#nibbly banana

[nicothedestroyer]

Lace inspector calling... Good nibbles, you pass

[zvaigzdelasas]

Finished making my 1 (single) habanero into a hot sauce & between two 8 oz jars of sauce w sweet fruit w no other spicy pepper you can still taste it pretty significantly

[tigertigertour]

Spelt Oatmeal Raisin Cookies For a cookie treat that is suitable for any time of day, swap out the all-purpose flour for spelt flour and stir in mashed bananas, rolled oats, and raisins.

[lxvvie]

Couples shit with Simon Riley, Modern Harefare edition:

I've talked about Simon with Pup (the dog) and Spectre (the cat), but what if the family pet was... a rabbit?

Meet Thumper, the cutest, most adorable Lop... that Simon wasn't expecting. At all. When you said you were getting a Lop, he didn't think it'd be a... a bloody rabbit. And thus a war in your home was started, one of epically adorable proportions.

Simon is convinced Thumper wants him dead. For a variety of reasons. Reasons that include waking him up at the ass-crack of dawn by sprinting across the bed and catching him mid-snore when Thumper hits his head. Yeah, luv, the bloody rabbit wants him dead.

It's that and catching Thumper nibbling on his clothes with no remorse. Because he wants him dead.

And it's also Thumper... thumping his way through life, throwing adorable tantrums because "I just gave you some lettuce, Thumps," or, "Can't eat my biscuit, mate." It's fuckin' psychological warfare, the things Thumper does to him, luv. What's so bloody funny?

Perhaps you've noticed that whenever Simon is scrolling on his yee-yee ass phone, Thumper jumps on him and knocks the phone out of his hand. With no remorse. Because he wants Simon dead. Alright, mate, if it's a bloody war you want, it's a bloody war you get.

Simon retaliating in kind, responding with psychological warfare of his own. "Gotta disarm my opponent," is what your soldier says, as he gives Thumper his favorite treat: a banana. All to throw Thumper off his game. Know what else Simon does?

Clean Thump's hutch when it's his turn. He makes it nice and comfortable again all so his bunny child can rage and thump and... mess it up in rebellion. Again. Simon can't help but be amused and chuckle. The tide's turning in his favor, sweetheart.

Whenever Thumper jumps on him, Simon... pets him. To throw him off his game of course. No thumping formed against him shall prosper. Sometimes. And when Thumper does thump in rebellion, Simon gently admonishes him like the honey bunny dad that he is. No, Simon, you're absolutely not laughing at him giving your pet rabbit a whole-ass lecture.

Bond with Distract Thumper with the game on the telly. Goes good for Simon 'cause it puts his thumping to good use whenever they miss a goal. Yeah, he feels the same way, Thumps. Now Johnny has bragging rights for the next couple of days or so until his team inevitably lets him down again.

Let Thumper follow him throughout the house for the most part. You have to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, luv.

And you know the most effective war tactic Simon has at his disposal? Cuddles. Because Thumper loves his cuddles and how Simon picks him up and nestles him in his arms. Better yet, it's when he lightly scratches Thump's head, lulling him into a false sense of security... and sleep. "Think I've won this war, sweetheart," Simon says as Thumper rests comfortably in his arms. Yeah, Simon, you sure did. And when you suggest putting your bunny baby down so he can nap some more, Simon looks at you as if you had two heads.

[roosterforme]

How Old Are You? | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob only gets one birthday every four years. When his wife, Molly, realizes it's almost Leap Day, she throws him a party any nine year old would love. And it's the perfect celebration for a thirty-six year old, too.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, implied smut, 18+

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC!Molly (this story accompanies The Curveball)

Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Bob was half asleep in bed, post orgasm, when the weird conversation started. "So technically you're about to turn nine? Even though you'll be thirty-six? Is that right?"

He cracked his eyes open again as he watched his wife stretch her arms above her head, her nipple piercings glinting in the soft candlelight that had their bedroom aglow. She was nibbling on her lip, and he could practically see her mind working.

"Yeah," he answered cautiously. "Why do you have that expression on your face, Mo? Like you're plotting something scary?"

"I've never plotted something scary a day in my life!" she told him before leaning down and gently biting his bicep. "I was merely considering what I should get you for your special day."

"I don't need anything," he replied quickly, remembering the naked cowboy statue wearing glasses that she gifted to him last year.

"Well," she said, drawing out the single syllable. "That's where I think you're wrong, Bobby."

"Molly, I don't even want anything." Then he had an idea that he hoped would throw her off. "How about you get some pretty new barbells or rings and let me play with them?"

She rolled her eyes. "That would be a gift for me."

He shrugged as she draped herself across him. "Kind of for both of us when you really think about it."

Her soft lips found his jaw as she whispered, "But it's not every day you turn nine, Coach Cute Glasses. You deserve an extra special treat."

He shook his head in exasperation and said, "I'll really be thirty six though."

"Not according to the calendar." She kissed him sweetly before climbing over him to get out of the bed. "I'll go check on Charlie and Flora one last time before we go to sleep." Bob watched her slip his discarded undershirt on and smooth it down over her gorgeous body, perhaps a little more filled out now that they had two kids.

He reached for her hand and said, "Mo, we really need to sell the condo and get a bigger place. They can't share that tiny room forever."

Even though she told him all the time that she loved the condo and didn't want to leave it, she was finally starting to come around. "I think I'm ready to admit that you might be right about that, Uncle Bob."

"Really?" he asked, jolting up in bed.

She nodded and hummed. "Yes. Besides, your birthday party would be a lot easier to plan if we had more space to accommodate all the guests."

Bob groaned and flopped back down again, and Molly removed his glasses for him. "I don't need a birthday party," he insisted. "I just want a nice, quiet evening with you and the kids. Maybe your sister, Ev and Bradley, too, but that's it."

"We'll see," she replied before leaving the bedroom with a wicked smirk on her face.

----------------------------

"Can you get to my sister's house by noon on your birthday? For your party?" Molly asked as she watched Bob feed a mashed up banana to their one year old daughter. 

"I thought we ended that discussion with us both accepting the fact that I do not need a birthday party."

"Yeah... it's too late for that," she replied easily as she and Charlie both ate their own dinners. Molly's favorite hobby was keeping her husband on his toes. She figured his life would be sad and boring without her in it, and since he chose to be with her, he must have a deep-seated love for nonsense. She always made sure to bring it out for him, especially for his birthday. 

He gave her a stern look. "It's just a small party, right?"

"Sure, Bobby."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh come on," she whined. "This is your first real birthday since we met!"

She knew he would crack. He gave her what she wanted the vast majority of the time anyway, but when she whined for something harmless, it was always hers. 

"Fine."

And with that single word, Molly executed the most epic ninth birthday anyone could ever have. She called the vendors. She ordered the piñata. She invited the guests. She procured a balloon arch. And on Bob's birthday, her own sister and brother-in-law were looking at her with shocked expressions from their back deck when she started setting things up at eight in the morning. 

"I thought this was going to be a small party?" Bradley asked as he watched her assemble the red and yellow balloon arch. 

Molly just laughed. "That's just what I told Bob. I lied. The pony should be arriving soon."

"Pony?" gasped her sister. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. Did you say a pony is arriving?"

"Yes," Molly said, speaking a little louder now to make her point. "How the hell are we supposed to have a cowboy birthday party without pony rides?"

Then Everett came tearing out onto the back deck, still in his pajamas, shouting, "Someone is bringing a horse around from the driveway!"

"See?" Molly asked as the pony and handler appeared in the backyard. "Ev is excited. He has good taste."

"He's ten!" Bradley snapped as he went running across the yard. "Is this thing going to tear up the grass that I spent months watering so it looked this nice?" But as soon as he saw how excited Everett was to pet the cute animal, Molly knew her brother-in-law would be on her side. It was just her sister glaring at her now.

"Whatever you mess up out here, you need to clean up. That includes the horse poop!"

"It's just a pony," Molly assured her, although the animal was a lot bigger than she expected. And yes, it was actually pooping. "It's fine. It'll be fine."

She was hoping it would be fine.

