me,” he says, kicking himself over to the storage cupboard on the stool. 

“Oops, sorry,” he giggles, grabbing hold of your hips to stop himself from crashing into the storage door, “I kicked too hard that time.” 

“Go easy there, Dieter,” you laugh as he untangles himself from the stool and stands up. You get on your tiptoes to grab the peanuts and suddenly realize he’s still holding on to your hips, standing close behind you. You swear you feel his nose brush the side of your head, a quick inhale from him, and then he steps back, letting go. 

“Peanuts?” he says, leaning past you and reaching up to grab the bag sitting just out of your reach. His arm brushes over yours and he’s suddenly very close again, his citrusy after shave, mingling with the heady sweet smoke of weed, fills your senses. 

“Uhh…y-yeah,” you stutter, “thanks. And the dark chocolate if you can reach it.” 

“Sure, this one?” he asks, grabbing the bag of Valrhona from the shelf. This time his chest is pressed against your back, you really should move out of his way, but he’s right behind you, almost pinning you in place, as he has to stretch to his full length to reach. And you find that you don’t mind at all, he’s warm and solid behind you, and this is more action than you’ve had in months. 

“That’s the one, thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. 

Dieter brings it down to your level and you take it from him, expecting him to step back and give you room to go back to the work bench. But instead he stays right behind you, and this time you really do feel him bend down and brush his nose over your cheek, down to where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“You smell delicious, like a cookie,” he mumbles and your heart literally skips a beat. 

“Th-thanks,” you splutter and when Dieter steps back, letting you move, you avoid his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn. 

“S-so the…umm…rolling pin is on that shelf there,” you say, pointing down to your right, “and there’s a measuring cup too, just…umm…just get a cup of peanuts, and put them in a plastic bag and bash away. Just wash your hands first.” 

“Ok, I can do that,” he says with a grin and he walks behind you to the sink in the corner while you measure out the peanut butter into a sauce pan. 

Dieter gets to work on the peanuts with great enthusiasm until you tell him they’re broken up enough. 

“Just leave them there, you can come here and stir the peanut butter while I get the caramel ready,” you instruct him and he ambles over in just his socks. 

“What happened to your shoes? If you don’t mind me asking,” you point at his stripey, multicolored socks. 

“I’m not sure,” Dieter glances down at his feet, “I had shoes when I left home, I’m sure of it, but after that it gets a bit hazy.” 

“You’ve really been partying since Tuesday?” you ask and he nods. 

“Yeah, it was a good party so we just kinda kept going,” he grins, “there was a huge pool and we all went in. Actually, maybe that’s where I lost my shoes?” 

“Maybe, you could go back and look for them?” 

“And miss out on baking with a pretty baker girl? Never!” he chuckles and you’re not totally sure he’s being serious or not, but the grin he gives you makes you hope he is. 

“I think this is melted,” he says, draggin the spoon through the silky smooth peanut butter, showing you the bowl. 

“Yeah, that looks done. Just pass me that tray of shortbread and I’ll pour the caramel on top.” 

“Can I lick the bowl?” he asks, looking over your shoulder as you let the thick golden liquid pool on top of the shortbread. 

“I’m pretty good at scraping, there’s usually nothing left to lick,” you say, dragging the spatula around the edge. 

“Can’t you be a bit sloppy, just for me?” Dieter grins, standing entirely too close, “It smells so good, I wanna taste it.” 

This time he’s definitely flirting, the salacious smile on his face while he winks at you, makes you both roll your eyes and squash down butterflies on the inside. 

“Fine, I’ll leave some for you,” you smile, looking back at the shortbread again and scraping out caramel, leaving the last of it on the spatula. Putting the bowl to the side, you hold out the spatula for him. But instead of taking it, he grabs hold of your hand, and licks the caramel off the spatula with a long swipe of his tongue. His eyes don’t leave yours and the whole thing is so over the top you burst out laughing. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, tone it down maybe?” you snort, as he abruptly stops licking, letting go of your hand. 

“What?” he blushes, “I saw it in this movie, it looked sexy.” 

“Yeah, in a porno maybe!” you say, handing him the spatula, and only the spatula.

He takes it with a sheepish look, “Sorry, that usually works.” 

“Not in this bakery, I have to work with that spatula when you’re gone, I can’t have it being used as a porno prop, Dieter.” You grab a new spatula from the holder on the counter and start smoothing out the caramel. 

“You do smell good though,” Dieter says, still looking sheepish, “that wasn’t just a line.” 

“Thanks,” you shoot him a quick smile, working over the caramel, “you smell good too, underneath all that weed funk.” 

At this he grabs the front of his t-shirt and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, it’s kinda obvious, huh.” 

“Can’t believe you partied for forty-eight hours, I’d be dead on my feet,” you say, mixing the peanut butter into the caramel layer, sprinkling in some of the crushed peanuts, “Do you want coffee or something while we wait for this to set?” 

“Fuck yes, coffee sounds amazing!” Dieter exclaims, dropping the spatula from his mouth, “And this stuff is amazing too, I’d eat a bowl of just this.” 

“You’d die of a sugar rush if you did,” you laugh, sliding the tray into the large fridge and setting a timer on your phone, “C’mon, the coffee machine is out front.” 

One of the advantages of being the sole owner of the bakery was that you got to decide what to skimp on, and what to splurge on. And the espresso machine was something you’d really splurged on. For a shop that mainly sold take out baked goods, it was way over the top, but it meant you always had great coffee on hand for your early mornings. The machine was already up and running, humming quietly as you started preparing two shots. 

“How do you take it, Dieter?” you ask and he winks at you.  “Anyway you wanna give it to me, baker girl,” he grins and when you sigh loudly, he laughs and holds up his hands in defense. “C’mon! I had to! You set it up perfectly!” 

“How do you take your coffee?” you emphasis and glare at him, but your smile is breaking through and he gives you a playful poke as he comes up and stands next to the machine. 

“Extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have ‘em.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” you smirk, “A guy who loves Millionaire’s Shortbread, of course he wants extra everything. I bet you’re lining up outside your local Starbucks the morning they start selling Pumpkin Spice.” 

“I would never drink Starbucks!” he protests, “Fucking vile coffee and the worst of corporate America. But you can’t beat a good pumpkin spice if you’ve got quality coffee.” 

“I’ve only got great coffee here, but no syrup, you want a latte? Double shot espresso?” 

“Please,” he says, leaning against the counter next to the espresso machine as he looks over the front of your little shop, crossing his arms. You can’t help the glance up at his arms, the t-shirt hanging on for dear life as it clings to his biceps and broad shoulders. The many rings on his fingers look tiny on his large hands as he grips the outside of his arms, and you’re temporarily distracted by them, and his close proximity. 

The hiss of the machine pulls you back to reality, coffee sputtering out of the spouts into the cup. You glance back up at Dieter and find him watching you with a crooked smile, a dimple in his cheek. 

“What?” you say, looking back at the machine and begin to steam the milk. 

“You really are beautiful,” he says, almost matter of factly, “especially when you zone out.” 

“It’s early, and I’ve been up since two am, but thanks, I guess,” you reply, handing him the latte and pointing to the sugar bowl on the counter next to the till. 

“I wasn’t trying to make a move or anything,” he says, sounding slightly hurt, “I just wanted to tell you I think you’re gorgeous.” 

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, immediately regretting your tone, “I’m just not used to compliments I guess, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I should’ve just said thanks,” you look over at him and give him a smile, “Thanks Dieter.” 

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smiling back. 

You knock out the used coffee grounds and fill it up again to make your own coffee. Dieter reaches over and grabs four sugar cubes and drops them in the latte, stirring while he watches you work. He’s watching you closely again and it makes your cheeks heat up. He’s got a strange energy of childish mayhem and intense magnetism, chaos that’s either going to make you laugh until your sides hurt or fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week. And you’re not sure which one you want. 

Your coffee done, you add a splash of milk and lean against the counter opposite Dieter, taking a careful sip. He’s wrapped both his large hands around the thick glass and is delicately licking the foam, drawing a pattern in it with his tongue. You watch him for a few seconds until he notices you and gives you a sheepish grin. 

“What?” he asks, copying your tone from earlier. 

“You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, the question slipping out before you have a chance to stop it, immediately regretting your filterless mouth. 

But he gives you a disarming smile, “Gorgeous. Gorgeous baker girl that smells like cookies and caramel and chocolate.” 

“You’re just high,” you can’t help but scoff at him, but he just shakes his head. 

“No, not at all.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you, the silence stretching between you until you think something will have to snap and it’s probably going to be you. 

The phone saves you, the timer going off just as you don’t think you can stand another second of his chocolate brown eyes looking at you like you’re the snack he’s been asking for. 

“Thecaramelisset,” you rush out, breaking eye contact and hurrying back into the kitchen as if another second in the fridge would ruin the whole thing. Dieter comes in behind you at a slower pace, still drinking his coffee. 

You pull out the tray and set it down on the workbench before turning on the burner under a saucepan of water, setting up a water bath. 

“I’m just gonna melt this chocolate, and then I’ll spread it on top, it’ll set pretty quickly. And then it’s done.” You work quickly, too flustered to look at him and he hoovers just to your side, watching your movements. 

The chocolate melts fast, you only need a thin layer, and then you pour it over the caramel. You scrape the bowl clean but leave a generous amount of chocolate on the spatula, giving it to Dieter. 

“Don’t burn your mouth, it’s still warm”, you say when he takes it. He doesn’t grab your hand this time, but his fingertips brushes over yours as he nods, and it sends a sharp little jolt through you. 

You turn back to the almost finished shortbread but can’t help glancing over at him. His pink tongue comes out and licks the chocolate, this time it’s not over the top, nothing provocative about it, he’s not even looking at you. But you swear you can feel every stroke of his tongue on your own skin, burning hot and wet.

You swallow and tear your eyes away, blindly reaching for the crushed peanuts, taking a handful and scattering it across the chocolate. The Millionaire’s Shortbread is done and you slide the tray back into the fridge, it only needs a few minutes. Dieter remains by the counter, finishing off the chocolate on the spatula as you start to clean up the kitchen and bring out the cookie dough that still needs to be taken care of. You see Dieters eyes widen as he sees the first scoop of dough land on the baking tray. 

“Is that chocolate chip,” he almost whispers reverently, spatula forgotten, as he slowly comes over to stare down into the bowl. 

“You want to try it? It’s double chocolate chip with browned butter.” 

He makes a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head back before he looks at you and nods, “Please, it smells so good.” 

You grab a tasting spoon, giving him a generous scoop and watch with a smile as he puts it in his mouth. His eyes close of their own volition as he moans, far too enticingly, around the spoon. 

“Oh my god…” he sighs, slowly chewing the dough, “This is like heaven, better than sex, better than fucking coke.” 

“Knock yourself out,” you chuckle, “it’s not healthy but it’s sure as hell better for you than coke.” 

“And sex?” he asks with a wink, still rolling the dough around his mouth. 

“They’re probably on par, but this is tastier than cum.” 

Dieter nearly chokes, coughing loudly as you giggle. Between repeated attempts at clearing his throat he points his finger at you accusingly, trying to grin between his coughing.

“You’re…” he coughs again, “You’re a dirty baker girl!” he finally manages, grinning widely as you go back to scooping dough, still giggling. 

“I can’t believe I said that, but you did serve it up perfectly.” 

“I did, but I never thought your mind was that filthy, I’m appalled” he laughs, placing a hand on his chest in a mock gesture of shock. “Better than cum huh? You have a lot of experience in that department?” 

Now he’s winking again, poking to get more details out of you. So instead you take another tasting spoon, scoop up more dough and put it straight into his mouth to shut him up. It works, he grins around the spoon and smacks his lips at the taste. 

“So fucking good, definitely better than cum,” he smirks, earning an eye roll from you. “Do you wanna taste it?” 

“I’m good, I’ve already tasted the dough many times,” you reply, careful to specify that you’re talking about dough. 

“Maybe not like this though,” Dieter says, suddenly bending down and pressing his lips against yours. It almost makes you jump, his soft lips against yours, his aftershave, it all envelops you in an instance. He’s not touching you anywhere else, just your lips, and you can’t taste him, his mouth is still closed. Maybe you should push him off, the thought flits through your mind for a split second. But you want to taste him, taste the cookie dough you know is delicious, mingled with him, so you part your lips, your tongue coming out. 

Dieter lets a quiet groan slip out as he part his lips, letting you in, opening his mouth and tilting his head to come closer. You hear the spoon clatter to the floor as his hand comes up and cups your cheek, his big hand reaching behind your neck, another stifled groan from him. He tastes of sugar, coffee and chocolate, all flavors mingling into something enticing that pulls you closer.

There’s nothing delicate about this kiss now, you lick into his mouth, and he offers you all the space you want, holding you close and moaning softly as your tongues tangle.

“Touch my hair,” he mumbles, breathing into your mouth, “I want to feel your hands in my hair.” 

“They’re all sticky, Dieter,” you protest but you feel him shake his head, his lips brushing over yours. 

“I don’t care, touch me, hold me, I want to smell like you when I leave,” his tongue slips between your lips, and you run your hands through his hair. You can feel it sticking, tugging at his wild locks but he just groans, his hands holding you tighter and, encouraged, you let your own hands run across his body, eliciting another loud groan from him. 

Tension is building between the two of you, he is growing hard against your belly, unmistakably turned on and doing nothing to hide it. You can feel heat radiating from your own core, so scorching he must feel it too through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. If this doesn’t stop soon he’ll have you bent over the workbench in a minute, and Health and Safety would definitely have something to say about that. 

With a groan and tremendous effort, you put your hands on his chest and push him away. His lips chase yours for a few seconds, eyes closed, a protest coming from him, before he looks down at you with a sigh. 

“You taste even better than you smell,” he says, not letting go of your cheek, his other hand still around your waist. 

“The cookie dough goes really well with the coffee,” you reply, your mouth quirking up in a smile and he matches it, a dopey look on his face. 

“Amazing,” he breathes, "you're amazing, baker girl.” 

His adoration makes you tremble, you feel the heat in your cheeks, and he sees it, leaning into your lips. He stops and looks at you for a beat, to ask for your permission, and when you don’t pull away he presses a soft kiss to your warm mouth, so different from the hasty, heated kiss you just shared. This one lasts only for a few seconds, gentle, before he pulls back, his hand slowly trailing along your check. 