--------------------------

When Bob buckled Charlie and Flora back into their car seats in his truck at Myers park, he checked the time. It was almost noon. "Oh god," he groaned as he opened the driver's door. He had no idea what to expect, but the text from Bradley about how he was going to need help filling in the hoof prints in their yard next week had him on edge.

"Birthday party!" Charlie cheered from the backseat as Bob pulled out onto the main road. Molly had been talking about it so much, their son kept saying it over and over.

"That's right," Bob told him calmly. "But I'm pretty sure Mommy went bananas over the entire thing."

"Nana!" Flora crooned before she burst into tears. He should have known better than to mention her favorite food right in front of her like that. So he drove to his sister-in-law and brother-in-law's house with one delighted child and one who was crying hysterically. When he pulled down their block, there was absolutely nowhere to park, and there was a horse trailer parked right in front of the house. 

"Oh, no. No no no. Molly, no," he whispered. When he got closer, he saw the massive banner hanging on the porch that said Happy Birthday, Cowboy Bob. He had to squeeze his truck into the driveway behind the familiar blue Bronco while he gaped at the sight before him.

"Horse!" Charlie screeched. He wasn't wrong. There was some sort of pony walking around the backyard with Everett perched on top of the saddle wearing a cowboy hat. "I want the horse!"

"Okay," Bob told him as he shook his head and climbed out of the truck. He walked around to the back of the house with one child in each arm, and thankfully when Flora saw the pony, she stopped crying, perhaps out of fear. 

"Bob!" Molly shouted over the classic country music that was playing as she popped out of the enormous rodeo themed bounce house and ran to him. Literally everyone he'd ever seen in his life seemed to be here, and they were all wearing cowboy hats. Everyone from work was here. Like everyone. Cyclone was wearing a cowboy hat and drinking a beer. Bob thought he saw the doctor that Molly worked with who delivered both of their children. His parents and both of his sisters were here. His niece Piper was taking a turn riding the pony. There were indeed hoof prints in the yard.

Then Molly was somehow in his arms along with both kids, and she was kissing his neck as she said, "Happy birthday," in a voice that would have been a lot more appropriate for their bedroom. 

"Mo," he said, shaking his head. "There's a pony. It's making Bradley look constipated." 

She just rolled her eyes in response. "He'll get over it as soon as I offer to watch Everett for a few days over spring break so he and my sister can go away and do nasty stuff to each other."

Bob just smiled down at her and said, "You told me this would be a small affair."

"I guess I lied. Oops. Come say hi to Phoenix." She dragged him up onto the deck where Natasha took both kids from him with a kiss to his cheek, and then Molly was yanking his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing there in his undershirt with his glasses askew. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, she was pulling another shirt over his head. It said Birthday Cowboy, and there was a number 9 that looked like it was shaped out of rope.

And that's when everyone started hugging him and running around to get him drinks and chat with him. Mickey was wearing cowboy boots and a cow print vest. Maverick was teaching the kids how to line dance. Bradley's scowl had started to ease up since Everett seemed to be having the time of his life. 

"Happy birthday, Uncle Bob," Everett said when he walked over. He hugged Bob and added, "Your birthday party is my favorite birthday party ever, and I can't believe it's in my yard!"

"Thanks, Ev," he replied with a laugh as he watched Molly and Flora dancing with Javy. "It is pretty cool."

"Happy birthday, Bob," his sister-in-law said, handing him a card. "You can open it later. We got you opening day tickets for the Padres. Also, I'm so sorry that my sister is so chaotic, but you should have known what you were getting into when you started dating her."

Bob accepted another kiss on his cheek. "She really can't be stopped once she gets going." 

"It's a waste of time to even try. Might as well sit back and enjoy the show."

He did, and the looser he got, the more fun he started to have. He pet the pony while Piper rode around on it. He smashed open a cowboy piñata with one of Everett's baseball bats. He jumped in the bounce house with Charlie and Everett, and Bradley even joined them.

"I'll help you fix your yard next week," Bob promised as Everett did a backflip. 

Bradley just laughed and said, "It's hard to be mad about it when Molly just wants everyone to have the time of their life. You're very lucky. Also, I don't know how you deal with her on a daily basis."

Bob laughed, too. "Sometimes I just take it one hour at a time."

"Get ready for cake!" Molly shouted, and it took five people to carry out the biggest sheet cake he'd ever seen in his life. It was cow print and decorated with boots and spurs, and said Happy 9th Birthday, Cowboy Bob!

After he blew out the nine candles he reached for Molly. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing her softly. "I didn't know I needed a ninth birthday party, but I guess I really did."

"You're only a kid once, Bobby," she replied, smiling against his lips.

"You do know I'm actually thirty-six, right?" he asked, pulling her snug against him as her sister started to cut up the cake. 

"Not according to the calendar," she responded, patting him gently on the cheek. "Your mom and I had a lovely conversation about how terrible you look for your age."

He tried not to smile, but it was useless. "I'm actually having the best day, Mo."

"I knew it all along."

---------------------------

Both kids were sound asleep as soon as Molly tucked them into bed. Charlie went on a sugar high and then crashed, and Flora was played with and held by seemingly everyone at the party. They would probably sleep for a solid twelve hours. Which was good, because Molly wanted to give her husband the rest of his birthday presents. 

She found him in their bedroom where he was opening up the cards he got with a soft smile on his face. "You have so many friends," she told him, and he turned to look at her. "Everyone loves Bob Floyd."

He actually blushed which made her want to rip all of his clothing to shreds and have her way with him. He shook his head slightly and said, "Everyone loves the amazing Molly Floyd and her beautiful imagination."

"Bobby," she moaned softly, taking the card from his hand and wrapping her arms around him. "Tell me more about how amazing I am."

He laughed and whispered, "You threw me the equivalent of a kids' ninth birthday party, just because you could. My dad participated in the pie eating contest. My mom learned how to line dance. Bradley almost popped a vein in his forehead. It was wonderful."

She sighed in contentment. "In four more years when you turn ten, we'll be in a bigger house, and we can host your party there. But we'll have to wait and see if you're still into cowboys or if your interests change, Kiddo. Now will you please open your present from me? And put on your cowboy hat? I've always wanted to suck a real cowboy's cock."

Bob grinned. "Molly, you suck my cock when I'm wearing my cowboy hat all the time."

"But you've never had assless chaps before."

Bob let out a strangled sound, and when he opened the box that was wrapped in cowboy paper, there were in fact assless chaps inside. "Please, please, please put them on," Molly moaned. "God, I feel like it's my birthday."

As soon as she started whining, he always gave her what she wanted. It was impossible not to. Five minutes later, Bob was standing in the middle of the bedroom wearing the chaps, his birthday shirt, and his old cowboy hat. Molly was panting and biting her knuckle, already obviously raring to go down on him, which just made him harder.

But she took a step toward him and then stopped, a devilish smirk on his face. "Now wait. I'm having a bit of a moral dilemma with you in that shirt. How old are you again?"

"I'm thirty-six," he replied blandly. 

"You sure about that, Cowboy Bob?"

"Molly! I'm thirty-six!"

"Okay, okay. Just checking," she said, reaching for the bottom of his shirt. "But let's just remove this anyway."

------------------------

I had a blast revisiting these two! I'm so deeply in love with Molly. I hope you enjoyed Bob's birthday celebration. Thanks for reading! And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[yupmabel]

i need to let the entire bug community know about my precious baby Ella immediately ‼️‼️‼️

her hobbies include:

1. Eating banana slices for 20 hours straight

2. Ignoring banana slices until they mold

3. Walking in circles

4. Watching my computer monitor

5. Nibbling on fingers

6. Walking on her sister

[coughloop]

The most perfect slice of banana bread was just valued at a whopping $2.6 million dollars, sending the new York stock change into chaos as millions of busy business men attempt to snag a nibble

[cameronspecial]

Cheese Head

Pairing: Dad! Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Feeling like a bad parent.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.0K

Summary: Rafe can't seem to get his baby to stop crying and he will turn to anything to figure out how to make her happy.

A/N: I thought of this based off of the trend going around social media.

Masterlist

Y/N and Rafe love baby Mila. She is the light and joy of their family and they can’t remember what life was like before her. But sometimes, a new parent needs a little bit of a break from having to care for another human being and Rafe was hell-bent on giving Y/N that break. Rafe has taken care of Mila by himself before, yet it doesn’t stop him from always being nervous when it comes to taking care of her without her mother around. Ward wasn’t the best father and Rafe wanted nothing more than to be better for his little girl.

Rafe booked Y/N a spa day and insisted that she go to her appointment because she knew how anxious he gets when alone with Mila, especially since the bebe was not in a good mood that day. All she wants to do is scream her little head off and nothing Rafe is doing will make the seven-month-old stop crying. He places her into the high chair, trying to see if feeding her will make her happy. He tried mashed strawberries, peas, bananas, carrots, all of her favourites, but nothing seemed to appease her. He feels like a horrible father when he leaves her for just a few minutes in her crib. He needs a minute to pull himself together. He is scrolling through TikTok when he finds a particularly interesting one. Parents seem to be having luck stopping their babies from crying by throwing cheese on their heads. Some people may call it child abuse, but it doesn’t harm the baby and he knows Y/N’s been meaning to introduce cheese to Mila’s diet. 

He puts his phone in his pocket and goes to get Mila. He places her back in her high chair, turning to get the cheese from the fridge. He gets the sliced cheddar cheese with Mila’s eyes trained on his actions. Rafe takes out a slice and gently tosses it onto her head. Mila's cries stop for a second and her features turn towards confusion, but eventually, she begins to giggle her little head off. She reaches her tiny arms above her head to try and grab the cheese, so Rafe helps her out by tearing a piece to let her have a nibble. Baby Mila seems to have inherited her mother’s love for cheese because she grabs Rafe’s hands to put the whole piece in her mouth, making him laugh. When the piece is done, Rafe goes to get her another one from her head before she starts crying, but when he goes to give it to her, she begins a new ballad. He tries again and is met with a turned head. 

Deciding to take a chance on a hunch, he gets another slice from the fridge and copies his previous actions. This stops her crying. He’s cracked the code he thinks to himself and he continues to feed his baby. 

———

Y/N enjoyed her spa retreat and is very ready to see her baby and husband again. As she opens the front door, she can hear the laughter of her two loves coming from the kitchen. She walks over to see Rafe standing over Mila in her high chair. Rafe is facing the doorway, meaning that Mila’s back is facing Y/N. Y/N walks over to the pair and gives her daughter a kiss on the forehead, keeping her eyes trained on Rafe. Her lips are met with a mushy surface and her face turns to confusion. She looks down to see Mila’s head covered in cheese that is a little sweaty and starting to melt just a tad. She moves her eyes from her baby’s head to her husband’s face. “Rafe, why is my cheese on my baby’s head?” she inquires, her eyes narrowing at him. Rafe gives Y/N an awkward look and rubs the back of his neck, “I saw this thing on Tik-”

Y/N holds a finger up to him to cut him off. “You put cheese on Mi’s head because of a TikTok?”

“Maybe, but she was crying her head off and I didn’t know how to make her stop. I was feeling like such a bad father and I saw the thing and it worked and I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, my love. Rewind. You thought you were a bad father?”

“Yeah, I always feel that way when I can’t figure out what she wants. I mean I look at you with her and you can always figure out what she needs. I just want to be good for her.” 

Y/N rushes to his side and envelopes him in a hug. She buries her head into his neck to give him kisses there. She looks up at him with loving eyes, “You are the greatest father ever. You care for her and want her to be safe. You would peel the clothes off your own back and give her the last of your food to make sure she is happy. To be honest, I feel that way too, love. You don’t see it, but sometimes she won’t latch when I try to breastfeed her and I get so frustrated with myself. I feel like a failure for not being able to do something for her. I have to remember that sometimes parenting will be hard, but as long as we do everything in our power to make sure she is happy, safe and cared for, then we are doing a good job.”

Rafe returns the hug and gives a tearful kiss to her crown. “Thank you. I needed that. And next time you feel that way, please, tell me.” Y/N nods in his embrace. “I will. However, right now, you are going to the store to get me more cheese. And I am going to give little Miss. Cheese Head a much-needed bath,” she takes a glance towards the smiling girl. “Okay, maybe after one little picture. She looks so happy. Make sure to pick up an extra pack, it looks like she loves cheese too.”

[cozage]

Would you write HCs for Sanji, Zoro and Ace (separate) with a dominant s/o who always manages to leave them all flustered and shy even if the s/o barely does a thing?

A/N: God Sanji was so painfully easy but the others were SO hard. I loved the challenge and I hope I served them justice. They got really dirty really fast- i hope that was okay 😭

Characters: gn reader x Sanji, Zoro, Ace

Cw: NSFW!!! Some kinkiness in this one. Flirting, edging, bondage (kind of), a little bit of humiliation

Word Count: 1.5k

Hey Minors- DNI with this post! I have so much more content for you to check out! If i find any minors interacting with this post, I’ll block you! (and then you won’t be able to read any of my work, so just skip this one!)

Flustered

Sanji

Quickest way to get him flustered? Corner him in the kitchen. Anything in the kitchen. Anything at all. This man gets flustered over anything and everything.

Your favorite thing to do is to come up behind him while he’s chopping up ingredients, peek over his shoulder, and ask if you can have some. If it’s a fruit or vegetable, you just reach over him and grab it off the cutting board, pop it in your mouth, give him a kiss on the cheek, and continue on your way. At first you didn’t even realize it made him flustered, but now that you know? Oh you do it all the time. Sometimes you even lean in on him and grind against him a little bit, just for extra fun. 

The first time it happened he almost fainted. He’s gotten better about it, but his knees still get weak every time you come up behind him like that and whisper in his ear. 

Another thing that absolutely flusters him is the way you eat fruit. Not just the obvious banana, but cherries, strawberries, oranges, everything. If you catch his eye while you’re snacking, you just hold his gaze and slowly nibble away at whatever is in his hand. You’ll swirl your tongue around it, pucker your lips out, anything you can think of in the moment. 

Most of the time he’s captivated by the way you sensually bite down on each morsel, excruciatingly slow, while you only watch him. When there are other people present though, his eyes nervously flit around the room, trying to make sure that nobody notices your seductive moves (not that you’d care even if you were caught)

Ohhh but your absolute favorite thing! to! DO!!! And damnnnn, does it get him worked!!!! Up!!!!! You love to see something weird or adventurous or just totally random and nudge Sanji to point it out to him. “Wanna try that in the bedroom?” you purr in his ear.

Sometimes it’s obvious, like handcuffs or food, but other times it’s less obvious, like candles or obscure clothing accessories. His eyes practically jump out of his skull every time you whisper those words to him. He ALWAYS nods enthusiastically, to which your response is always “Wanna go there now?”

This poor man is so in love with you he practically races back to the bedroom with you in his arms, eager to see what you’ll do to him next. 

Zoro

Zoro started out as the dom in your all's relationship until one very fateful, life changing day. 

You walk into his weight room, seeing him bench press an ungodly amount of weight. You saunter right over to him and straddle his stomach right in the middle of his bench press. 

“What are you doing, woman? Get off me!” Zoro pushes the barbell up with some difficulty and holds it in a locked position. “I’m trying to train!”

“You’re always training,” you pout. Your finger starts at his collar bone and traces down his chest until it reaches his belly warmer. “You never pay any attention to me.”

“Don’t be a brat! I’ll get to you when I’m done!” He struggles under you, trying to shake you off, but you squeeze your legs together to keep yourself on him. You sit back slightly, your weight now against his cock, and he gives you a baffled look, surprised at your boldness. 

“You just stay right there,” you murmur. You bend down to kiss the nape of his neck and begin working your way down his chest, mimicking the trail you just make with your finger. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

And you certainly do take care of the rest. Zoro stays in his locked position, the weight of the barbell trapping him in his current stance. After that, Zoro only ever wanted you to take the reins in the relationship.

Anytime you walk into his workout room after that, he drops whatever weight he’s currently holding. His arms hurt for DAYS after that first encounter, and he does not want to be trapped in that position again. Sometimes you just wink at him and relay the information you went to tell him, sometimes you tease him about it. On a rare occasion-the occasion he always hopes it will be-you’ll command him to pick whatever he dropped up again, and you’ll get to work on him. 