“I should probably call for my ride,” he says softly, “it’ll take a while to get here.” 

“Ok,” you nod, “the shortbread should be done too.” 

“Ok,” he replies, but he doesn’t make a move to leave and you can’t seem to take your eyes off him. 

“I really should…” he sighs, tracing his fingertips over your cheek again, “call that ride.” 

“Go, do that, I’ll cut the shortbread, we can have some while we wait for your ride.” You lightly put your hand on his warm chest and push him away, smiling, but you really want to bunch your hand in the soft t-shirt and pull him closer. 

“Ok,” he says, louder this time, as if making up his mind. He shoves his hand in his pocket, miraculously finding his phone intact as you bring the tray out of the fridge. 

The whole thing has set into layers, so you take a sharp knife and start cutting rectangles, slipping them up and onto the tray that goes in your display case, some go into a take away box, two you put on a separate plate and then look around for Dieter, spotting his broad back out by the back door. Just as you come over to him he ends his call, turning around to you with a smile. 

“My ride will be here in about twenty minutes,” he says, following you to the doorstep and sitting down. You sink down next to him, maybe a little bit closer than necessary, but he’s wide and takes up almost the whole door frame. Your cookie dough is still waiting for you, you’ll be playing catch up with your baking for the rest of the morning, but it’ll be worth it. This chaotic, disheveled man has made your morning a lot more exciting than usual and you’re a little bit sad to see him go. 

“Here, what you came for,” you say, holding out the plate, and Dieter takes one of the Millionaire’s Shortbread. 

“I can’t believe you made these just for me,” he grins and bites into it. You watch his face, this is your favorite part of baking, watching people when they taste the finished thing. And Dieter doesn’t disappoint, he groans, loudly, grabbing onto your arm and leaning his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body reacting to the flavors in his mouth as he chews. 

“I Iive here now,” he moans, “I’m giving up my career, I’m going to live in your bakery and pay you to feed me for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head up and takes another big bite of the shortbread, groaning again as he looks at you, his eyebrows pulled together, big brown eyes pleading. “How is this so good?” he moans, his tongue coming out to catch an errant peanut crumb, “you’ve got to taste this.” 

He holds up the last bite of the shortbread to you, and you open your mouth, letting him place it between your lips. You feel his fingers brush over them as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to swipe over your bottom lip. 

“It’s really good, I’m pretty happy with this,” you say, trying to not chew with your mouth open as Dieter looks at you, his eyes on your lips.

“Do you want another one?” you ask, holding up the plate and Dieter nods fervently and groans again as he takes a bite. 

“I can’t decide, this or sex, which is better,” he chuckles, and you nod. You know the cake is good, but you can’t help but wonder if sex with Dieter might not be even better. 

You sit side by side in the early morning sunshine, eating the cakes. Dieter soon finishes his second one and cracks the lid on the take away box you’ve given him, sneaking a third one with a childish grin that makes you happy to see. 

“Seriously, I live here now, I’m moving in tomorrow,” he mumbles, moaning between bites, leaning on you, his head on your shoulder. 

“You do that Dieter, I might even let you lick the bowl once in a while,” you say, patting his messy hair. 

“Lick the bowl or lick your bowl, baker girl?” he giggles and you give him a light smack, shaking your head. 

“Enough with the porn jokes,” you scold him, no menace to your words, he can hear the smile in your voice and giggles again. 

“Can I put my head in your lap?” he asks, “Nothing weird, I promise, I’m just really tired suddenly.” 

“Ok, sure, but your ride should be here soon.” 

“Yeah, I just wanna relax my eyes for a while….” Dieter yawns and slips down the stairs to sit on the last step, hooking his arm around your hips and putting his head on your lap. The warm weight of him on your legs is actually comforting, his arm a steady hold behind you. Without thinking about it you start carding your fingers through his hair, adding to the sticky mess, making it stand on end, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It takes him minutes to fall asleep, a low rumbling snore coming from him. 

You keep stroking his head for a few more minutes before you carefully lift his head up and slip out from under him, letting his arm be his pillow. You need to go back to baking, your first customers will be arriving soon and you haven’t even put the cookies in the oven, you want them fresh and warm when the early morning commuters arrive. 

Back in the kitchen you quickly scoop the rest of the dough on the trays and get them in the oven and start stocking the display case out front with what’s already done. You’re just sliding the last croissants into the tray when the opening hour strikes and you flip the sign on the front door. You’ve been listening out back for a car to pull up but you haven’t heard anything and once the morning rush starts, you’re swamped and a couple of hours pass before you even realize. When it finally calms down you wipe down the counter and clean your hands before checking out by the back door. It’s still open, but Dieter is gone, as is the take away box, not a trace of your chaotic, magnetic early morning visitor. 

Hours later, as you’re about to close up for the day, a delivery van pulls up in front of the shop. A man in a uniform jumps out and comes rushing in with a box and an extravagant bouquet of flowers with a vase.  “Delivery for you, miss,” he says, handing you a device to sign your name on, and then the flowers and the box. 

“Thanks,” you say but the man is already halfway out the door. 

The flowers fill the small shop with their scent, and you place them on the counter, next to the till, stopping to stick your nose into the white lilac and breathing deeply before getting the shop closed up.

You flip the sign and take the box into the kitchen, the back door is still open to let the warm spring air in. Sinking down on the stairs where you sat with Dieter just this morning, you open the box. It contains another box and inside that, a note. But there’s also a mouth watering, rich, smell of pastry and meat coming from the box. Intrigued, you open the lid, only to find a thermal container inside, like a small version of the ones used to keep delivery pizza warm. Inside are six fat, delicious looking sausages rolls. Your stomach gives a hungry grumble and you immediately grab one, laughing as you remember Dieter’s first request this morning; sausage rolls, like the ones he bought in England after party nights. 

The sausage roll really is as delicious as it looks and you grab a second one before you pick up the note that came with them. 

It's a double folded piece of paper, so thick it almost looks like part of a canvas. On the inside a note is scribbled in a looped, flowing handwriting. 

“Next time I’m asking you on a date, baker girl /D” 

Part Two

If you want to make Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread, here's the recipe I used.

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal character fanfiction #a bakers dozen #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fluff #the bubble

[2hightocare]

how did y/n and jungkook meet in the KUWTB universe? also i love the way you write all your stories :)

You were stubborn; that was Jungkook’s first thought when he first met you. He stared at you with his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the last cookie package that you both held tightly between you both.

“I got it first.” You pulled a bit, but Jungkook didn’t budge.

“Actually, no I did.” Jungkook pulled, and you pulled back like a little kid throwing a tantrum. “Could I have it then?” You dropped your sassy tone, hoping the random handsome man would let you have the last packet of your favorite cookies. “Why would I do that?” He said. Not only did you want to yank the cookies and make a run for it, but you also wanted to slap the smug look he had on his face.

“I don’t know, be a gentleman..?” You raised an eyebrow, giving him a duh look, as if that would make it click in his head and he’d hand you the cookies. But instead, he chuckled under his breath before giving you a slight smile. A small piece of his hair fell onto his forehead, and you didn’t know why, but you wanted to reach out and put it back in place.

You could sit here and say how annoyed you were at the moment, but you couldn’t sit here and lie, saying that he wasn’t attractive. He was the epitome of your type from head to toe. You scanned his face, the small scar he had under his eyebrow to his little mole underneath his lip had you almost melting and handing him the cookies.

His dark fluffy hair, where you could run your fingers through non-stop and tug once in a while. And don’t get you started with his body – muscular but lean, tall, basically hovering over you, and you seemed to be the average height for a woman. But here you were standing in front of him, with your neck cranked up to be able to stare directly at him.

The tattoo sleeve had your mouth salivating on the spot; his muscles flexed whenever he would try to pull on the foil package, making a tsk sound. “You done checking me out?” The raven said with a sly smirk.

“Yeah, I’m done.” You nonchalantly said before tugging on the package one last time. “You’re really pretty,” he said, making you choke on your own saliva.

Jungkook first saw you pushing your cart in the strawberry aisle, and he suddenly had the urge to talk to you. You were beautiful, you stood out in a crowd full of people in his eyes. He slightly laughed at your outfit – your leggings hugged your ass and curves perfectly, your long white socks were pulled on top of your leggings as you walked in your bright pink crocs. The thing that made him giggle was your crop top, “don’t be shy! Let me ruin your life.” The shirt read, Jungkook a hundred percent would let you ruin his life.

Jungkook found himself following you around the store. It’s not like he was following you in a creepy way; he just needed to find a perfect way to strike up a conversation.

He even thought about straight-up face planting in front of you so you would ask him if he was okay. But before he would actually do it, he stopped himself after he realized how stupid it sounded and how stupid he would look.

But then he saw you reach for the last cookie packet, and he jumped into the scene. So now you’re both here, you shooting him a glare as he smiles and compliments you.

“Just ‘cause you called me pretty doesn’t mean I’m going to hand you the cookies.” You sighed, almost laughing from how he seriously doesn’t seem to care. “How about you give me your number, and I give you the cookies..? I see it as a win-win situation.” He shrugged.

“Why would I do that?” You said, mocking his tone, which only made Jungkook’s heart flutter in his stomach. Woman is my fucking soulmate.. he thought to himself.

“Because one, you get the cookies, and two, I get a pretty girl’s number on my phone. And I don’t know, maybe we will even get married in the future.” He winked as you chuckled softly.

“I doubt it, give me your phone.” You let go of the cookies and extend your hand for him to hand you his phone.

Hopefully, I don’t regret this, you thought to yourself.

a/n: my beloved babies, now they eat cookies together everyday for the rest of their lifes and thank you my love 💌💌 #ask! KUWTB💌

#ask! KUWTB💌 #jungkook #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jjk #jungkook x reader #bangtan #fluff #bts jk #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jeon jk #jk #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungguk #bangtan smut #bts smut #fanfic #first meeting #meet cute #cookies #kpop smut #kpop fluff #anonoymous

[zirobitches]

One Piece: Soulmate AU

Always in this twilight - Crocodile x GN!Reader

Summary: Soulmates are incapable of hurting each other. As a pirate, this leads to some tragic moments midst battles. You thought you were prepared for when it might happen to you, but damn you were wrong.

Gn! Reader, Angst no comfort, no beta we die like Roger, Reader is Croc's First Mate and a former Roger pirate (Shanks/Buggy's age) but it doesnt really matter, also former slave background, congrats you are now in the place of my self insert OC, no promises on not being cringe this is literally a /reader fic, also had to make a fake crew bc we dont know enough crocs backstory HAND IT OVER ODA

Word count: 4500+

Also first fic on tumblr, idk what im doing here, lmk ur opinions. It is now 2:03am and i have class at 10:30. Might have to skip lmao

EDITS: grammar check lol. also cross posted it on ao3 - same name as my blog

-----------

Soulmates weren't as common as you'd might assume when you first hear about it. There's an easy way to prove someone is your soulmate, but when that method is to harm them, well, it doesn't make it easy to find that person. And society gets a bit weird when you know your soulmate is out there.

you've known that some people carry around little needles to poke into strangers hoping to find the one. But that was in decent society; among pirates you more often heard tales of bullets suddenly dropping to the ground after they hit their target, or swords stopping on someone's skin as though it just hit steel. A battlefield is a hell of a place to meet the person fate had decided for you, but for pirates it had become a norm.

Not that long ago, some genius named Vegapunk did a study on how many people meet their soulmate - 1 in a 100. And that's just how many people find them. It never accounts for how many actually happily end up together. You had chosen to live your life as a pirate, so a happy ending with your supposed soulmate wasn't something you foresaw in your future.

You were always grateful most of your current crew felt the same. There was a small group among pirates that were always on the lookout to find their soulmate and then immediately retire. Your crew however like to joke that if they found them in battle, they would move out of the way so someone else could finish them off. It was a grim reality, but it was your reality.

However, on nights like these where you drank the night away, some romantic always had to bring it up.

"C'mon, did old Roger really make you so cold hearted that you don't believe in true love?"

"Pfft, you're fucking joking right?" You scoffed back. You always argued with Tink about this, but you understood your young navigator still had hope. Too bad you were the pessimist of the crew.

"It's not that I don't believe in true love," you continued. "Soulmates are real, I don't really see another explanation for not being able to harm only one other person in the world. But why limit yourself to waiting for a person you might never meet? So many are denying themselves to fall in love with someone else and then end up dying alone because they never found their soulmate."

Tink pouted in front of you. This was a tired conversation, one that was repeated every few weeks much to the chagrin of your other crewmates. But a controversial topic was always a great topic for a group such as yourselves.

"I'm not denying myself the chance to fall in love! I'm denying ever feeling heartbroken over someone who doesn't matter!" Tink tried to argue back, but you just groaned in response.

"And if you never meet the one? You'll just live and die without ever letting yourself even get a taste of what it is you're chasing." Tink glared, knowing it was futile to keep going, but the pink of her cheeks told you that the grog in her system was trying to get her to keep fighting.

It was then that a familiar tall figure caught your eye. There was your beloved captain Crocodile, trying to sneak behind everyone's back to grab another bottle for himself.

Crocodile was never much one for festivities, at least not one 'undeserved' as he might put it. While there was no battle won to celebrate, the night sky was clear and the waters calm; in the Grand Line, shouldn't that be enough to be happy about?

However tonight you weren't going to let him sneak booze and hide from the crew.

"Cap'n!" Apparently the grog was getting to you as well. "Come over here and help me crush Tink's dream of a soulmate!" You laughed as Tink gasped at your audacity. The rest of your company seemed more or less happy with how the night was going, but your captain was still less than enthused to join.

"If this is the same soulmate debate you've been going on about for the past 3 years, I will pass again. You already know my feelings on the matter." Crocodile's deep voice reverberated across the deck of the ship. Even if he wasn't giving orders, he still commanded the attention of everyone within earshot.

He gave a long drag of the bottle in his hand, and then turned to walk away. However you felt it was your duty as first mate to pester your captain into spending casual time with his crew.

"I may know your opinion, but would you be so kind and gracious to remind the rest of the crew? Perhaps?" You called out to the dark coat trying to run from the party, and saw him pause, then turn to walk back.

You could see some of the newer additions to the crew cower. You didn't blame them, Crocodile was an imposing figure, and was developing a infamous reputation as a pirate on the Grand Line. But he was your captain, and he would never hurt his crew, this you knew.

"If I ever met my soulmate," Crocodile began, "I assume it would be when I attempt to kill them." He took another sip from his bottle. This was one of the rare moments he was not puffing a cigar you suddenly realize. It made his face look younger, as though he was actually a man in his 20s as he claimed he was.

As though he knew you were thinking of him, Crocodile made eye contact with you. "When I realize I can't kill them, I'll call out for you." You felt your heart skip a beat. "Then you can finish them for me."

It was purely the grog's fault for making your face warm. The lack of a sea breeze was also suddenly apparent. But you couldn't be flustered, not when you were the one who asked for this answer.

You smiled, doing your best to brush off the tension. You were still maintaining eye contact with him after all. "Well there you have it. Not exactly the opinion I remember, but I hope I can live up to your expectations, Cap'n."

Crocodile nodded, then told you all to start to sober up or get to bed. "I don't need a crew of drunks on the Grand Line, or else we will never make it to the New World."

Your crew began to disperse and you went below deck to your cabin. You really hadn't had much to drink that night, yet your chest felt tight.

You thought you had learned your lesson, but no. Even after promising yourself you wouldn't, you became attached to your crew. Even after your last one fell apart. Even after you watched your first captain, your savior, be executed, you fucked up and dove straight into a different crew expecting it to be different.

You laid down in your bed, staring at the ceiling, the world slightly spinning. Suddenly all you can think about is when you met Croc.

-

It was little more than 3 years ago now, wasn't it? A whole 3 years since Roger died. The weight is still heavy in your chest, but not nearly as devastating as it was in Logue Town that day. You were a wreck, physically and emotionally.

After watching the execution, you were too heartbroken to join the others in pursuit of the One Piece. Your world has just officially ended, the crew was technically already disbanded, but now there was no hope of getting it back.

You ended up in some local bar. No one recognized you, and in the haze of all the excitement following Roger's death, why would they? You had just been some nobody apprentice who happened to stick on his ship after Roger saved your life.

But your sorrow did catch someone's eye.

You sat at the counter of this dive bar in Logue Town, mindlessly stirring whatever number drink sat in front of you now. You had run out of tears, and sat stuck in some frozen state of grief.

However, this sad portrait of yourself did not seem to deter someone from sitting next to you.

You paid them no mind, just staring into empty space, not enough energy to even remember you were still alive.

"You were a member of the Pirate King's crew weren't you?"

A deep voice rattled from the stranger, but it was his words that really caught your attention.

"How'd you figure?" You had paused your stirring at first, but now focused on your drink to avoid eye contact. You were a mess, you could feel your puffy eyes, and were still sniffling every so often.

"There's no reason anyone in this town should be sad that someone like him died. So, you must have known him, right?" The deep voice continued, and you could feel their eyes staring, but didn't have the strength to meet them.

"Well, you caught me. Going to take me in and see if you can get a reward? I'm afraid you won't find any posters of me though. I tended to get lost in the crowd, you could say." After that statement you finally grasped the glass in front of you and decided to knock back what was left. If this was the end of your little pirating career, so be it. It can die with Roger.

"Will you join my crew?"

Your head snapped up at that, and you finally looked up at the stranger.

Long black hair was slicked back to show all the sharp features of the man's face. A strong square jaw, a prominent, perfect nose, and pale, piercing eyes, hooded by thin black eyebrows. Undoubtedly, even in your drunken haze, you were sure sober you would agree the man was handsome.

After a moment to take in this stranger all you could manage was a "Excuse me?"

He smiled - no, smirked - and pulled a cigar out from his coat. "I could use someone with your experience on my crew." He carried on, as if you were discussing the weather outside. He lit the cigar with a lighter you hadn't noticed him pull out. Perhaps it was the booze, but looking at this guy, he almost seemed… fuzzy, around the edges.

"Having someone who once worked for the Pirate King should help me become the next Pirate King."

The stranger took a long drag from his cigar, then exhaled over the counter. You didn't know where the barkeep was now, but at the moment, it felt like you and him were the only people in the building.

You should be mad. Enraged at the audacity of someone to come up to you on the worst day of your life, and to ask you to work for them. But you felt nothing.

No. That wasn't right. You did feel something.

You chuckled. Giggled even. A small laugh that built up till you were laughing, nearly hysterically. You hadn't felt like this sort of light headed elation in a long time, and it was nice.

After taking a moment to catch your breath you finally looked back at the stranger. He didn't look upset at your reaction. He just kept smoking his cigar, waiting for an answer.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"I am Sir Crocodile, captain of the Neverland Pirates."

"Hmmm. Well, Sir Crocodile, I can tell you now that you have no chance of being Pirate King." You smirked back at him, propping your head up on your hand as you leaned against the counter.

This response still didn't bother the man. If anything, you swore he almost seemed… satisfied by your answer. Perhaps he knows what's coming next.

"I can help you out on the Grand Line and maybe help you get to the New World, but I promise," you leaned in towards this captain, staring him down. "You will never be the man Roger was. No one will."

Yet Crocodile was unperturbed.

"So you'll join my crew?"

You leaned back and reassessed your empty glass. You cast a quick glance at the bar and then back at the other pirate.

"Sure. I don't have anything better to do anyways."

-

You thought back in Logue Town you could never feel the same way about Crocodile's crew that you felt with Roger's, but you were always the fool. Now you are attached.

Now you need a reason to leave.

You couldn't waste your time or your heart with them. You had already died once with Roger, and if you stayed any longer you know you could never leave alive. You got up from bed - still plenty tipsy you swayed over - to your dresser.

Middle drawer, back left, underneath some no longer worn t-shirts was a small box. You opened it.

There were several small scraps of paper. Vivre cards.

As a child on Roger's boat, you were ecstatic to learn about vivre cards. A simple way to know the people you loved were alive and safe, and be able to find their exact location? It was too good to be true.

When you remember the feeling of Roger's paper burning in your hands at his execution, you knew the reality of vivre cards.

Your fingertips gently sorted through the papers you had made for some of Roger's crew. Each had a tiny name written in a corner. Shanks, Buggy, Ray, Gaban, Oden, and a few others of people who had been most important to you.

Maybe you could leave this crew and seek out the others. Rayleigh had always said he would retire at Sabaody, and your crew was bound to get there soon, hopefully in a couple months. The ache in your chest; you missed your old family. This could be the excuse you needed.

With a heavy sigh you closed the box and hid it away again. Sleeping on it would be good. Sleeping away the booze would also be nice.

Maybe then the tears would stop silently slipping down your face.

-

It turns out the excuse of seeing your old crew was unneeded. The news coo was kind enough to drop a reason to leave directly in your lap.

You stared at the newspaper for a long moment. The sinking feeling in your gut still did not go away.

You walked up to the bow where Crocodile was standing. He stared at the horizon as you approached the next island, Water 7.

"Captain."

Crocodile turned to look at you, face neutral, signature cigar in his mouth.

"Morning. The news any good?"

"They want to make you a Warlord."

Your own feelings were swept under the rug as your crewmates overheard. Instantly the deck was buzzing, the news spreading and making the once sleepy, slightly hungover crew come back to life.

"This is perfect!" The helmsman Diat yelled, a grin wide on his face. "Not only do we get the Marines off our back, it's recognition that we are some of the strongest pirates on the Grand Line!"

You would have laughed at him if not for the ice in your chest. Similar celebratory remarks were made all around you, but you didn't have the strength to pretend this was good news to you.

All you could feel was an icy feeling on your back, right where you had a large scar that tore up a long faded tattoo. But time could not get rid of the mark you could never forget about, no matter how much you wanted to.

Amid the spontaneous party you finally turned back to Crocodile. Amidst it all, he was still only looking at you.

Your words were quiet compared to the raucous around you, but your captain heard you just fine.

"If you become a Warlord I'm leaving the crew."

A couple of nearby crew gasped, heads whipped in your direction and murmurs quickly took place of all the yells.

Instantly protests, people yelling your name, yelling their arguments, but it all fell on deaf ears as you stared down your captain.

Tink of all people knew it was futile to argue with you, and turned to the man of the hour. "Captain! You can't just let your first mate leave!"

Before she could continue, Crocodile interjected. "You never planned on making me King of the Pirates, right? So you never planned on staying on this ship anyways."

This evoked even more protests from the crowd. Many of them weren't sure what you two were talking about, and some had begun to yell again.

The sounds were starting to be overwhelming, and this was not a conversation that required the whole crew anyways.

"That's enough from everyone!" You yelled over the cacophony. The crew went quiet. "This is a conversation for me and the captain, the rest of you need to beat it! Do something useful, we will make a port soon."

The crowd was not placated in the least, but it was true the ship would be docked soon, and there were things that needed to be prepared beforehand.

"You heard them. Get back to work." Crocodile finished your command, and the crowd dispersed. You knew they would still be listening, but it didn't stop you.

"I refuse to be part of a crew that works alongside the Marines. If you become a Warlord you automatically become their dog - then you may as well be a dog of the celestial dragons." Your tongue burned even at the mention of the world nobles.

Crocodile took a long drag of his cigar. He looked away from you and sighed an exhale of smoke, then dragged his line of sight back to you.

"I haven't decided yet."

You bristled at this. "Are you suggesting they already offered this to you? And I had to find out through a newspaper?"

Crocodile took yet another drag, and you lost your patience with his nicotine addiction. "Answer me Crocodile."

Your captain sighed through his nose this time, some of the smoke reaching you, a familiar smell after all these years. It once may have been a nice fragrance, knowing your captain was near, but now it blinded you and stoked your anger.

"We are almost to Water 7. Let's save it for there."

-

Tensions were high, especially between you and Crocodile, when your mood worsened when he disappeared while you oversaw the docking. But you docked. You got the crew into a hotel. During this time the crew began splitting into sides, which was not something you had anticipated. But you ignored it all until finally, Crocodile returned and you cornered him into in a room alone with you.

He had no cigar, and you had no drink in hand. It was a painfully sober room.

Crocodile sighed and slumped into an armchair. He dragged his eyes across the room till they met yours. You refused to look away this time, jaw set with determination to stand your ground.

"I don't want to be the Marine's dog," Croc began. "But they offered me a deal."

"The deal that our crimes are excused? Big whoop, as long as we don't get caught it's almost the same."

"No," he sighed, a large ring covered hand dragging down his face in exasperation. "A deal to help take down Whitebeard."

That got you silent. For a moment, as you recalled every time you saw Roger and Whitebeard exchange blows and fight for days on end.

"You? Take down Whitebeard?" You laughed, but it was a dry and bitter thing. "Your bounty is $81 million berries. Your devil fruit is great and all, but it is by no means fight and beat Whitebeard good. Even if Newgate was without his crew, our entire crew would be wiped off the map. You've lost it if you truly believe that this is achieveable."

Crocodile glared from across the room. Not his usual, perpetual glare, but a genuine, freeze you in your tracks ice cold glare.

He stood up, all 8 feet imposing over you as he stalked across the room. "I have let you say plenty of cruel things to me, but this may cross the line."

But you were his first mate and you couldn't fear him if you were supposed to talk sense into him. "Cross the line? I'm not the one who is making deals with the Navy so I can sail us to our deaths at the hands of Whitebeard!" You were yelling now, no, roaring at your foolish headstrong captain.

"If you take that ship and that crew as it is now to the New World to fight Whitebeard and his sons, no one will come back alive!" Your heart was on fire with rage and frozen in fear. Rage at your captain, who is very much overestimating his abilities. Fear for your crewmates who have no idea what sort of danger their captain was going to put them in.

Crocodile was now truly enraged on the same level as you. He sneered down at you as he suddenly grabbed you by the neck - much to your shock. "I wanted you there to see me become the next Pirate King. But if you can't support me for this, one of the biggest moments in my life since I've been a pirate, then I have no need for you anymore."

With his free hand he opened the door that was behind you. A group of Marines walked in with cuffs ready. "To sweeten the deal, what better than to give a former Roger pirate to the Navy?"

You felt all the blood drain from your face, as fear for your own well being finally pierced your heart. You looked up at Crocodile, and you could feel tears begin to creep at the corner of your eyes. "You never fail to surprise me, Captain."

"Well done Sir Crocodile." One of the Marines spoke, and you could tell from their uniform it was a Vice Admiral, though you didn't recognize them.

"A public execution of a Roger's pirate should be a grand way to ring in your instatement as Warlord."

You felt the world slow down around you and felt Crocodile's grip on your neck slip at the Marine's sentencing.

Crocodile began to speak, "That was not what we agreed on," But your ears had begun to ring.

Growing up on the Oro Jackson, you had picked up some neat tricks. You found out you were hopeless with the color of observation haki, but had a special knack for color of arms. Perfect against those darn logia fruit users.

In a blink of an eye you ripped Crocodile's arm away from your neck and you made a mad dash past him. And jumped straight through a window, glass and all.

You could vaguely hear a commotion behind you as Marines ran after you, but it was lost with the ringing in your ears.

You could hear and feel your heartbeat, pounding throughout your body as you ran through the endless alleys and canals of Water 7. You could feel tears pierce through the wind rushing past your face as you ran, desperately with no objective.

All you could think about was the way the heat of Crocodile's hand felt on your neck, the cold metal of the rings that had pressed against your pulse.

Have you ever really touched Crocodile before?

…

You missed him. You didn't understand why. He had just betrayed you - fucking hell, he was just handing you over to the Navy as part of his deal to become a warlord, but god. You wanted to be with him anyways. You're not sure how long you've been in love with him; his sharp eyes, the smell of his cigars, the rings on his hands, but gods above.

You had fallen in love with Crocodile.

In your realization you slowed down. Your legs and lungs burned, you were gasping for air and not just because you had been running.

Has it always been this dark? When did the day leave you behind?

You now stood in some nondescript alley, dimly lit a golden hue by windows that lined it. It was a long alley, each end blocked by canals. How you arrived there you weren't certain. But you weren't alone.

At one end sand had appeared. And from it stepped your dear, awful captain Crocodile. You both stared at each other, both of you panting for breath.

"I didn't want it to be like this." Crocodile's voice cuts through the air to you. You knew you should run. But for some reason you couldn't find the strength.

"I didn't know they would execute you. I imagined they would send you to Impel Down." Crocodile continued to speak. You just stood there and listened as he walked towards you.

As you watched him, there was a strange look on his face. You've seen it before but still didn't know what it meant.