Sometimes you’ll just suck him off, sometimes you’ll do a quickie, sometimes you’ll sit on his face, but the most glorious moments are when you have him hold a stance while you slowly work on him. Edging him close and then stopping right before he cums, hearing him curse at you while you moan his name. Oh, those are your favorite moments. And they’re his too.

You guys made a code word for “I’m horny and want to fuck”, which is “I don’t know, Zoro, what do you think?” and GOD it is so hilarious to watch his face grow red in public when you seemingly ask him an innocent question. The crew always makes fun of him because they think it’s funny to watch him get worked up over having to be a part of a conversation, but you know better. 

Honestly even just the little things like winks or little kisses on the cheek as you pass him makes him unsettled. PDA in general makes him so awkward and tongue-tied, and you love watching him get flustered over the littlest of things. 

Ace

People always think that Ace is the dominant one in your relationship, but they just aren’t paying enough attention. And neither of you ever care to correct them. 

Sometimes you joke about it when people make jabs at your alls sex life. “Oh Ace, you want this rope for later?” some crewmate will jest. “He won’t need it, but I might,” you respond. Ace always goes beet red when you make lewd jokes like that, but everyone just laughs it off. 

This man will do anything you tell him to, without ever needing incentive to. Sometimes you like to put the promise of a reward in place, just to see how quickly he can get a task done. Little rewards like kisses are usually enough to get him moving, but sometimes you like to offer extra special rewards in the bedroom to see just how fast he’ll work.

You love to sneak up behind him and trace the outline of his back tattoo. The second he feels you, he tenses, but he quickly relaxes into your touch when he realizes it’s you. He’ll even lean his head back to see you, silently begging for a kiss from you. Of course you always give him what he needs. 

Sitting on his lap always gets him flustered too. He’ll just be sitting, casually talking to his friends, and you’ll just sit down on his lap, like it’s the most normal thing. If he’s eating, you’ll take a bite of whatever he’s having. When you’re feeling really devious, you’ll just straddle him and wrap your legs around his back and your arms around his neck, completely demanding his attention until he gives you a kiss. 

Oh and you also LOVE to take his hat from him. Just as you walk by him, you’ll take it off his head and swiftly place it on your own without saying a word. If he starts to protest, you just look back at him and wink, and that shuts him up real fast. 

He gets a little bratty occasionally, trying to act dominant in front of his friends. You’ll grab the tassel hanging from his hat and pull him down to your level. “What was that now?” You taunt him so only he can hear you, daring him to defy you now that he was eye level with you. He will instantly start stumbling over his words, embarrassed. You always give him a kiss on the lips and let him go off. As long as he knows who is in charge, that’s all that matters (and honestly, it kind of turns him on, you acting like that). 

In the bedroom, Ace loves letting you take control. He is such a pillow princess if you let him be. He’ll just lie back and watch you act on your own volition, letting you ride him all the way to both of your orgasms together.

Of course, he loves to love you. He’ll do literally anything you tell him to, and he loves to try new things and experiment with new ideas, and he’s always very vocal about how he feels about those ideas. He loves making you feel good and hearing you moan out for him, and he loves seeing all of your ideas and fantasies come into play by his motions.

[thelastpuppyboygirl]

YES !! YES !!!!!! AHAHAAAA YESSSS !!!!

my personal headcannons for the loveliest of lovely little guys <3333

extra info + flags!!

randy: (pan and agender)

-fibromyalgia for sure, trauma does shit things

-probably needs a cane or something similar to aleviate pain (doesn't think he's ill enough to need one, absolutely is)

-if he gets high please treat him like a fish in an aquarium, probably would hate the lack of control

-flushes really easily, and constantly clammy

-if you put a blanket on his head he'll fall asleep

-narcolepsy

-loves the feeling of a nice, heafty, soft quilt and a hot cocoa on a cold afternoon...

oliver: (trans, gay and demiromantic!)

-has a stuffed animal collection 100%

-probably picks up a million different projects only to put them down, a new hyperfixation every week kinda guy

-him being a stoner is basically cannon but, in specifics he seems like a bong or joint guy to me, would let u smoke the first hit (bc he's nice)

-rollerskate date :]

-glasses to at least semi help his shit 'eye' (optical sensor) and lack of depth perception (they can only do so much though)

karen: (nonbinary, lesbian)

-doesn't particularly care about gender as a concept

-has a bunch of tassles and cords in her house she has braided

-can't keep a plant alive to save her life, has mourned at least 20 house plants, has a fake one (somehow dies too)

-mitski.

-the biggest sweet tooth out of the group

-will lock herself away for hours and hours, sometimes an entire day or two, just creating. only to come out of a hole haggard and exhuasted with her New Horse Drawing.

-hEDS, uses a walker to get around!

Norm: (questioning/bi ?)

-writer (how the hell else wouldn't he go absolutely bonkers all alone, other than having a goal and spite i guess)

-uses coffee to live, but definitely enjoys tea in his free time

-probably learned archery at some point

-whittles little sculptures to pass the time (made karen a little wooden horse sculpture once)

-randomly schedules cook outs/junctions when he's feeling lonely and isolated

-he would absolutely take the will graham route and end up with 20 fucking stray dogs out of a deep empathy and then wake up one day and realize the mess he got himself into.

-grilldad. (duh)

phonegingi: (genderfluid, polyamorous, pan)

-gender? yes.

-sexuality? yes.

-will consume your clothes if you are not careful with your gingi Care instructions. (taking little nibbles is okay as a treat)

-if weed is consumed it basically acts as a horrifically strong catnip, and it will get the zoomies and make it everyone's problem

-purrs

-pays really good attention to detail stuff, and its brain is basically a filing cabinet. but big events are basically a blur

-gets SUPER !! fluffy during the winter and there's an awful period where it's shedding and it's...super patchy and silly lookin

-me and the bitches i pulled by being HORRIFYING and lovely,,,,

bigfoot: (aroace. i don't take criticism.)

-banana,,,

-genuinely pretty attentive and smart

-becomes a painter because he is INSPIRED ! by his friend karen

-absolutely splendid lad

-i wanna live in a world where one of his passions is making and wearing silly hats, please, PLEASE

-karen showed him mitski,,,god help him he's sad now

-knitting,,,he knit giant banana,,,,

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 8: The New House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, kids, parenthood, historical topics like violence and discrimination, Cakes with Christabel, angst?? Who am I kidding. Angst!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.9k.

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

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @gemini-mama @daenysx @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbelll @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥰🧁

“I have no idea what he’s thinking,” Christabel tells Alicent, a low furtive murmur around nibbles of a cinnamon French toast cupcake. They are both sitting at the kitchen counter as you scuttle around wiping down burners and handles and knobs, trying not to listen in, unable to help yourself. At the table, Amir is frosting a Lady Baltimore cake and chatting with Criston, who has eaten no less than three miniature cherry pies in the past fifteen minutes. Amir keeps casting you wide-eyed, flummoxed glances. He means: Can you believe these people? No, you can’t.

Alicent sips the glass of sweet tea you poured for her and gazes vaguely around the room. “Oh, you know how Aemond is, dear. He works so hard. He’s so consumed by the Lake Verret project.”

“But shouldn’t he talk to me?” Christabel’s large blue eyes are luminous, persistent.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Of course he talks to you.”

“Sure,” Christabel says, frowning. “He talks to me about the weather and the garden and the koi in the fish pond. He asks if I listen to Dire Straights or AC/DC. Nothing of consequence, nothing revealing. And he never touches me. Alright, fine, there’s a hand on my shoulder or my waist once in a while, for a moment. There are quick, courteous kisses. But that’s all. And he’s so…so…” She struggles to decide on a word. “Formal!”

“Have you tried the cannoli cupcake yet?” Alicent asks, sliding the plate towards Christabel. “It’s just divine. I absolutely adore it.”

“When we’re apart he says he misses me, but he hardly ever calls. He tells me that he loves me, but only if I say it first.”

“He’s marrying you!” Alicent declares as she restlessly twists her assortment of glittering rings, gold and diamonds and emeralds. “What more is there to say, dear?”

“Surely there must be something,” Christabel mumbles. She obediently samples the cannoli cupcake, carving away a tiny sliver with her fork. “Oh, that is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s my favorite one yet.”