He stopped walking ten feet in front of you. The light was still too dim to see him clearly, but it was fine. You knew his face well enough.

"I won't let the Navy kill you. Not after what the nobles did to you, it feels wrong." You had never told Crocodile what the scar on your back was. It didn't feel like it mattered anymore.

"I think I'll feel better about this if I'm the one who kills you."

You knew this was coming. The second you saw him at the end of the alley. But you agreed with him. If you had to die at someone's hands, you would pick Crocodile over anyone else. Even if it meant he didn't feel the same about you, it didn't matter anymore. You were so tired.

It would be nice to see Roger again.

But then Rayleigh's face flashed in your mind. You still had to pay him a visit. You still had to visit Wano to see Oden. You wanted to see Shanks and Buggy find the One Piece.

You couldn't see Roger just yet.

So, in a sudden scramble, you turned around and ran.

The ground where you had been standing suddenly crumbled. You felt a gasp finally escape your lungs as you realized you almost gave up. But not yet. You had to save your crew too.

Then you finally ran out of luck. The dim light hid a hole in the cobblestones and you fell to the alley ground. You quickly twisted your body just in time to see Crocodile's scythe of sand arc straight towards you.

It hits you right in the chest, and crumbles to dust.

Confused, you run your hands through the sand that has landed on your lap. You're not cut in half - instead you just have sand all over you.

Crocodile change his mind? He was letting you go? Thoughts and heart still racing, you looked up at him.

Oh.

Oh no.

The horror on his face was plain to see - that was supposed to be a killing blow.

But he didn't hurt you.

Your hand jumped to your neck from when he grabbed you earlier. But in retrospect, you had just been shocked by the action, he hadn't harmed you.

Crocodile didn't hurt you.

No.

Crocodile couldn't hurt you.

Because he was your soulmate.

It was the look on his face that hurt you the most. The disgust, anger, horror - this man did not want a soulmate. He did not want you. So why bother sticking around?

You scrambled back to your feet. Even if he couldn't hurt you, the Marines still could.

So, with blurry eyes and a heavy heart, you ran away.

Faintly, you heard a painfully familiar voice call your name, but then all that was left was the wind as you ran.

pt. 2 (if you want, but this might be better as a one shot)

#one piece #sir crocodile #crocodile one piece #crocodile x reader #one piece fanfiction #zirowrites #x reader

[spacedace]

Sorta sequel of this post (where Bruce is happy that Damian has totally and completely normal human friends). You don't have to read that one to get this one tho lol.

Slight Trigger Warning: minor description of injuries and blood, including injuries to ears and scalp. It's quick and not much detail on the injuries themselves, but I wanted to give a heads up.

Tim always thought his friend group was the most unhinged in the family.

Not anymore.

His friends at least had enough of a sense of self preservation to book it when Bruce caught them doing something they shouldn't and leveled them with A Look.

Tim's pretty sure Damian's friends call god a bitch to his face everyday and give him a wedgie in a Denny's parking at least twice a week. He's positive he saw them roast one of the League's S tier world ending threats to the point of tears last weekend. The footage was too badly corrupted to prove it, but he knows what he saw.

All of which to say, he's shouldn't be surprised when Bruce levels little Elle Nightingale and her cousin Billy Batson with his patented "You Are In So Much Trouble" BatDad Face (TM) and the little hellions just grin back at him, entirely unaffected. Shouldn't be but still is because holy fuck even Jason will still back off when Bruce levels him with that look. And these kids had the gaul to ask Bruce if they could go get ice cream after they were done here.

Bruce blinks first. It feels like an omen for the ends times.

Tim can't blame him though, you can’t look into the heart of insanity and chaos like that for too long without risking losing something in the process. Steph was right, they really are nightmare demons sent to feed on their fear and uncertainty.

Billy swipes a smear of blood away from his busted nose with the sleeve of his torn and dirty shirt. Elle's teeth are pink and red from blood - Tim isn't sure if it's better or worse that it's not her blood. Jon was bouncing between fussing over Damian - who Superboy had been mostly able to keep from joining the fight and thus probably saved a couple of lives - and casting worried looks at his two bloody friends as they stood lined up in front of Bruce. At least one of them had enough sense to be wary of that look.

Tim would say that Jon was the well behaved one of the bunch - and worryingly enough he might be - but he'd heard him yelling give em the chair at one of the two scrappers as he and Bruce came running over so he knows it's only the fact that a punch from even a baby Kryptonian would have killed a person that kept the littest Kent out of the fight rather than any idea that the fight itself was wrong. All four children look ruthlessly proud of each other.

The ones the hellions were fighting - a couple of guys Tim's age who had been stupid enough to try and bully Damian at all, let alone in front of his pack of feral raccoons - looked like they'd gone several rounds with Killer Croc before being thrown around by Bane and run over by a car. They deserved it- assholes - but they still looked rough.

One was bleeding from several bite wounds Elle had inflicted on him, earlobes a mess from where the little girl had torn his earrings out, both eyes blackened and swollen to the point he couldn't open them anymore. The other had a large red and bleeding bald spot from where Billy had ripped a good chunk of hair out, nose completely shattered- likely in retaliation for what had been done to Billy's - and elbow hanging at an odd angle. Tim's not sure which one of them had the chair - thankfully one of those fabric folding ones and not something more solid - broken over them, or which hellspawn had taken Jon's suggestion to heart, but either way he could see the twisted up remains of the item in question laying not too far away.

At least the EMTs were ushering the two weeping teens away into ambulances so they could get taken care of. Tim's pretty sure Elle and Billie would try and get a few more hits in otherwise and knowing them he doesn't doubt that at least one of the cops that had shown up on the scene would end up losing a finger or two in the process. Which normally Tim would be fine with - he has files on all of these guys and they deserve way worse than what a couple twelve year olds could do to them - but in this case he's already having a hard time convincing the officers that it's just a matter of some kids defending one of their friends from a couple of bullies.

Ugh. Some people just didn't understand children and it really showed. It was a public park, kids were gonna be kids. Just a normal childhood scrap. The real problem were the highschoolers who tried to start shit with a group of little kids.

Sure the hellions were feral and unhinged enough to be unbothered by Bruce trying to chide them about starting fights instead of getting an adult to help, but at the end of the day playground scuffles will happen and the kids were just defending themselves. Cops should be thankful that BL wasn't able to join them for the day or someone would have ended up shoved into a cooler or something.

Eh, whatever. He got them to drop the assault charges - which were ridiculous, Elle & Billie were normal twelve year olds getting into a fight, it wasn't like it was Damian with all his training and skills - and Bruce had given up on trying to be disapproving of them not reporting the attempted bullying to him instead of handling it themselves. Probably because at the end of the day he was a little proud of the little shits for defending Damian and standing up against some bullies. And really Tim was too. They might be vicious little hellspawns sent there to torment them all, but they were good kids at the end of the day and they cared about Damian enough to throw down with guys twice their size.

Tim pulled up a list of the nearest ice cream places on his phone, Bruce was totally going to cave on that front and even if he didn't Tim was willing to use his executive Big Brother privileges to get them ice cream anyway. He isn’t going to need to though. Jon had thrown his puppy dog eyes into the mix on that front and Tim knows from experience how much a kryptonian looking hopeful could get away with when it came to this family. Hell, Kon had probably taught his little brother that face for these exact kinds of situations because of how effective it was.

"I'm still going to have to tell Jazz about this." Bruce said as they shuffled off towards the restrooms to try and get everyone cleaned up, a parting shot to make up for his failure to cow them earlier.

"Please don't tell her! She’s gonna make us read articles about conflict resolution again!"

"B come on that's no fair! You said we did good not letting those assholes get away with their bullying shit!"

"Language!"

Huh, Tim thought with a grin. Maybe the little demons weren't as terrifyingly unstoppable as he thought.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #danielle fenton #dani fenton #danielle phantom #billy batson #damian wayne #jon kent #bruce wayne #tim drake #Tim: God those kids are weird #Random Person: because of *lists many many things that the kids do that aren’t normal or are outright impossible for children to do* #Tim: What? No that’s just how kids are #Tim: I'm talking about the fact that they can beat Bruce at a stare down *that’s* some freaky shit #not a single member of the batfam know what regular children are like #Would Jon be down for Elle & Billy to beat the shit out of some teenagers? #Probably not normally but they were being mean to his best friend #If Damian got involved someone would have ended up in the ICU rather than just the emergency room #and since Jon is the only one that can hold on to him/won't just let him go he has to be content with offering up cheers from the sideline #it's hard being the reasonable and grounded friend in a gang of feral raccoons #Box Lunch is mad she didn't get to join in when she finds out later and spends a week haunting the dudes #Tim is in awe of Jazz's ability to keep these demons more or less in line

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 6: No Control]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, all-you-can-eat sushi, bodily injury, violence, hungry deer, Selena Gomez, angst!!!

Selected Chapter Quote: “He can’t see on that side, you fucking snake!”

Word count: 9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ 

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Your last day waking up in Singapore: lying in bed and watching the shadows of birds shoot across the ceiling like falling stars. Your wrist aches in its splint. The door to the balcony is wide open. The wind blows in hot and damp off the South China Sea. You hear him before you see him: the swipe of a keycard, the swinging of the door, the clop clop clop of undoubtedly neon Crocs against the hardwood floor.

You look over at him, not moving from the bed. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Then Aegon notices something in the tiny trashcan beside your nightstand that’s cluttered with souvenirs. Nestled between empty soda cans and Starburst wrappers is a mostly full pack of birth control pills. He stares at it for a while before he says, tentatively: “Trying for a little bundle of joy? With anyone I know?”

“Definitely not.” You sigh, turning back to the ceiling, morose. “Baela and I did 23AndMe like a month ago, and we just got our results back. She’s distantly related to royalty. I have a defective gene that makes me extra susceptible to blood clots. So if I take hormonal birth control I could have a stroke or something.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Aegon says.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s good you found out, you know? I wouldn’t want you dropping over dead.”

“Yeah,” you say again, flatly, ungenerously.

“Hey, no big deal, Stargirl. You know I’d use condoms anyway.”

“Well I might at some point in my life want to have sex with someone who’s not you, so.”

Aegon steps closer; he appears upside down as he studies you from above, sunburned forehead knit into thoughtful grooves, smelling like Tiger Beer and Axe body spray and…you think…chicken wings. His hair is in disarray, his aviator sunglasses tangled in blond knots. He’s wearing a lavender tank top, like dusk, like a bruise. “Ohhhh, I get it. This is an Aemond and Shelby thing.”

You hate that you’re so transparent, like a window wiped clean of fog and fingerprints. You hate that he’s right. “Why are they even together? What the hell do they have in common?”

“Now or before?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Well, before…” Aegon scratches at his cheek. There is a bug bite there, a tiny pink welt left by the venom of a mosquito or a spider. “It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Aemond got the satisfaction of boning the kind of girl who would have screamed if he touched her back in high school. Shelby got a massive career boost. She had 900,000 Instagram followers when they met. Now she has over 20 million.”

That recurring, futile refrain: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

“And I won’t lie. They had some good times.” Aegon grins down at you. “Just like we did.”

“What about now?”

“Now…” Aegon ponders this. “Now I think they’re both lost. Neither of them knows what comes next. Aemond leaving Comet. Shelby hitting that age when people like her start checking off the husband and kids boxes. When you’re thrown off a ship, you cling to the life raft, even if it’s small or ripped up or half-deflated or whatever, right? You try to hold on to what you have left. You return to what’s familiar. And that doesn’t make it right, but it’s what people do.”

“It is,” you agree mournfully. “So Aemond was the one who broke it off.”

“Yeah.”

“And then he took her back.” She called and called and called, he finally answered.

“He had a moment of weakness. Now we all have to live with it.”

“I didn’t know that.” Then you sit up on the bed and look at Aegon. “When the label wanted to get rid of Aemond, why didn’t you fight for him?”

“That’s just the way of the world, Stargirl.” He shrugs, an inevitability, good weather, bad weather, sun and clouds and storms. “He couldn’t stay in the band the way he is now. And the problem isn’t what he looks like. The problem is in his soul. But I have no idea how to fix it.” Aegon smiles, warm like summer. “I thought maybe you would. That’s why I called you.”

“You didn’t even know me,” you tell him. “I was just some girl from a bar.”

“No,” Aegon says softly, and he does not elaborate. And then, bright and cheerful again: “You’re really going to earn your paycheck at our next stop.”

“Where are we going?” You recall the names you’ve heard bouncing around since Comet arrived in East Asia, the cities you’ve seen on banners and t-shirts and Instagram posts. “Bangkok? Kuala Lumpur? Manila? Jakarta? Seoul?”