They have twelve flavors to choose from, some familiar and some new: vanilla bean and triple chocolate of course, the classics, and then also cannoli, cinnamon French toast, carrot, red velvet, Boston cream pie, apple cobbler, peanut butter and grape jelly, Neapolitan, Louisiana crunch, and hummingbird. Christabel surveys the selection and then looks to where you are vigorously scrubbing an already clean stovetop. “Aemond mentioned something about banana bread cupcakes. Do you have one of those we could try?”

And again, you are amazed by how much he remembers: the very first cupcake from the very first night. “Um…I’m not sure, actually. Amir, didn’t we make a batch earlier this week? Are there any still on the table?”

Amir checks the cake plates, lifting glass covers, until he locates a single remaining banana bread cupcake for your customers. He ferries it to the kitchen counter with great ceremony. “Everyone raves about this flavor! And it’s so quintessentially southern. Perfect for a Louisiana wedding.” You give him a miserable, deadened stare and he offers a millisecond smirk of commiseration. What else can we do? Amir means. And you think: Nothing.

Christabel samples the cupcake, an infinitesimal morsel speared on the very tip of her fork. You recall how Aemond tasted like sugar and honey and cinnamon when he kissed you on the night you met, rough, dominating, irresistible, without the aching weight of disappointments or betrayals. If time was a cobweb you could rip and walk through, you’d be back in that May dusk in an instant, you’d live there forever and never leave.

“That’s it.” Christabel grins as she licks cream cheese frosting from her full, pink lips. “This one. I want a banana bread cake.”

“Mmm,” Alicent agrees, taking a bite. “It has so many dimensions! Sweet with just a touch of salt, light and fluffy but with a certain substantial, rustic quality, don’t you think? It’s the cinnamon, perhaps.”

You make a note on your yellow legal pad—a reminder you don’t need—so you can avoid Christabel’s benign, guileless gaze. “Is there a design you’d like for the frosting?”

“Wildflowers.”

Amir emits a startled gasp before he can swallow it back down. You look up at Christabel. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Just like the vanilla bean cake you made for the engagement party.” She draws blossoms in the air with her fingers, whimsical like a fairytale. “There was white icing and then all these gorgeous flowers in a dozen different colors. You could do that for a wedding cake, couldn’t you?”

“Of course.” And then you amend: “Well, Amir can. He’s our Picasso.”

“You’ll need something for the rehearsal dinner too, dear,” Alicent tells Christabel. Then she turns to you, tugging anxiously at one of her auburn ringlets. “You’re the expert, love. What would you recommend to impress upon our guests all the history and mystique of the Deep South?”

Your mind is blank, your thoughts gnarled up with visions of Christabel meeting Aemond at the end of an aisle. Amir sees this and he saves you.

“A Napoleon cake,” he announces with his best salesman enthusiasm, powerful enough to sweep everyone else along with him.

Alicent claps her hands, elated. “Oh, just like the town!”

“It has layers of puff pastry and rich custard cream, very French, very elegant and sophisticated, but also a nod to Napoleonville. And we can add a cherry jam to make it more romantic, if you like.”

“Doesn’t that just sound heavenly, darling?”

“Does Aemond like cherries?” Christabel asks Alicent. You know he does, but you don’t say anything.

“I think so. We’ll ask him tonight to be sure.” Alicent is opening her clutch purse to get the cash to pay you; she is eager to have this errand finished, you believe. “And can you put wildflowers on top of the Napoleon cake as well?”

“You can have the Declaration of Independence written on it if that is your heart’s desire,” Amir says, then steals a glimpse of you. You’re jotting the order down and then tracing over your own letters again and again.

“That’s the color scheme,” Christabel says a bit dreamily, forever woolgathering. “Wildflowers. And I think you suggested it at the engagement party,” she tells you, appreciative. In your recollection, it was less of a suggestion than a confession of what you once dared to hope for. “Everything has to have wildflowers. Even the dress.”

Alicent groans. “Oh, Christabel, not this again.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so resistant, those dresses were spectacular.”

“Whoever heard of a multicolored wedding dress?” Alicent asks you, Amir, Criston. “It’s absurd. The bride always wears pure white, everyone knows that. It’s tradition! It’s dignified!”

“Well now I get to solicit opinions too.” Christabel reaches into her own purse—a quilted shoulder bag, light blue with red roses and a label reading Souleiado stitched inside—and produces several polaroid photographs. She gives them to you; they are all of her posing in different wedding dresses, stylish white gowns freckled with wildflowers like splashes of paint. “All anyone can talk about is what I should wear, what the guests will expect, what they will chatter about when they gossip afterwards,” Christabel tells you. And in her vast, shimmering eyes you can detect no resentment or slyness, only quiet desperation. “But you’re a real person. So be honest with me, because there’s only one thing I really care about. Will my husband think I look ravishing in any of them?”

“These theatrics,” Alicent sighs to herself, lighting a Marlboro cigarette. Again, she is peering aimlessly around the kitchen. Amir fidgets with the dogwood flower in his hair as he watches you wearily. Criston compulsively eats another miniature cherry pie.

You study the polaroid photos. Each one feels like a split lip, a fractured rib, the shredding elephantine pressure of a contraction. You wait to speak until you’re sure your voice won’t break. “They’re all stunning. But this one…” You place one picture on top of the pile. “This dress was made for you. Just look at your face. Glowing like a lightning bug.”

“Thank you,” Christabel says, beaming, immensely grateful, and she takes the photos back. She seems pacified. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“I was, yes. Briefly. Not very happily, I must admit. But it was worth it to get my daughter.”

She smiles. There’s no uneasiness; she doesn’t shy away from displays of human frailty. “I’d like a few daughters one day. We could all dress up together and style each other’s hair.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. If I tried that, I’d get my hands chewed off.”

Christabel laughs. She wears a casual blue t-shirt, blue gingham capri trousers, and white flat pumps. Her eyeshadow is a sparkling gold, her mascara flaking onto the apples of her cheeks. She is still marveling at you with those aquamarine eyes when Alicent pulls a list out of her clutch and grudgingly crosses off items with a black ballpoint pen.

“So we’ve got a wedding cake, a rehearsal dinner cake, a dress, a venue, flowers, photographers…I still need to call about hair and makeup…and we need to pick out candles…”

“Where are you getting married?” you ask Christabel.

“The most unique, picturesque, atmospheric place in the entire state of Louisiana, I’m sure of it.”

“We took a drive to visit that church you mentioned,” Alicent says to you. “And it was absolutely perfect. None of our guest will have ever seen anything like it. And it’s so historic! Over 150 years old! The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens.”

Amir squeals, a distressed mewing that he stifles with a feigned cough into his elbow. You stand shellshocked for a few seconds before managing a generic encouragement: “Really! Wow! Amazing! Great!”

Now Christabel is rather melancholy again. She scrutinizes her engagement ring, a large teardrop emerald with a gold band. Her voice is low, like she’s talking to herself. “I just wish…I don’t know. That we had more time together before the wedding, I suppose. Then I think I’d feel like I had more of a handle on things. It’s all been such a whirlwind, such a shock. A good shock, but still. We hardly know each other.”

Alicent prompts her: “You care for Aemond, don’t you, dear?”

“I’m in awe of him,” Christabel replies, a little dazed, a little defenseless. “He’s so clever and gallant. He’s the most inspiring man I’ve ever known. And the scar…it gives him quite a roguish look, doesn’t it? Like a Bond villain. It’s not a detriment in the least.”

“Yes, yes,” Alicent says impatiently, like she’s waiting for the conversation to be over. “Then there’s nothing more to worry about. You care for him, he cares for you, and you’ll have the honeymoon to get better acquainted. Criston, would you go outside and start the Lexus, please?” He dutifully departs.

Honeymoon. Your stomach lurches, the sea in a storm. You can see Aemond’s hands on Christabel’s face, in her hair, skating up her bare thighs. You can hear him moaning her name.

“We’re going to Greece,” Christabel informs you, thinking she’s being polite. “Athens, Mykonos, Santorini, and Corfu. Have you ever been?”

I’ve never been anywhere. But instead you say, forcing a smile: “Not yet.”

When Christabel, Alicent, and Criston have gone, you look to Amir. Your blood has turned to cement: cold, heavy, immobile, trapped. “You realize she’s getting my wedding, right? The one I always wanted. The wildflowers. The candles. The chapel.”

“And she’ll even be taking your favorite dick home at the end of the night.”

You cover your face with both hands and shake your head, trying to clear it, to drive out mirages of someone else’s oasis. This can’t be real. I can’t handle it, I can’t survive it.

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, gently now: “If we’re catering dessert, we’ll have to go to the wedding. The rehearsal dinner too.”

“Why would they want that? How can they not see how insanely awkward and wrong this is?”

He shrugs. “They probably think it’s normal. Wasn’t Camilla at Charles and Diana’s wedding?”

“If one more person tries to talk to me about Camilla Parker Bowles, I’m going to feed myself to the gator.”

“You’ll have to come to terms with it or you’ll have to end it. Those are the only options.”

“Yeah.” And it’s not just about me. It’s Cadi’s life too.

Amir sits down at the kitchen table, crosses one leg over the other, kicks his foot nervously. He rests an elbow on the tabletop and his chin on the knuckles of his left hand. “I hate to give you more bad news.”

You already know what he’s going to say. You’ve been dreading it for months. “You have enough money saved for San Franscisco.”

“I do.”

You exhale, your shoulders collapsing, tapping your fingertips against the counter. The air conditioner whirrs; the cicadas shriek in the trees outside. The house is hushed and still. Cadi is away at horse camp. Each day you receive a postcard in the mail that you assume the employees forced her to write at gunpoint. “When are you leaving?”

“The end of July. I’ll wait until after the wedding, once all the dust has settled. But I can’t wait any longer than that.”

“I want you to be happy,” you say. “I really do. But I’m going to miss you so much. You’ve been my best friend for a decade. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a partner in life.”

Amir smiles faintly. “Come over here.”

When you sit beside him, he takes your hands in his; and you remember how he visited you in the hospital after Cadi was born, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers he picked himself and a Tupperware container full of crawfish pistolettes. He had been just a casual friend before you found out you were pregnant, one of a group, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t keep him at an arm’s length. Amir was different, and not in a way that you fully understood or accepted yet. But he was the only friend who had no judgment for you when you told him you were pregnant, who cared about how you felt, who wanted to be a part of whatever would happen next. He was the only one who stayed.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Amir tells you. “I’ve never even been on a date, not once. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never had sex that wasn’t a one night stand in a New Orleans club or the back seat of my Ford Escort because those were the only places we had to go. And I’m starting to believe that people like me can’t have more than that. So I have to go someplace where I can have more, where I will have more. I don’t want love to be something that only other people get to experience. I don’t want to be afraid of leaving my house after dark or wake up every day wondering if someone has broken a window out of my car again. I have to go. There’s no future for me here. If I stay in Napoleonville, this place will kill me, one way or the other.”

Okay, you think. I can let him go. After everything he’s done for me, this is how I can be the friend that he deserves in return. “You should leave, Amir,” you say, tears stinging in your eyes. “I hear you, I understand you. I just wish I could go with you.”

“No, don’t cry, don’t cry! This isn’t the end. I’ll fly back to visit, you know that. Grandma’s still here, you and Cadi are here. And you can visit me too. Maybe you’ll even settle down on the West Coast someday. Eight more years and you’re free.”

You try to imagine your life then: Cadi headed off to college—and she will go to college, you’ve already decided that—and your tether to Willis weakened, closer to 40 years old than 30, Aemond and Christabel nearing their anniversary. How many children will they have by then? Three? Four? And the Lake Verret project will be well-established and no longer in need of so much of Aemond’s attention, and the house they call The Last Desire will sit empty on the lakeshore, warm draughts breathing through it like blood in veins. “I wouldn’t know how to exist anywhere else.”

“You’d learn,” Amir says confidently. “Now, have you ever made a Napoleon cake before?”

“I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.” You consider this. “My mom might have a recipe lying around somewhere. I’ll call and ask her.”

“Yes, do that,” Amir agrees. “If she doesn’t, I’ll try to dig one up at the library. We’ll want to have a few practice runs before the rehearsal dinner. Gotta impress the Rockefellers and their soulless millionaire ilk. Unless you were planning to have a homicidal meltdown and make the custard out of antifreeze or something.”

You chuckle. “No. Probably not.”

“It would be difficult to blame you.” And he turns on the little pink Panasonic radio: Alone by Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

In a spacious corner booth of the Olive Garden in Gonzales, Aemond is talking about Lake Verret as you pick at your Tour of Italy and Frank Sinatra pipes through the speakers. You could swear they have the same three songs playing on a loop: Fly Me To The Moon, My Way, Luck Be A Lady, back to outer space again.

“But by total coincidence, Daeron has been researching desalination techniques for his latest article. Apparently there are ways to try to mitigate the damage and reduce the brackishness of the water, so we’re going to be—”

Abruptly, you ask: “Where does Christabel think you are right now?”

Aemond’s forehead crinkles, his fork hovers above his plate of herb-grilled salmon. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and his Marlboro jacket, jeans, Adidas sneakers. “Why do you care?”

“She’s getting the wedding I always wanted, did you even notice? She’s getting married at the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens in Belle River. She’s getting wildflowers and flickering candles.” And she’s getting you too.

“Okay,” Aemond says slowly. “I’m not involved in any of that.”

“I think you are, actually, because you’re kind of the groom.”

“But I don’t do the wedding planning,” he insists. “I have no idea what Christabel has arranged. My job is to be there on the day in a suit and that’s just about the extent of the real estate it takes up in my brain.”

“She’s never mentioned any of that to you? Not once? You’d swear on your life?”

He sets down his fork with a clang and stares fixedly at you. Your waitress glances over from several tables away where she is refilling a couple’s sweet tea glasses. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry you had good ideas and other people liked them. It fucking sucks that you didn’t get the wedding you wanted when you were seventeen. But that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know you yet, and you didn’t know me. You can’t blame me for what Willis or anyone else did.”

“But it’s not fair,” you choke out, sounding weak and juvenile, and you hate it but you can’t stop. “I understand that you’re marrying her, I get that, but she can’t have everything.”

“Look…” Aemond laces his hands together on top of the table, and his voice softens. “Even if Christabel didn’t exist, even if you were from my world, even if you were a duchess or a socialite or the daughter of the president of the United States of America, I still couldn’t marry you.”

You scoff; it’s despicable. “Because of Cadi?”

“No,” Aemond says, like that’s preposterous, like he’d never consider her to be a liability. “Because I have to have heirs.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss with vitriol that stuns him. Now the waitress is gawking. “You’re going to manipulate Christabel into walking down that aisle and then immediately get her pregnant?”

“Why are you mad at me?! I’m listening to you, I’m respecting you! You don’t want to have any more children of your own, fine, completely reasonable, I would never ask you to have a baby and go through all of that again for the sake of the Targaryen dynasty, but somebody has to!”

“You really don’t understand why I would empathize with a teenage girl trying to raise a child when she’s lonely and exhausted and confused about why the man she married isn’t turning out to be who she expected?”

Aemond shakes his head like it’s not a valid comparison. “She wants this.”

“She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t understand what she’s signing up for.”

“Everyone from a family like mine goes through this,” Aemond says. “My grandparents did, my mum and dad did, Aegon did, even bloody Charles and Diana did, and now it’s my turn. There are growing pains, but people adjust and it all works out eventually. Christabel will learn to manage her expectations, and once the children are born she can find happiness wherever and with whoever she wants to.”

“But you’ll be with her,” you forced out, voice fracturing, and at first Aemond doesn’t grasp what you mean. “You’ll…you’ll sleep with her. You’ll touch her, you’ll kiss her, you’ll do everything with her.”

“Surely you, as someone who called up a stranger from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal, comprehends that sex can be a solely physical act under the right circumstances.”

“So what, you’ll fuck me and then go home to her? Or you’ll fuck her and come home to me? And I’m supposed to live like that?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s easy.

You gaze morosely out of the restaurant window. In the distance is a Dollar General, a Burger King, the Kmart where you had to buy your own engagement ring.