“Tokyo.” Aegon is still smiling, though in an off-kilter way now, uneasily, his murky ocean-blue eyes somber. The scene of the crime. Where the accident happened. Where Aemond believes his life ended. “We’re performing at the Budokan.”

~~~~~~~~~~

White clouds turn to sapphire waves, then emerald green fields and forests, then buildings in a million different shades of grey that stretch on forever, steel and concrete and asphalt and glass. Tokyo is the largest city you’ve ever seen, the largest city imaginable. It is a labyrinth that makes you think of the hay mazes that farms back home set up each autumn; it beckons you in and then dares you to leave.

As the band hurries through Haneda Airport, you are pursued by paparazzi and hyperventilating fans. The usual suspects—Aegon, Daeron, and Jace—can be relied upon to high five, smile, flash peace signs and hand hearts, blow kisses, pass out crochet astronomical objects, and shout such endearments as (woefully mispronounced) “Konnichiwa!” and “We love you, Japan!” Shelby waves like she’s goddamn Princess Diana. Aemond bows his head, his eyes enigmatic behind his sunglasses, his steps swift. Luke holds Rhaena’s hand; Baela walks with them. You hide behind Cregan. He casts quite a large shadow.

“I look real rock and roll now,” you joke, gesturing with your splinted arm.

Cregan replies in his rumbly subterranean voice: “I think I have you beat.” He pulls up one of his sleeves—floral print, silk, Valentino—and shows you the underside of his right forearm. Bisecting the flesh from his wrist to the crook of his elbow is a long, faint, moon-white scar that you’ve never noticed before, never even heard anyone mention.

“Oh, ouch! You broke it?”

“Compound fracture.” He covers his forearm again with his sleeve.

“When? How?”

Cregan hesitates. Suddenly, he no longer wants to be having this conversation. “Years ago.”

Just outside the airport waits that trusty fleet of black, tinted-window Escalades; but Aemond has requested that his 1960 Gold Star be there too. He takes his keys, helmet, and jacket from one of Comet’s hulking security guards. Shelby’s detail is notably more subdued since that night in Singapore; the man who dislocated your wrist has been exiled from the tour. Aemond climbs onto his motorcycle and starts the engine. The sound takes you back to Rome: when your hopes and spirits were high, when you and Aemond were still living on the light side of the moon.

“You in the mood for a ride, Shelby?” Aegon asks, smirking unkindly, taunting, chomping loudly on cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum. “Don’t forget your helmet. We’d all be lost without you.”

Shelby combs out her beachy blond waves with her artful fingers, tan, reedy, nails turquoise and adorned with golden koi fish. “You’re psychotic if you think I’m getting on that bike.”

“Jesus,” Jace mutters. He is as shocked as anyone by his abrupt demotion to only the second most villainous person in Comet’s retinue.

Aemond doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything to Shelby, doesn’t even look at her. But he does glance over at you. And the words rise in your throat like a burning sun at dawn: I’ll go, I’d love to go, I trust you, I want you. But before you can say anything, Aemond has knocked the kickstand out of the way and is weaving through thick afternoon traffic towards the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. And as the Escalades roll and the band chats around you—indistinctly, abstractedly—you keep staring out the window and searching for glimpses of Aemond like the rare flash of a meteor in a city sky; but you can’t find him.

Criston knows he’s brought Comet to dangerous ground, peppered with quagmires and landmines. So he has planned a ruthlessly hectic itinerary. As soon as you’ve received your room key and unpacked, it’s time for dinner at an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant down the street. Criston herds the band there like the rugged Australian cattle dogs that your parents have back in Kansas City nip at the heels of snorting, intractable Black Angus bulls. You sit between Baela and Aegon, who is wearing his neon green tank top, matching Crocs (per usual), and khaki cargo shorts. He’s also gulping sake bombs until they dribble down his sunburned face. Countless varieties of sushi and side dishes rotate by on a conveyer belt, colorful little plates waiting to be snatched up: salmon, tuna, eel, octopus, shrimp, miniature omelets, fried tofu, Wagyu beef, squid, yellowtail, veggie rolls, chicken and pork dumplings, seaweed salad.

“You okay over there?” Aegon asks, grinning as he watches you stab at your eel sushi, topped with some kind of mayo-like sauce and delicious but tragically challenging to eat.

“I didn’t know how to use chopsticks before my dominant hand was put out of commission.” You glare down the row at Shelby. She glowers back. Since that night in Singapore, you circle each other like snarling undomesticated animals, wolves or coyotes. Now you’re on her radar. Now she knows there is something—that mysterious, ever-shifting, worrying something—between you and Aemond. She just doesn’t know what it is. Neither do you, neither does he, neither does anyone.

“Want me to feed you?” Aegon slurs flirtatiously. He plucks up a piece of your eel sushi with his chopsticks and promptly drops it in your lap. “Oh. Fuck.”

Baela presses the button on the counter to summon the server. “I’ll get you a fork.”

“You are a saint,” you tell her. “Patron saint of initiative. Or drive, whichever you prefer the sound of.” Aegon is mayhem, Aemond is lost causes. What am I?

“And you are an uncultured hick from Kansas.”

You smile at her. “Missouri.”

Your fork soon arrives. A few seats down the row, you hear Shelby ask innocently, like it doesn’t mean anything: “How old is Louis Tomlinson’s son now?”

Aemond shrugs. He’s watching the conveyor belt for vegan options; he keeps missing them when they pass by. “I don’t know, five?”

“No, Freddie?!” Luke says. “He’s gotta be like seven now. We saw him last summer at Niall’s pool party.”

“He was so cute,” Shelby says. She’s sitting on Aemond’s good side, as always. She rubs his back and you fight the urge to break her fingers one by one, snapping them in half like dry autumn twigs, lifeless and hollow. “Wasn’t he cute, honeybunch?”

“Sure,” Aemond replies distractedly. And of course Shelby is the type of person who believes that becoming a father will heal a man, rather than just dooming his children to be collateral damage.

Aegon peeks over the conveyer belt at the chefs who are preparing plates in the middle. He lurches and wobbles. Criston covers his own face with his hands, mortified. “Hey, hey, can I get a Crab Rangoon please?”

A chef says something in Japanese, soft and polite but clearly imploring him to sit back down.

Aegon repeats slowly: “Crab! Rangooooooon!”

“Hey dumbass,” Jace says. “That’s Chinese. We’re in Japan.”

“Oh. Right.” Aegon sighs, retreats, and orders himself another sake bomb.

You grab a plate of veggie rolls and another of fried tofu sushi off the conveyer belt and pass them down the row to Aemond. Shelby sends you the most venomous of glares, but Aemond mouths when she’s not paying attention: Thank you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two shows in Tokyo, two performances on the stage where Aemond was mutilated. Of course, you don’t see mutilation when you look at him. You never have. You see the way the light hits the angles of his jaw and nose and cheekbones and think of marble faces in museums, generals, kings, saints, angels. You see the crystalline blue of his right eye and think of rivers, cool and rushing and clean. You see the ethereal haze of his left eye and think of other planets. You don’t know why everyone else reads his scar and blindness as a tale of unspeakable ruin. You can’t imagine seeing Aemond that way. It would be easier, less painful, simpler for you if you could. Maybe you could stop wanting him. Maybe you could stop dreaming about him, wisps of longing and memory that escape you as soon as you wake.

Aemond does not attend Comet’s concerts at the Budokan. They’re the only ones you’ve ever known him to miss. He rides out on his Gold Star instead, and then reappears to join the band for their post-show ritual in Jace’s suite, grim and quiet and scribbling in his black-paged notebook, smoking his cigarettes, sipping his Brambles. You cannot blame Aemond. You weren’t here last December when a piece of rigging collapsed during soundcheck and nearly killed him, and yet you can’t stop thinking about it; you can’t stop yourself from glancing up at the rafters during shows, wondering exactly how it happened, picturing Aemond bloody and unconscious on the stage, half-blinded and robbed without knowing it yet.

Tomorrow night is Comet Donati’s final performance in Tokyo, but today Criston has a day trip planned. He has filled every spare second of this tour stop with distractions. The band travels by bullet train (or shinkansen) and then local railways to Nara, the city that served as Japan’s capital in the 700s. Criston hires a tour guide—an 80-year old man called Toru-san, who possesses an incalculable amount of knowledge and also a very, very thick accent—to lead you all around Nara Park to see Isuien Garden, the Kasuga Taisha Shrine, the Nara National Museum, and finally the Great Buddha. Nara Park is full of food and souvenir vendors, as well as 1,200 sika deer that you can pet and feed, albeit at risk of being trampled by overenthusiastic herbivores. There are signs posted with warnings to exercise caution, complete with cartoon illustrations of deer gone rogue.

It’s 95 degrees outside with 80% humidity. You are drenched with sweat and guzzling boba tea. The handle of your bag from a gift shop is slung over your splint. Toru-san, despite his long pants and cardigan sweater, is looking spry as ever and is deep in conversation with Luke and Rhaena; he is regaling them with a bottomless well of Nara trivia. Cregan and Daeron are still browsing through gift shops, mostly for the opportunity to escape the heat and hover, sighing with relief, in front of every electric fan they come across. Aegon, lobster-level red—you aren’t sure if he’s more sunburned or flushed—is snoring under a tree as deer nibble at his cyan tank top and white cargo shorts. Aemond purchased probably $200 worth of deer crackers and has attracted a sizeable crowd of furry new friends. He’s like he always is around animals: beaming, immersed, at peace. Shelby is capturing pictures and video clips of him from a distance.

Nearby where you stand under the shade of a black pine tree, Baela is dressed in a crop top and yoga pants and stretching in the middle of a patch of grass. She keeps having to stop to shove deer away from her as they tiptoe close, searching for snacks. Jace is using Google Translate to flirt with a crowd of Japanese fangirls who have recognized him. They are giggling so loudly you can hear them from across a field. Baela is trying to ignore this. She falls out of a pose and sighs irritably, then walks over to you. Together, you watch Jace for a while, you slurping on your boba tea, Baela frowning with her hands on her willowy waist.

At last, she says: “Sometimes we love people who we know don’t deserve it. But that doesn’t make us love them any less. We just hate ourselves for not being stronger.”

“I think you’re incredibly strong, Baela.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Strong enough to leave him. Strong enough to begin living your own life again.”

Her expression is suddenly uncharacteristically vulnerable, fearful. “I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve never been an adult without him.”

“You’d figure it out. And you wouldn’t be alone. You’d have Rhaena, and Luke, and ballet, and all your friends and family—”

“And you too, right?” she asks. “You’ll still be my friend? Even after you go back home?”

You are stunned into a silence that Baela first mistakes for rejection. Her face falls. “No no no, I’m not hesitating, you just caught me by surprise. Of course I’ll still be your friend after the tour is over. I’ll be your friend forever.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And you’ll visit me in prison if I snap one day and throw Jace into a meatgrinder?”

You laugh and hug her, your sweat dampening each other’s clothes: her orange crop top, your Backstreet Boys t-shirt. “Absolutely. For sure.”

“Okay. I gotta go practice some more.” She spends long hours down in the hotel gym while everyone else is sleeping or partying or preparing for shows, running and stretching and yoga and repeating the same dance routines over and over again. You applaud and whistle as she leaves. “Stop,” Baela complains, but she’s grinning.

You procure another boba tea. You find a nice shady spot on a bench. You check your phone; there’s maybe fifteen more minutes until the band is scheduled to leave for the train station to begin the journey back to Tokyo. Naturally, Criston has dinner already planned: kaiseki ryori, a traditional multi-course meal. You wonder if there will be vegan options for Aemond. Your eyes drift back to him. They always seem to. He’s dragging his palm down the face of a ten-point buck as he feeds him a crumbling brown cracker. There’s a fawn curled up in Aemond’s lap. His blond hair is slicked back off his forehead, his black shirt mostly unbuttoned. Sweat gleams on his chest. Your fingertips ache to draw sloping lines and lazy circles in it.

“I never worried about him,” Criston says. He’s appeared beside you, arms crossed guardedly. You move over so there’s room for Criston on the bench. He sits, distant and troubled. “I always worried about the others. Aegon and Jace especially. But not Aemond.”

“Because he never needed you,” you say quietly.

“He didn’t,” Criston agrees. “And so I wasn’t there to protect him that day.”

The day of the accident. “From what I understand, it wasn’t something you could have prevented.”

“No, I couldn’t have stopped that piece of rigging from falling. But I could have made it so he wasn’t standing under it.”

You wait for Criston to explain. That’s an element that people often underestimate: the power of waiting for someone to be ready.

“It was soundcheck,” Criston says. His voice is strained, hushed. He repeatedly touches the stubble of his beard, a nervous habit. “Aemond was on time, as always. Aemond was exactly where he was supposed to be. But no one else was. Aegon and Jace had gone off to a strip club or a burlesque show or something, I don’t remember. They came back to the hotel and were absolutely hammered, they were crawling around on the hallway floor and puking in corners, laughing hysterically, completely out of their minds. Cregan and Luke were there trying to get them cleaned up. I was on the phone with Cregan, he was pissed, probably the most angry I’ve ever heard him, he kept pausing to yell at Aegon. He’d dragged him into a cold shower, but Aegon was fighting, trying to bite and kick him and whatever the hell else. So eventually I decided to go to the hotel and deal with it. Aemond offered to go with me. I told him no, you stay here, I’ll bring the other four even if I have to get the security guys to toss Aegon and Jace over their shoulders and carry them. Then I left.”

“And that’s when it happened,” you realize. “While you were gone.”

“Yes,” Criston says. And he gazes across Nara Park, here in body but his mind trapped in the maze of the past.

“You had no way of knowing what would happen, Criston. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I should have told him to come with me back to the hotel. Or I should have stopped Aegon and Jace from getting wasted. If they’d been on time, if soundcheck had happened as scheduled, no one would have been standing where that piece of rigging fell. Aemond would still be the leader of Comet. He would still have his face, his sight, his life.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say again.

“Alicent blames me,” he confesses. And you only know who she is because you’ve asked Aegon: the wife of Viserys Targaryen, the mother of his three sons. “She’ll never forgive me.”

Is that really why she avoids you, Criston? Or is there another reason? “If that’s true, it’s only because she’s feeling a lot of horrible things—grief, pain, regret, guilt—and she’s directing them at you. You haven’t earned them. You’re just the person standing in the line of fire. They’re a reflection of Alicent’s inner turmoil, not of your own worth. I think you’ve done a phenomenal job trying to keep this band safe and happy. And I know it’s not easy. I know it’s damn near impossible.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, looking at you with large, dark, truthful eyes like a dog’s.

And you imagine a world in which you’d never seen Aegon after that night in Kansas City, never met Aemond, Baela, Rhaena, Luke, Cregan, Daeron, Criston. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

Criston reaches over and—for a moment, so briefly you could have imagined it—rests his hand on your shoulder like he sometimes does to Aemond and Luke. Then he leaves to collect Cregan and Daeron from a shaved ice vendor. Shelby has strolled over to consult with Toru-san, presumably so she can add his trivia to her Instagram posts and TikTok videos. You go to Aemond.

“I have a confession to make,” he says solemnly as you approach.

The oxygen vanishes from your lungs; you try to hide this. “What is it?”

Aemond smiles up at you. “When the tour guide was leading us here, I thought he kept saying that the park was full of bears. And I didn’t want to kill the mood or anything, but I was definitely concerned about going on a field trip to feed over 1,000 uncaged bears. I am very, very relieved that he was in fact saying deer.”

You chuckle and sit next to Aemond on the grass, petting the fawn in his lap. It blinks sleepily at you, its fur soft and spotted, its ears pricked up and curious.

“What’s your souvenir for this stop of the tour?” Aemond asks.

You pull it out of your bag to show him: a small stuffed sika deer complete with floppy felt antlers. “Isn’t it adorable?”

“It is,” he says. “Are you going to have room for all these keepsakes in your apartment back home?”

“Already fantasizing about me leaving, huh?”

“No,” Aemond says, seriously now. Deadly serious. “No, I’m not.” And then Criston is shouting through cupped hands for everybody to huddle up so you can all head to the train station.

It’s not until the band is trekking out of Nara Park towards the blissful promise of air conditioning that you realize someone is missing. When you look around, you see Criston, Aemond, Shelby, Aegon (rubbing his eyes and yawning), Baela, Jace, Rhaena, Luke, Cregan, and a smattering of security guards dressed in black.

“Wait,” you say. “Where’s Daeron?”

A chorus of confusion: “What?” Huh?” “He’s not here?” At last, Criston spies him sitting alone on a wooden park bench, glumly eating through his mountain of shaved ice.

“What the hell is he doing?!” Jace says impatiently, swiping perspiration from his forehead.

Aegon massages your shoulders. “I think this might call for your particular area of expertise, Stargirl.” And when Aemond’s eye flicks to Aegon fleetingly, resentfully, you think for the first time: And where were you, Aegon, when Aemond was waiting all those months ago? Whoring, drinking, self-destructing in ways that take other people down with you? Then you leave him.

Through the heat that lays thick over the city like a tangle of vines, you trudge to the bench where the youngest Targaryen brother is lingering. “Daeron? What’s wrong?”

He stares gloomily down into his shaved ice: blood-colored, strawberry, ichigo. “Everyone thinks I’m always joking and optimistic, but I’m not.”

You ask gently: “What are you really, Daeron?”

“I don’t know what to be. That’s the problem. I worry about it all the time. I can’t win. If I’m sad, then I’m ungrateful for this tremendous opportunity. But if I’m happy, it’s like I’m dancing on Aemond’s grave.”

“He’s not dead, Daeron,” you say.

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

“But a lot of the time people talk about him like he is. You speak around him, over him, through him. Do you think he doesn’t notice?” Do you think he can’t feel the weight of that dark gravity that roots him to the earth? Do you think he can disentangle who he is from the wreckage that has buried its shrapnel in his bones?

Daeron isn’t insulted by what you’ve said. Instead, he seems fascinated. He seems grateful, like you’ve sat down to help him with an especially baffling puzzle. “What would he want from us, do you think?”

“I think he wants to know that his time in Comet wasn’t wasted. That even if he leaves, he will still be a part of this family. I think he wants to be acknowledged. He doesn’t want pity or awkward silences, he doesn’t want to pretend that the accident never happened. He wants to know that his life will go on in spite of it.”

Daeron ruminates on this, taking a bite of his towering mound of shaved ice. “If I said something about him at the last Tokyo show tomorrow, do you think he’d mind? I’ve had this idea for a while, but I didn’t know how he’d take it.”

“That depends on what you say.”

Daeron asks, peering up at you with large pale eyes: more translucent than Aegon’s, more harmless than Aemond’s. He has been shown more kindness than either of them; he is perhaps less deep, less singularly brilliant, but also less burdened. It is a trade many would happily agree to. It is a trade they would pay for in blood. “What should I say?”

You smile at Daeron. “The truth.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’d like to take a moment to share something with all of you,” Daeron says into his microphone as soon as Comet finishes The Worst Way To Be. The audience lowers their cheers to a reverent, intensely attentive murmur.

“Wait, what?” Baela whispers to you and Rhaena as you stand in the front row. Shelby, who had been looking rather bored, whips out her phone and begins a live stream. Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Cregan are upbeat and beaming—as is expected of them, as is required—but they pass each other nervous glances like folded paper notes in a high school classroom. This is not in the script.

“I just want to say thank you,” Daeron continues. His voice reverberates off the walls of the Budokan. “Thank you to all of you guys, of course. Our amazing, incredible fans. Thank you for letting us live this dream of a life.” There are claps and whistles, shrieked declarations of undying adoration. Daeron takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking; you can see the microphone tremble. “And thank you to my big brother Aemond.” Instantaneously, the crowd goes as close to silent as it is possible for a stadium at max capacity to be. The others are gawking at him openly now, unable to paper over it with masklike smiles. “I had been following Comet around for years before I got the offer to officially join. So I know how much work and talent Aemond poured into this band. I’m beyond honored to be up on this stage tonight performing for all of you, but I wish it could have happened a different way. I wish Aemond could be here too. And no matter where he goes in the world or what he does next, he will always be the person who made Comet Donati possible. And he will always be my greatest inspiration. I love you, man. We all love you.”

And the audience erupts into deafening cheers and applause, all for a soul who could not bring himself to attend the show. There are chants of We love you, Aemond! that go on for more than five minutes. Aegon is shouting as loudly as anyone; Jace, Luke, and Cregan are running around the stage and encouraging the crowd. They are a little shellshocked, but they are genuine.

Even Jace, you think, you marvel. Even Jace is honoring him. He doesn’t hate Aemond after all. He provokes and he taunts, sure, and he crosses lines on occasion, but Jace doesn’t hate Aemond. He might even miss him.

For their last night in Tokyo, Criston has grander aspirations for the band than the usual wind down in Jace’s suite. He gets everyone—Aemond included, fetched from the bar of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, already several Brambles deep—into the Escalades to drive to Club Camelot, where Criston has reserved one of the three floors for Comet. It swiftly fills like a flute of champagne: women in sparkling gowns, men with baiting smiles, security guards and label executives and friends and acquaintances and models. The tiles on the floor are black and white, but bathed in sapphire luminescence that covers everyone like rain. Empty hands are filled with frosty bottles and glasses clinking with ice. The song that thunders out of the speakers is a throwback: Butterfly by Crazy Town.

Cregan has acquired a harem of sorts; you look once and he’s flocked by three gazelle-like companions, you look again and there are five of them. Jace is mingling freely. Aemond is talking to Daeron—thanking him, it appears, offering heartfelt gratitude—while Shelby greets a pack of influencer-types as they arrive. They squeal and jump up and down with her in their clicking stilettos, then take turns snapping each other’s pictures. Criston actually appears to be somewhat relaxed. He sips on a Sapporo Premium and chats with one of the guys from the label, gesturing casually with his expressive hands. Aegon is curled up in a booth with Selena Gomez. Yes, Selena freaking Gomez. He keeps playing with her glossy dark tresses and making her giggle, propping his sunburned face up on his knuckles, glowing in that way that he does. It’s not just for you. It’s never been just for you. And sometimes he’s close to you and sometimes he’s not, and right now he’s on the other side of the solar system, he’s out in the Oort cloud, he’ll be back to visit earth in a few hundred years. Aegon disappears into the bathroom every few minutes. You see smudges of white powder on his hands, under his nose. If he tried to talk to you right now, you wouldn’t know what to say to him. He would feel like a stranger.

You’re watching Aemond. You wish you weren’t, but you are. He’s in all black, the top three buttons of his shirt undone. You nurse a Bramble and follow Baela, Rhaena, and Luke around the dancefloor, barely able to hear them over the music. Luke is lightheartedly making fun of Baela for something. Her earrings? Her shoes?

“I’ll have you know that I’m very important around here!” Baela cries over the music. “I’m the patron saint of drive!”

“Patron saint of driving herself to the Gucci store, maybe,” Luke says.

They’re all laughing. You feel like you’re observing them through a transparent wall, like you’re at the aquarium and they’re a dazzling rare species and you’re some grubby kid with your palms pressed to the glass. What am I still doing here? Why did I ever think I belonged here?

You break away from Baela, Rhaena, and Luke and drift by Shelby and her fellow influencers, not intending to eavesdrop but catching a few fragments of their conversation like Jupiter and Saturn capture moons. As Aemond talks to Daeron across the room, Shelby is lamenting her love life. She thinks she’s being discrete, but she’s had more than a few gin and tonics.

“No, he still…he probably doesn’t want me looking at him…he’ll let me blow him, but he won’t actually…you know…?”

And you remember what you told him on that balcony in Reykjavik: I think you haven’t fucked anyone since the accident, and you’re terrified to.

You were right. You’re still right. And here you are, like mirrors: Aemond not fucking Shelby, you not fucking Aegon, and there’s no especially good reason for either except that it just doesn’t feel right. After a while, Shelby and her entourage leave to check out another nightclub down the block. More photo opportunities, you suspect. A change of scenery.

“How’s your wrist?” Jace inquires. He’s found you loitering on the outskirts of the dancefloor. He’s wearing a black sequined blazer with nothing underneath except skin and ink. He’s unsteady on his feet, a Vesper sloshing in his glass. Now the song that’s playing is Ed Sheeran’s I Don’t Care, featuring Justin Bieber. In the booth she’s sharing with Aegon, Selena Gomez audibly groans.

“Great. It actually feels better when no one talks to me.”

Jace cackles, far too loudly. “You are hilarious. Hey, hey, listen.” His free hand skates around your waist. Instinctively, you jolt away from him.

“Nope.”

“Listen.” He grips you more adamantly. “Let’s do this.”

“No, no, that’s a very kind offer but I’d rather chew off my own limbs, thank you.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’ve hooked up with Aegon,” Jace purrs into your ear, sweating out vodka and gin, his curls brushing against your cheek. “Hell, I don’t care if you’re still hooking up with Aegon. I’m better than him. I have to be, right? That fat drunk. I’ll show you.”

You try to pull away from him again. You’re wearing the short sparkly dress you bought in Reykjavik, black velvet and silver stars. “Jace, don’t touch me.”

“Come on, Stargirl, give me a shot—”

“Jace,” you say harshly, your eyes blazing. “Do not touch me.”

“Okay,” he sighs; and, to his credit, he releases you. He holds up his palm in surrender. “Okay, fine, but when you change your mind—”

Aemond soars in out of nowhere, a comet, a meteor, the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs. His fist connects with Jace’s jaw. Jace’s Vesper goes flying; blood spurts from his mouth, split lips and lost teeth. “Don’t you fucking touch her!” Aemond is roaring. He has Jace pinned to the floor, black and white and sapphire and red. “When she says not to touch her, you don’t, you hear me?!”

People are screaming and descending upon them, trying to pull them apart. Your Bramble shatters against the tile floor. Criston is here, and security guards, and Baela and Rhaena and Luke and Aegon. Everyone is talking at the same time, so it’s almost like no one is. Jace is striking at Aemond from the ground. Aemond hits him again, and again, knuckles into defenseless flesh and bone, blood vessels bursting, nerves on fire. The music stops, the lights come on.

“Aemond, stop!” you shout. “Aemond, Aemond, you’re going to kill him!��

“Let him go, Aemond, please!” Baela is yelling, and there’s raw terror in her voice.

Then Jace lands a solid punch at last, a hook that comes in from Aemond’s left. Blood pours from Aemond’s nose, it’s on his face and his throat, it’s running down his chest. Cregan arrives, locks his arms around Aemond’s waist, and heaves him away. Before Jace has a second to recover, Aegon wrenches him up by the collar of his blazer and slaps him open-handed across the face.

“He can’t see on that side, you fucking snake!”

Criston bellows: “Aegon, back up, back up, back the fuck up!” He finally gets a good look at Jace: bleeding, bruised, teeth missing, blinking dazedly at the spectators, too stunned to feel the pain yet. “Oh my God!” Criston whirls to Aemond, who is struggling against Cregan’s grasp. “How’s he going to perform in five days, huh?! Jesus Christ, he looks like he’s been butchered! How am I going to cover that up?! How is he going to sing?!” Criston pulls Jace to his feet; he practically has to carry him. Baela follows after them, more distressed than you’ve ever seen her, flowing tears and strangled sobs. Rhaena and Luke go too.

You, Aegon, and Daeron rush to Aemond. He’s bent over and spitting blood onto the floor so he doesn’t choke on it. “Not broken,” Cregan pronounces after examining his nose. “Just gonna bleed real bad. Needs pressure on it.”

“Are you okay?” Aegon asks you, a hand careful and tender on your face. He’s back again, for a minute, an hour, a day.

Your voice quakes. “Yeah.”

“What did Jace do…?”

“Nothing, nothing that bad, I mean he grabbed my waist but—”

“Aegon?” Selena Gomez says tentatively, waiting nearby and hugging her arms around herself.

“Yeah, one second, love. Give me a second.” He appraises Aemond and whistles. “Man, you are wrecked.” And not just physically. He’s incensed, he’s in shock. You reach for Aemond’s hand and he lets you take it.

“You got him?” Cregan asks you.

“I’ll clean him up. I’ll take care of him.” And as blood continues to run down his face, you draw Aemond towards the bathrooms. You lead him inside the women’s room and lock the door, blue walls and white florescent light. Somewhat ungainly—relying mostly upon your non-dominant hand—you press a pile of paper towels against his nose and tell him to hold it there. Then you wet more paper towels and wipe down his knuckles, his face, his throat. The blood on his chest has run beneath his glossy black shirt. We match, you think randomly. “Can I…?”

He yanks the shirt over his head, then returns the mass of crimson-stained paper towels to his nose. Fortunately, the bleeding appears to be slowing. You erase the smudged trail of scarlet that runs all the way to the waistline of his dark jeans. When you reach the end of it, Aemond flinches away from you; not a pained flinch, but a fearful one. He turns his back on you and walks to the other end of the small and shadowless room. He braces one palm against the wall and sighs deeply. He throws the wad of paper towels in the trashcan and then covers his face with his hand, shaking his head.

“Aemond,” you say. And you wait for him to look you in the eye. It takes a long time. “What do you want?” Why were you watching me and Jace? Why did you lose control?

“Nothing,” he replies immediately.

“That’s a lie.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you insist, your voice fracturing. “It does matter. Just tell me what you want.”

“Why, so you can let me down easy? Or worse, pretend to be into it to make me feel better, to help piece me and my fragile little ego back together? I don’t beg for anything. You really think I’m going to beg you to want me?”

“No, you’re too fucking proud, you’d never even ask for it. You’ll beat people half to death for things you’re too much of a coward to say out loud, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?!”

“Then why are you even in here with me?! Just go back to Aegon, I know that’s what you want. I guess you’ll have to wait in line behind Selena Gomez, but he’ll work his way back around to you eventually.”