“Do you want me to tell Christabel to change the wedding?”

“No.”

“Because if I tell her to pick a new venue, new flowers, new cakes, whatever, she’ll do it.”

“No. She likes her wedding. I can’t take that away from her. She thinks I’m her friend.”

“Cupcake,” Aemond says, tenderly now. You turn back to him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m going to be gone for a while, four or five days. I have to fly to Norway and inspect some of the offshore rigs we have up there.”

“In the North Sea?” you ask, alarmed. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I mean, it’s oil drilling. It’s one of the most deadly professions in the world. But that’s how we built our fortune, our legacy. I’ve survived before, I’m sure I will again. If you need anything while I’m gone, you can call the house. Criston knows that you’re to be taken care of.”

“No one else can go to Norway instead of you?”

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

“Because Viserys told you to?”

“They amount to the same thing.”

“I don’t think you should listen to him.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says again. He takes out his wallet and lays $30 on the table. “But there’s something I need to show you first.”

As Aemond’s red Audi Quattro barrels down Route 70 southbound towards Napoleonville, you say very little to each other. Once you were strangers, and the words flowed easily and your bodies intertwined with effortless need, and now you have known each other for nearly two months and shared days and nights and confessions and yet every ghost filled up the space between you until it was a splinter, a gap, a gulf, a chasm. You miss the person he was when he showed up on your sloping, creaking porch steps back in May. You miss the person you were before you found out about Christabel.

A Men At Work song comes on the car radio, and it takes you a moment to figure out which one. It’s Down Under, a bewildering hit from 1981. “I never understood this song,” you say, staring through the open window as a jungle of southern live oaks, dogwoods, and cypresses rolls by. Rivulets of opaque, slow-moving bayou water snake through the wild green. Pelicans flap their wings in the pink-golden dusk sky. “What’s a head full of zombie? What’s a Vegemite sandwich?”

Aemond laughs, a smoldering Marlboro Red nestled in his left hand. You wonder if once he’s married he’ll wear a gold band on his ring finger, if he’ll take it off when he cheats with you. “Cupcake, it’s obviously about Australia.”

“What?”

“Down Under? As in, literally below the rest of us in the Southern Hemisphere? Head full of zombie means they’ve been smoking weed. Vegemite is a kind of yeast spread they put on sandwiches. I’ve had it, it’s disgusting. The whole song is in Australian slang. Everyone knows it’s about Australia.”

I didn’t. You look out your window again. Aemond takes note and swiftly backpedals.

“But I mean, I can see how an American wouldn’t know that. No big deal, okay? To anyone in the Commonwealth, Australia is like our fuckup sibling. It’s our Aegon. But you guys probably don’t really learn about Australia in school. So…yeah. It’s probably not as obvious as I assumed.”

“Maybe I missed that lesson,” you say. Maybe I missed that year.

In a brand new neighborhood just outside the town center of Napoleonville, Aemond parks in the paved driveway of a ranch house on a three or four acre lot. The yard is bordered by a white masonry fence with chicken wire around the base to keep snakes and gators out. There are a few dogwood and bay laurel trees, and one monstrous southern live oak that’s probably two hundred years old. Aemond cuts the Audi Quattro’s engine and steps out into the twilight.

“Aemond? What are we doing here?”

“Follow me.”

“Why?”

He walks around to your side of the car, opens the door, and leans down to grab your face with his right hand, his fingers hooked around the curve of your jaw. Instantly, there is a bolt down your spine: hunger, warmth, weakness, momentum that is thoughtless like falling from a great height. “Follow me,” he repeats, grinning mischievously. “Right now.”

Aemond has a key that unlocks the front door. Inside is rose pink carpeting and mauve walls, a sunken conversation pit, popcorn ceilings, mini blinds on the windows, closet doors covered with mirrors. You can see your face reflected in them, puzzled.

“This is the living room, clearly,” Aemond says as he continues briskly through the house. As an afterthought, he kicks off his Adidas sneakers so he doesn’t track any dirt inside. You do the same, sliding off your cheap flats from Kmart. He points down a hallway. “There are two guest bedrooms down there, and then a big one at the other end of the house with its own private bath. Here’s the kitchen…” He leads you through it, mint green with pristine black and white tiles on the floor. “And over there is the dining room.” It’s a kind, golden yellow like dawn or sunset.

“Aemond, what—?”

“Bedroom next,” he interrupts, hurrying you along.

At the end of the hall, he opens a door to reveal a sprawling chamber. It is blue like his bedroom in the Targaryen mansion, but not a deep, vivid sapphire color; it is a pale blue like prairie flax or a clear midday sky. The carpet is lush and soft. There are mirrors on the ceiling.

“Those are optional,” Aemond clarifies, pointing upwards. “But personally, I like them.”

“Aemond, whose house is this?”

“It’s yours,” he says.

“It’s what?!”

“Well, technically, it isn’t yours quite yet,” he admits. “I bought it in cash, it will close in a week or two. At that point I’ll sell it to you for $1—the same price as one of your cupcakes, incidentally—and then it will officially be your house. And it doesn’t even have a sinking foundation or any alligators. Imagine the possibilities.”

“But…but…”

“Cadi’s bedroom is green, like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’ve been told the yard is big enough for one horse, or two very small horses. Ponies, I guess.”

“You cannot buy me a house,” you say, aghast.

“I think I already did.” He holds out the key to you, resting in his palm among lines of prophesy.

You are paralyzed; it takes you forever to find your words. “Aemond, I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s a gift, not a trade,” he says, the key still lying in his outstretched hand. “Every cent I spend on you, every second I spend with you, is solely because I want to do it and for no other reason. There’s no obligation. There’s no quid pro quo. And that’s what I feel like you don’t understand. I have no logical reason to keep you in my life, absolutely none, aside from the fact that I want you to be here. And I want that with everything I’m made of. I never stop wanting it. So let me help you. Take the key. Take the house.”

His right eye is on you, imploring, commanding. At last, you lift the key from his palm. Studying it like the cryptic letter of a foreign language, you murmur: “You shouldn’t have done this.”

Aemond rakes his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up towards his, skims his lips feather-lightly from your cheekbone down to your lips—though he doesn’t kiss you, only ghosts his flesh over yours, a taste, a taunt—and then up to the curl of your ear. His whispered voice is colored with wicked scarlet desire. “You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do.”

If he yanked off your t-shirt you would let him. If he unzipped your denim shorts and slipped his artful fingers inside them he would find panties soaked through for him. You would let him do anything he wanted to you, here in this glass-fragile liminality before he becomes Christabel’s in law, in body, in inked and inerasable history. But it would not be because you want to, not because you feel ready in your bones, not because you trust him again. It would only be because you could not bring yourself to resist.