“Jace stole something from you, right?” you say. “You feel like he stole the band from you after you were kicked out, and then tonight you felt like he was stealing something else, and that’s why you freaked out and almost murdered him—”

“No. No, because you’re not mine.”

“What do you want, Aemond?” you ask him again, tears of exhaustion and desperation in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he says, coming in closer. “So you’re absolved, you’re free to go, I don’t need your goddamn charity—”

Your good hand juts out, and what you plan to do is plant it against his bare chest and push him away. What you do instead—as if by muscle memory, a reflex, an instinct—is reach up to plunge your fingers into his hair. And then his palm is cradling the small of your back and his lips are on yours, moving seamlessly like how currents thread through the ocean. He helps lift you up onto the counter; there is just enough room between two of the sinks. Your legs link around Aemond as he presses himself to you, lips still tinged with coppery blood, bare chest, his waist, his hips. Your back hits the mirror—cool and unyielding, the ink of his lyrics flat against the glass—with enough force to make a thump.

“Are you okay—?”

“I’m more okay than I’ve been in years.”

He tilts up your chin and kisses you deeply, dizzyingly, his tongue darting between your lips. He tastes like his Brambles, sweetness cut with the bite of gin, and smoke, and something else too, something that’s just purely him, something you could drown in like the river of his clear right eye. Gently, you bring your fingertips to his face, to his scar. “Don’t,” he pleads softly, pained.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Don’t—”

“Aemond, look at me.” And you hold his face still so you know he hears you. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you.”

You watch it hit him like a stone into water, ripples that wash away everything he’s felt before. He knows you mean it, he can feel it, the same way you can feel the care with which he caresses you, not just lust but engulfing warmth, wordless veneration. He whispers between kisses: “Tell me what to do. Tell me what you want.”

Your lock your gaze with his, then reach down to unbutton his jeans. It’s difficult with the splint, but you manage. You think he might stop you, you prepare yourself for it, but he doesn’t. Instead, Aemond’s hands vanish beneath your dress and slip off your panties, black lace you hadn’t planned on anyone seeing tonight. As you kiss his face—jagged scar, flushed cheek, the slope of his jaw—his fingers slide into a pool of staggering heat and wetness.

He moans. “Oh fuck, that’s for me?”

“I’ve wanted this from the start.”

“Show me…show me how you like it…”

You guide his hand to exactly the right spot and give him a rhythm, a pressure, a pace that rolls a euphoric shudder down your spine. He’s barely touched you, and already you’re shaking all over; you’re throbbing, you’re dazed with that delicious needful aching, you’re gasping into the sweltering, salt-strewn dampness of his neck. His fingertips stroke you in commanding circles—only a few times—until you’re on the precipice, until you stop him. You’re ready, even though he’s huge: long and thick, revealed as he tugs down his jeans and boxers. He pins your uninjured hand against the mirror and kisses and bites at your throat as he eases himself inside you: a stretching that is intense but not unpleasant, hunger being satisfied. And when he thrusts—carefully at first, waiting for you to tell him he can be rougher—there are so many layers of pleasure that it stuns you, it leaves you speechless. Has it ever been like this before? Never, never, never, not once, not for a moment, not with anybody. His future was stolen from him, but he’s taken your past from you; he’s carved it out like a gemstone from the earth and locked it away in a vault no one remembers the passcode to.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, you beg. “Aemond, please, please, I want to come for you…” And you gasp as his fingers skim down your belly again, stroking you forcefully as his thrusts become deeper, quicker, impossibly powerful.

His voice is low and murmuring. His scent is everywhere; it’s all you know how to breathe. “You okay, baby? You alright?”

“Yes, yes, oh God, Aemond, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t stop, baby. You’re doing so well, you’re almost there.”

“Aemond…yes…I love this…”

“I love you.”

He what…? He WHAT…??

And it doesn’t just drag you over the edge; it pushes you, it propels you, you go plummeting off the cliffside and freefall for miles. There’s no disguising it. You have to bury your face in his chest to keep from crying out, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving indents like crescent moons. Aemond, fighting his own climax viciously, lasts just long enough to fuck you through the aftershocks and then empties himself not just physically but also of the shame and aimlessness of the past seven months, of his fears, of his suspicions.

“Wait,” you say as he pulls away from you. You yank a paper towel out of the dispenser and wet it with cold water. First you cool his forehead and the back of his neck with it, then you wipe his fingers and his cock. Still perched on the counter, you wet another paper towel for yourself.

“No,” Aemond tells you. “Let me.” He takes it from you, opens your thighs, and kisses your mouth—teasingly, biting and sucking your lower lip—as he spreads your folds and cleans them of his seed, abundant hot white fluid that you can feel dripping out of you. As he passes over where you are most sensitive—where you can already feel longing for him rebuilding brick by brick—you jump a little, and you both laugh. I could go again, you think. I could do this with him forever. And then, as Aemond descends from the chemical high like a plane gliding down towards a tarmac, you watch as those old familiar poisons—shame, aimlessness, fear, suspicion—begin to fill up in him again, slowly but unmistakably.

He throws out the paper towels and takes several steps back. He starts putting on his clothes, staring at the wall, then at the mirror, not at you but past you, at himself, his clear river-blue eye wide and vacant. He looks horrified by what he’s done; or perhaps, rather, by what he’s said.

You grab your panties off the counter and step into them, readjusting your dress. “Look, uh…if you didn’t mean what you said…that’s totally cool. I get it, sometimes people say things in the moment that aren’t real, there’s the oxytocin and the dopamine, and I don’t want you to feel…uh…you know…like you have to keep up a false pretense or anything…”

Aemond turns around and walks out of the bathroom, the door slamming behind him.

“Okay,” you say to yourself. “Okay. I can fix this.” You use the toilet quickly—UTIs are not welcome here—and then head out onto the dancefloor.

The lights are dim again, and thank God for that; your makeup is smudged, your hair unruly, your eyes glazed, your dress rumpled and stained. Cregan is the only person still waiting. “Hey,” he says flatly, then squints at you. You avoid his astute greyish eyes.

“Hey. Where is everyone?”

“Criston took Jace to the hospital. Baela is there too. Rhaena and Luke are back at the hotel. Aegon is presumably balls deep in Selena Gomez. Aemond just sprinted out of this club and I’d guess he’s headed back to the hotel too. Daeron went after him. I think that’s everybody.”

You shift your weight from foot to foot uneasily. “Shelby?”

“Oh, right. Haven’t seen her. Still out with her friends.” His eyes sweep over you. “On a scale of one to ten, how homicidal would she be if she found out about whatever happened in that bathroom?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Uh huh.” Cregan strides towards the stairwell that leads down to the front door. “Let’s go.”

Back at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, you swipe your keycard and flick the lights on in your suite. You stand there alone, feeling the evidence of what you’ve done: sore muscles and bruised skin and pooling wetness, both yours and his. You are absorbed with thoughts of what you’re going to say to Aemond when you confront him, how much of your truth you are willing to bare. And then your eyes catch on the small trashcan beside your bed, which reminds you of the one back in Singapore, which reminds you of your pack of birth control pills discarded on a pile of crumpled soda cans and snack wrappers.

I haven’t taken a pill in days. How many days? A week?

“Oh my God,” you breathe. And then, more frantically: “Oh no, oh no, no no no…”

What do I do? What the hell do I do?

You race out into the hallway and knock on Baela’s door. Nobody answers. You try Rhaena’s next. She appears in her pajamas, pink and dotted with tiny green Tyrannosaurus rexes. “Hi,” she says agreeably enough, but she’s rubbing her eyes drowsily.

“Hi. I’m really, really sorry to bother you, but it’s an emergency.”

She perks up considerably. “Okay, how can I help?”

“Where’s Luke?”

“In the shower.”

“So he can’t hear us right now?”

“No, he can’t.”

“Good. Do you know when Baela will be back from the hospital?”

“Not anytime soon,” Rhaena says. “She messaged me that Jace needs stitches and has a concussion. They’ll be there all night, at least.”

You exhale, a defeated little squeak. “Is Aegon around? With or without Selena Gomez?”

“No, they haven’t come back yet. I have no idea where they are.”

“Okay.” You swallow noisily.

“What’s going on with you?” Rhaena asks, concerned.

“This really is not a Rhaena situation. This is a Baela or Aegon situation.”

“Alright, but neither of them are here. So I’m who you’ve got.”

You stare at her. “I need Plan B. Do you happen to have any Plan B?”

“Plan B…? Like, you just had unprotected sex with someone Plan B?”

“Yes, exactly, that one.”

Rhaena gapes, scandalized. “With who?!”

“Confidential,” you say briskly. “Do you have any or not?”

“No, I definitely don’t have any Plan B lying around.”

“No,” you groan. Tears are welling up in your eyes. “What am I going to do? How do I get Plan B in Japan?!”

“We’ll figure this out,” Rhaena says. She dashes to her nightstand to grab her iPhone. “Don’t panic. It’ll be okay. Let’s Google 24-hour pharmacies in Tokyo…”

You don’t have Criston here to summon an Escalade—nor would you willingly risk him finding out about this—but Rhaena uses Google Translate to ask the hotel’s front desk to call a taxi. She shows the taxi driver an address, figures out how many yen you owe him, and then asks him very politely (if haltingly) in Japanese to wait ten minutes while you’re inside the pharmacy so you can take a return trip as well. He seems to agree.

Rhaena accompanies you into the pharmacy and repeats these steps: Google Translate, an exchange of yen, the receipt of a service. She tells you that based on her quick research, Plan B is usually by prescription only in Japan, but pharmacists will sometimes be willing to prescribe it on the spot to a patient in need. Rhaena spends a long time typing out a message for the middle-aged, bespectacled pharmacist, then points to you. This is my friend, the maybe-pregnant slut from Missouri, you imagine her saying. She needs emergency contraception. It’s really in all of humanity’s best interests for her not to continue her bloodline.

“You have to show him your ID,” Rhaena tells you.

You give your passport to the pharmacist, and then he hands you a small package. You and Rhaena purchase a bottle of Coke Zero as well. You gulp down the single tablet as the pharmacist watches with bushy raised eyebrows, amused. You are pleased to discover that the taxi driver has waited, and within fifteen minutes you and Rhaena are back at the hotel.

“You’ve talked to a lot of people tonight,” you tell Rhaena matter-of-factly as you ride the elevator back up to the band’s floor.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I did. I mean, I’ve been practicing. And you needed me.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say.

Rhaena smiles sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“And I’ll be even more proud of you when I get my period.”

She giggles, she trots off to her suite, you retreat into yours. You collapse onto the floor and gaze up at the ceiling, studying the specks and grooves in the tiles like constellations.

“It was only one time,” you say to the ceiling. “I was on the pill for years. That takes a while to leave my system, right? I mean, what are the odds? It’s fine. It’s totally fine. Nothing’s going to happen, right?”

Right?

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #Aegon Targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #Aegon II Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen II x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader

[mattssluttygf]

beach boy

summary - it was supposed to be a fun hang out day with your brother on the beach but someone else got involved

warnings - soft dom!chris x poc reader, swearing, praise kink, public sex, pet names (ma, baby, princess, sweetheart) degrading kink, mention of safe word, lowercase, unprotected sex ( wrap it b4 u tap or whateva ) guys you’re on the pill, aftercare, no use of y/n.

semi-proof read

ཐི ♱ ཋྀ

i was woken by the sound of my older brother yelling at me “wake up jackass were going to the beach” he yelled. i checked my phone, the time was 2:42 pm ‘shit..what the hell was i doing last night..’ i thought to myself.

i quickly got out of the bed and headed to the bathroom. i washed my face and brushed my teeth as i quickly put on my hot pink bikini, i stared at myself in the mirror for a good 1-2 minutes until my brother started pounding on the door telling me to hurry up.

i rush out of the bathroom, grabbing my towel and my crocs and making my way out the door. we arrived at the beach 10 minutes later, we set our stuff down somewhat close to the water and we went from there.

me and my brother rushed off into the water after we sat our stuffs down . my brother noticed a guy staring at me from afar, he gave him a glare before he quickly turned around, but he still kept staring, “that guy keeps staring at you.” he mumbled eying him down. i turned around to see what he was talking about, and oh my god.

my eyes widened, not a lot, but just a little bit. he was an average white boy, not too tall and not too short, he had brown hair, blue eyes, freckles, and he was a triplet. but he stood out more than the other two, a small smirk grew on his face when he saw me turn around, i gave him a little wave and a flashed a quick smile.

“lawdd, he’s fine don’t you think?” i squealed as i quickly turned back to my brother. he gave me a blank stare and splashed water in my face, i rolled my eyes and walked off. i headed over to the snack bar to clear my mind.

“chris” he said, i obviously introduced myself back. “i couldn’t help but stare at you from afar, you’re such a pretty girl.” he said with a smile, my thighs clenched a little bit from the compliment. “thank you!” i replied.

“i think you’re a little cutie too.” i winked, he pulled me in by my waist. his pale hands stood out on my dark body as i leaned more onto him. we continued our conversation, sharing different things about one another and our interests

“see you later maybe?” he said, “probably in another hour” i giggled. we both parted our ways, making it back to my spot where i had left brother. “so did you guys fuck.” he snorted, “no we didn’t , shut the fuck up.” i yelled

“god i wish we did though..” i mumbled under my breath. another hour or two went by and i was getting bored, all i was doing was sitting in the sand next to my brother covering my feet.

“im going to the bathroom” i yelled, my brother glared at me with a ugly look on his face like he was annoyed.i really didn’t have to use the bathroom, i just wanted to wonder around to see if i could find chris. i approached the bathrooms, trying to figure out if they had separate stalls but they were all family bathrooms.

i groaned at the sight, worst part was that they didn’t have locked for some apparent reason which means anyone could walk in.

i was startled by 2 knocks on the door before someone walked in, my heart dropped at the sight. it was chris. “miss me princess?” he spoke with a shit eating grin while looking at me through the mirror.

i quickly turned around before i could speak and thats when his lips crashed into mine, slowly pulling me in by my waist.

our tongues were fighting for dominance but his obviously won, my hands behind his neck and his hands wrapped around my waist. “i’ve been thinking about you ever since that conversation ma.” he said pulling away from the kiss with a smirk, my thighs squeezed together even more. “need help?” he spoke, he saw me squeeze my legs together i just knew i was fucked.

he began to slowly kiss my neck till he reached my chest, still holding onto my waist. my hands found their way to his pants, but he pulled me away from him before i could do anything. “just fuck me already..” i mumbled and without hesitation he quickly turned me around and bent me over onto the sink.

he pulled the bottom half of my bikini to the side and pulled his pants down, he pushed his tip against my folds, he was teasing me at this point.

“your safe word is red.” he spoke before he slowly pushed himself inside of me. “just squeeze my hand if its too much okay ma?” he spoke softly.

he slowly kept pushing himself in, my hands resting on the corner of the sink. my head was down but he slowly pushed my head back up and forced to me to look at myself through the mirror. “look at me, is this okay sweetheart?” he whispered in my ear, i nodded my head rapidly as i was begging to him to fuck me.

“words baby.” “yes..more please.” i mumbled out, his eyebrow raised “more already? we just got started princess.” he spoke with laughed. he forced himself into me and oh my god i was a moaning mess.

he pounded relentlessly into me, he was definitely a good 8 inches, he felt so unreal. “your doing so good for me baby.” he said as he looked down at my back tattoo.

“im surprised i didn’t notice your back tattoo earlier, it looks great on you baby .” i tried to tell him thank you but all i could do was blabber.

‘theres no way im letting a white boy fuck me in a family bathroom at the fucking beach.’ i practically spoke to myself. his hands slowly crept up to my neck , pulling me back onto his chest “look how beautiful you are getting fucked in a family bathroom. such a slut.. it’d be a shame if anyone were to walk in huh princess?” the knot in my stomach ended up snapping just because of that.

my vision was blurry but i could tell he had a huge smirk on his face when he said those exact words. the only thing that was coming out of my mouth was his name, one of our hands were interlinked as his other hand held me up because my legs obviously gave out.

“you’re doing so good for me baby..im almost there okay..” he spoke in my ear, his head resting on my shoulder. his thrusts became sloppier by the second “shit..in or out ma” “in me please..” i moaned as i squeezed his hand tigher.

i held myself against the sink as he pulled out. my bikini was shifted in different places, he cleaned me up before cleaning himself up. “you did so good for me ma.” he smiled as he helped me adjust myself. all i could do was smile back, my voice was so hoarse from all my yelling. i feel embarrassed.

he pulled me in closer for another kiss, more sloppier than the ones earlier. his hands traveled down my body stopping at my waist. i pulled away from kiss, a small whine came from him. “sorry babe but i have to get going, my brothers probably looking for me. or was looking for me.” i said sarcastically, “no thats fine, its okay. could i at least get your number?” he spoke with a smirk. “oh shit right sorry!”

@sturnsslut @vampsturns

#chris sturniolo #instagram #sturniolo smut #smut #beach #summer #the weeknd #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #lia talks #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #Spotify

[ponytailzuko]

i think when marinette n adrien are older, and they live together, and marinette gets well known for her fashion business, lots of times there are pictures online of them and marinette has the color coordinated and cohesive outfit, and then adrien is right next to her in his pajama bottoms, a tanktop he stole from her, sparkly cat eye sunglasses, and a leather jacket. the next day, marinette is the one in pajamas because she forgot to change and adrien is dressed to the nines so he can be the hottest person in the corner store. they go to get milk and you see up and coming fashion designer marinette dupain cheng in business attire and fingerless gloves driving a hot pink motorcycle with her supermodel boyfriend adrien agreste on the back, who has on a hoodie with cat ears on it, leather pants, and neon orange crocs. they share closets. adrien just buys shit he thinks looks cool with no care for what coordinates, and he also lets marinette embroider whatever she wants on his stuff. she stretches out his shirts because she ties them at the hem so they fit her. he wears her pants, and when she complains he stretched them out, he tells her thats what a belt is for. they dye their hair together. they hype themselves up to get matching tattoos and they cry when they’re the one in the chair. they do whatever the fuck and ignore the pics of themselves on the miraculous universe’s version of twitter.

#adrienette #love square #ml #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #cal.ibrations #like i just think after gabriel goes to jail adrien stops caring abt fashion and just buys stuff he likes #adrien and marinette in an interview together and the interviewer has to sit and see fashion designer marinettes husband in the #MOST atrocious fit you could wear. #marinette is sitting there with heart eyes . #adrien also discovers tacky earrings and asks if the ladybug earrings could be any shape when detransformed #(they can and it changes marinettes entire life)

[emotionally-damaged-carrot]

Charles Leclerc x Male reader

"Is it worth it?"

I'm slowly trying to get back to writing so updates might have like days gap in between or maybe a week, depends on my mood really, but I will try to write as often as I used to. It's just author's block is a bitch.

Prolly gonna be one of those typical angst stories but eh, angst was what I wanted when writing this.

I will be opening my requests for a bit maybe I might get some interesting stuff.

Warning: mentions of sex but no actual sex or maybe a few lines referencing it(?) Idk really

Here I am standing all alone in the pouring rain on the streets of monaco, I country I once was delighted to call home. Walking around aimlessly I can't help but think back to the events that lead to this ending and letting the tears slide down my rosy cheeks. I think back to the times I once was in his arms as how she is now, how he would tell me how much he loved me and hold me tight while cuddling on the couch, slowly falling asleep to a movie we both don't really care about.

We lay on the couch my face buried in his chest, his hand on my waist holding me tight the other playing with my hair.

"Charles, will you ever find someone better than me?"

I ask letting my insecurity take over for a moment.

"Mon cour, tell me, how can I find something better than perfection?" He says with a chuckle while he pull my hair softly so I am now forced to look up at him.

"You're unbelievable." I say while my cheeks turn a shade of pink. "I guess I'm just afraid that you will one day get tired of me, or see someone better than me, I'm just afraid that the last 4 years of my life with would just go down the drain like it meant nothing." I continue now having teary eyes and burying my face back in chest wetting his shirt a bit.

"Don't ever think that, I will never leave you, you have been the best thing to happen to me. I have not woken up a single day for the past 4 years without wondering why you chose me, why you noticed me?" He says now sitting us both up with me on his lap and his hands now I my cheeks wiping the stray tears that are still falling down.

I look at his face, watery eyes meeting mine.

"Don't ever think that you are someone not worth keeping, I love you and I promise to be with you forever."

I sit down on the wet pavement, my tears not stopping yet. Not being able to holdback the sadness, I pat my pockets feeling for my phone and wallet before realizing I left them at his apartment along with the groceries I just bought.

"Charles?" I say loudly, not hearing a reply I try again.

"Charles?" I say a bit louder.

I decide to get comfortable first, hanging my jacket on the coat rack, removing my shoes and putting on my crocs. As walk to our bedroom I hear grunting, I walked slower trying to concentrate on the noise until I heard a feminine voice.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, chaaarles aahh, fuck you're so biiig."

"I know, now just keep quiet so I can hear if he's back yet." I hear charles say breathily with a few grunts in between.

Hearing him grunting in pleasure and the moaning woman broke me, I knew it was only a matter of time. That one day he would find someone better, and I guess today was the day, or atleast the day I found out. With my mind plagued with the thoughts of them together, naked, having sex, I ran out of the apartment trying to be quiet but on my way to the door I bumped into a picture frame hearing the glass shatter. I looked at the frame through blurry eyes, kneeling down to pick it up and looking at what the photo was, it was me and charles standing on a balcony at sunset, his arm wrapped around my waist, my head on his shoulder our backs towards the sun with smiles on our face.

"I think I heard something break outside." I heard charles' voice say still breathing heavily.

I put the now broken picture frame faced down on the coffee table. Running towards the door, I grabbed my jacket from the rack and put it on. I left the apartment having a feeling I forgot something.

"Even after all these years I'm still so gullible, not being able to see through those empty promises and guilty smiles." I chuckled to myself pulling my legs close to my chest and placing my head on my knees.

"I knew it was only a matter of time, I wanted to atleast savour the fleeting moments I had with him, I knew something was up when he started staying out late more often. I should've known, I SHOULD'VE FUCKING KNOWN LOVE IS NOT SOMETHING I DESERVE." I scream the last parts now looking at the sky laughing loudly to myself. As I feel the cold rain pour on my face with my eyes closed I relapse back to a time when I feel down I would always run to him, and he would make my problems go away.

"Mon cour, what's wrong? I'm in the middle of something at the moment." He says through the phone sounding a bit annoyed.

"Ow uhm sorry, I just ah- nevermind, goodluck today." I say, my voice cracking up a bit, hoping he didn't hear it, as I immidiately end the call. But a few seconds later he called me, doubting whether I should answer it or not, until the call went to voicemail. He immidiately called again this time I pick it up.

"Come on, amour, tell me, what's wrong? I always have time for you." He says with concern replacing annoyance.

"It's nothing really, just the anxiety hitting."

"Sorry I can't be there right now, babe, just caught up with work right now. But I'm almost done, so I might be there in say 30 minutes? Then we can cuddle on the bed and put on a movie?"

"O-okay, thanks, I'll be waiting, bye and goodluck." I say now with a smile.

"Okay, ciao amour." He says before hanging up.

True to his word, he arrived 30 minutes later, with my favourite snacks in hand.

"Ciao." He said as he saw me laying on the hotel bed wrapped in a blanket.

"Ciao." I say with a huge smile on my face spotting my favourite snacks.

"Sorry about earlier, bebe, was just busy at the track." He says with a sympathetic smile.

"It's okay, work is more important anyway, but what matters now is that you're here." I say unwrapping the blanket around me and making my way towards him. As I reach him a give him a kiss and reaching for the snackbag.

"I'm just gonna have a quick shower and change then we can start, sound good?" He says smiling widely before booping my nose and making his way towards the shower.

"Yea, sounds good."

As I sob on the sidewalk I hear a voice call my name immidiately knowing who it was.

"Y/n? Y/n! Bebe what's wrong? I heard something break in the living room and saw your phone and wallet on the kitchen counter along with the groceries." He says concerned, but now that I look at him properly, it looked fake, a look that you would give to a person you don't care about.

"Ow it's just nothing, I just needed to clear my mind." I say feigning a smile, luckily he bought it.

"Let's go back, you'll catch a cold." He says with a small laugh as he takes my hand pulling me up and giving me a hug.

'He still smells of sex.' I thought to myself.

"Okay." I say walking with him hand in hand back to our or rather his apartment.

I felt disgusted, did he even notice? Does he even know that I now know? Does he even care? Is he ignoring it hoping it would all blow over? Is it even worth it at this point? Is pretending a game I can play? Is keeping everything in, worth it to keep him? Is he even worth it anymore?

I look at him once more, seeing him still with a smile.

'Am I the reason for that smile or was she?'

Been a while but eh, creative juice not in me rn. Hope you enjoyed? Requests are open for a bit send something you want written or idk, peace ✌️.

#charles leclerc #x male reader #x reader #y/n #gay #formula 1 x male reader #charles leclerc x y/n #f1 x male reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #charles leclerc x male reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x m!reader #bottom male reader

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

I think the key of the crocomom theory is the idea that

A) crocodile somehow never knew dragons last name nor luffys and dipped immediately after birth just to in a twist of fate beating up and getting beaten by his own son before being roped into the luffy shenanigans

Or B) croc damn well knew who luffy was and threw down anyway with a lack of fucks to give that I can only admire

Either idea is funny but when you tack on the shock of realizing ‘oh lord that’s MY kid and so kinda MY problem’ mid battle when sengoku announces luffys parentage at marinfold if he didn’t know it only gets better

Yeah no this theory just absolutely tickles me pink.

Like it’s so funny imagining the fact that this fully grown man has beef with a random 17 year old, and also that random 17 year old happens to be his son. Like

Like come on thats so funny.

Thanks for the ask!

#ask reply #@tani rani

[zorosleftmantit101]

BLANKET HOG

MAY SPECIAL DAY 1

Anon asked: HIIIIIII I don't know if I should request here bc I don't see your ask box butt MAY I REQUEST FOR A CROCODILE SCENARIO FOR NO.21 that man is too hot 💅✨

Characters: Crocodile x gn reader

C/W: none just fluff

A/N: tysm for the request crocodile is fine as hell.

Prompt: blanket hog

Sleeping peacefully you rolled over in you and Crocodile's shared bed, being drowned in silk sheets felt like a dream, engulfed in warmth the distinct smell of cigars and cologne bathed the room in comfort and familiarity.

In your sleep-hazy state, you notice your lover beside you stir before rolling over and quickly your comfort was stripped from you, your sea of blankets now neatly bundled over his broad shoulders.

"The fuck?" You sat up noticing your tall as-shit partner has unsuspectingly yanked away your blankets "Mother fucker", you whisper Grabbing your heap of blankets you pulled them back over yourself, snuggling back into comfort. Shutting your eyes you try to set off back to sleep until you heard a little groan and your blankets being yanked away again.

sitting up again you leaned over to check if he was awake, nope, fast asleep. You sigh he was being a blanket-stealing bitch but... he just looked so cute when he slept. Deciding you would save waterboarding him in his sleep for another day you go to pull your side of the blanket over your body again.

A good half an hour went by and you were slowly drifting off to sleep, closing your eyes you suddenly felt rather cold. Cracking and eye open your blankets had been ripped away again,

It was settled, He had to die.

Pulling the blankets completely off of him you bundled yourself up internally flipping him off as you slumped into sleep you felt a shift in the bed. Crocs' petty ass yanked the blankets completely off of you before bundling himself up. You sat up ready to pounce seeing a shit-eating grin on his stupidly gorgeous face.

Sighing you decided to just get a spare blanket hoping out of bed only to feel a tug at your wrist, being dramatically yanked into your lover's embrace he kiss down your neck wrapping the blankets around both of you and mumbling a little "Sorry darling, too cute when ur cranky" before he drifted off still nuzzled into your neck.

Erupting in pink you kiss his check slowely subsiding into slumber.

Sun rays peeked through the curtains of your shared room and you sat up with a steetch seeing your lover beside you. He was sitting up in bed a book open in his hand and cute glasses hanging lazily on his face.

"Goodmoring handsome" you sighed sinking back into the warmth of the sheets, Croc placed his book on tbe bedside table before snuggling back into bed pulling your body ontop of his "good morning blanket hog" he replied you slap his cheast playfully whispering a small 'bastard' before crocodile rolled on top of you, "is this better?" He asked, laughing you kissed his nose "your and ass but I love you" looking into his eyes adoringly you loved when he was in a really good mood.

Spending the rest of the day being lazy together you happily enjoyed one of the few days crocodile had off.

#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x you #zorosleftmantit #god usopp #headcanon #monkey d luffy #nico robin #one piece funny #crocodile #crocodile x you #crocodile x y/n #crocodile x reader #fluff #x reader #morning