Aemond reads this on your face; he stops before you have to tell him to.

~~~~~~~~~~

On July 1st, Cascade Stables is swarming with parents as they descend upon the property to collect their children and meet the horses they’ve spent the past week with. There is a stereo somewhere blaring Your Love by The Outfield; apparently, this does not disturb the horses. You find Cadi beside the stall of a very tall, willowy beast, ears upright and alert, one bulging eye onyx and the other a striking icy blue. Its coat is white with a splattering of rust-colored stains. Even its mane and tail are comprised of alternating strands, dark, light, earth, clouds, cocoa powder, granulated sugar.

“His name is Patches,” Cadi tells you proudly as she pets the leviathan’s velvety muzzle. “He has a wall eye. And he’s a real handful and usually they only allow the experienced campers to ride him, but they let me try and he listened so well I got to keep him all week!”

“Wow, that’s incredible! Good job! Did you learn a lot about how to take care of him?”

“Yeah. They taught me how to feed Patches and clean his hooves and put a saddle on him. And how to hit him with a hairbrush when he tries to bite me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Right. Okay.”

“Can we buy him? He’s for sale. Probably because of all the biting.”

“Who, Patches?” You definitely cannot afford to board a horse; and then you remember the new house. “I’ll think about it.”

Cadi peeks around you. “Daddy isn’t here too?”

“No, honey, I’m sorry. He had to work. But he really wanted to see the horses and he is looking forward to hearing all about your adventures.” This is a lie—Willis seems only dimly aware of the concept of a horse camp, and he is staunchly incurious by nature—but a compassionate one.

Cadi accepts the explanation readily enough. “Alright. Is Aemond your boyfriend yet?”

“Um.” You thread the horse’s forelock through your fingers to buy yourself time. It seems unwise to try to deceive her again; Cadi will learn about Christabel sooner or later. “No, we’re still just friends.” You pause. She watches you, knowing there’s more. “Actually, he’s getting married this month.”

“What?!” Cadi is shocked, but she’s outraged too. “To who?!”

“To a nice lady named Christabel. And I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.” Another lie. And you think for the first time: If I settle for being Aemond’s mistress, if I let it tear me to pieces…what am I teaching Cadi?

Your daughter doesn’t say anything for a long time. She pets Patches’ speckled face, her own expression tense and thoughtful, lines and worries that should be far beyond her age. At last she says quietly: “Is it because of me?”

You are mystified. “What, honey?”

“Is the reason why you and Aemond can’t get married because of me?”

There is a flash of crimson wrath in your skull—protective, animalistic, wronged on her behalf—but no one to direct it at. “No. No, absolutely not. Why would you say that?”

Cadi shrugs, and you recognize it as her self-preservation, faux-flippant shrug. “I don’t know. One time I heard Michelle’s mom talking about how no decent man wants to deal with some other guy’s kids. And that’s me when I’m at your house. Another guy’s kid.”

Oh, fuck you, Janet. “No,” you say again. “Aemond likes you a lot, Cadi. He cares about you.” He picked out a house that could accommodate a horse for you. “You’re the opposite of a problem. He actually likes me more because of you, I think.”

“Okay.” And she’s relieved, although she’s trying not to show it. “Then why is he marrying someone else?”

“Well…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Where the hell do I start? “Aemond and I are very different people,” you tell Cadi. “And we want different things out of life. We like to spend time together, but that doesn’t mean that we’d be able to share our whole lives…homes, careers, values, everything. His family has a lot of expectations of him that I don’t feel right supporting, but Aemond wants to respect their rules. And, you know. He’s a robber baron.”

“But he doesn’t talk about Jade Dragon Energy or oil around me. He talks about history.”

You sigh, watching dust motes swirl through the hot, sunlit stable air, listening to horses nicker and huff. “I know, honey.”

“I don’t even think he wants to be a robber baron. I think he wants to be something else.”

“Like what?” you ask, picking stray bits of yellow straw out of her short, disheveled hair. And remarkably, Cadi tolerates this.

“I don’t know, just…just…” She battles with the words, then finds one she likes. “Free, I guess. Just free.”

[crowborn666-writes]

Care

(Depressions kicking my ass so I’m back again with therapy Dadzawa. Dunno why it took me so long to realize there’s MHA Wikis, but they’re a lifesaver.)

Shota Aizawa x Teen!Reader

Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Platonic

Summary: The hole just seems to get deeper and deeper, but your new teacher seems determined to pull you back out.

CW/TW: mentions of bad past, reader feeling guilty about eating, mentions/descriptions of anxiety, Mineta (he doesn’t do anything, he just exists 🙄)

Other info: reader has a established quirk(one I see myself having tbh, I call it Shadow Morph), possibly poorly written sparring scenes

~~~~~~

“You haven’t eaten.”

“Not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten since we brought you here.” He pressed, voice and actions gentle as he scooted the plate a few inches closer to you. A part of him wanted to cross his arms, but he knew that wouldn’t go over well with you, so he kept them loose and resting across his knees.

“…Not hungry.” You spoke again, albeit a bit more hesitant this time, your eyes flitting across the light meal that was set in front of you.

Shota could only let out a worried, exasperated sigh. The police were good at their job sure, but with you they had their suspicions pointed in the completely wrong direction.

Simply, you’d been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Where you were trying to avoid the villains in the area, the ones who were on the scene thought you were with them.

It took Shota a long time to get them off your back, even longer to convince them to let you go with him.

You had recently graduated middle school, and in one of your less pressuring conversations with him, had told him how you applied to a hero school and was denied. How your parents weren’t exactly the best. How you felt you didn’t fit in with anyone, and the few friends you did have left you once school was done.

Basically, you were stuck on where to go, practically in a pit made of loneliness and unknown directions.

He thought back to those conversations, wondering just how deep this hole you’re in went. Clearly, it was worrying, if you were seeming guilty about eating.

“…You said you wanted to be a hero?” He piped up quietly, watching your fingers begin to inch towards the plate.

He didn’t press further on the subject of food, knowing even a few millimeters of movement towards it was still progress.

“Yeah… even if it’s a support or underground hero. Wanna help people.” You mumbled, tentatively picking up one of the banana slices and taking a small nibble.

The small bit of relief took some of the tension out of Shota’s aching shoulders.

“What would you say to joining one of my students’ classes? You can show off your abilities there.”

“Don’t you have an extra student to train already though…?”

“I do,” Shota’s smile at seeing you finally eat a bit more stayed hidden behind his scarf, but it definitely met his eyes, “but his progress is going smoothly enough to where I don’t have to always watch him during his training, and if your abilities are good enough you can train with each other and grow even more.”

You nodded quietly, eyeing the buttered toast that had been made for you with a bit of hesitance, wondering if you’d be able to stomach it.

Shota then stood from the table, movements careful as to not startle you.

“Eat what you can, I won’t push any more today. In the meantime I’ll fix up the couch for you.”

“Thank you.” Your quiet call following out of the kitchen, your fingers picking up the slice of toast you’d been eyeing.

Your night was fitful, to say the least. The unfamiliar environment and uncomfortable couch made it hard to fall asleep and stay asleep. You sworn in your half-asleep haze at least two times Shota had wandered over to glance over the back of the couch to check on you, one time even adjusting your blanket that had gotten tangled in your tossing and turning.

Somehow, though, you’d managed to fall asleep for more than twenty minutes. You awoke later to the sound of Shota in the kitchen, the sound of a coffee maker reaching your ears. Rolling over, you glared at the clock on the coffee table, reading 6:20 in the morning.

Figuring trying to fall back asleep would be fruitless, you sat up, rubbing at your tired eyes as you stood to wander into the kitchen.

“Morning.” Shota spoke as he turned to you, placing a granola bar on the counter for you before he turned to grab a mug from the cabinet.

“Good mornin’.” You yawned, not thinking twice as you grabbed the granola bar off the counter. Next thing you knew, Shota had a glass of water next to you, turning to pour his cup of coffee.

Your anxiety had crawled up to your neck as you and Shota walked towards a building called Gym Gamma. Shota explained that students often trained there with Ectoplasm and Cementoss, since the Pro Heroes could create concrete structures and fake Ectoplasm’s for them to practice against.

You were dreading the possibility of a grand entrance as Shota opened the gym doors. You trailed behind him, and despite him not making any sort of announcement to get his students’ attention, all eyes naturally fell to him.

Oh god, were you pale? Were you sweating bullets or is it just hot in the gym? You had to be sweating bullets and pale as a sheet. Your entire body was tense and—

“Alright class, I need your attention for a few.”

You already have their attention!

You watched with trembling hands and a gaze that soon locked onto a very specific pebble that had been dragged in as the class of about twenty students all gathered around, their attention wavering between their teacher and you.

“This is (Y/n). They’re going to join today’s class to show off their abilities, to see if they’re good enough to join the hero course.”

A rough voice called out, your gaze flickering up to spot a blond with a rather annoyed look on his face. “Does this school really have time for this stranger?”

Before your thoughts could drag you further into your metaphorical pit, Shota spoke up almost instantly.

“As heroes we should not only save people from disasters, but we should try to help them in low points of their lives. If they aren’t cut for the hero course, we will find something else for them to strive to achieve.”

No one else heard it, but from your right you could’ve sworn you heard Ectoplasm mumble something about Aizawa being a softie.

One by one, you were introduced to the class, all except for a very short, purple haired boy. But you didn’t say anything, figuring there was a reason given Sero immediately slapped some tape over his mouth just as he opened it.

One student rose her hand, Tsuyu, if you recalled correctly. “May I ask about your quirk?”

“Oh good call, Tsu!” Denki piped up, “I wanna know too!”

From Shota’s gentle prompting, along with the kind gazes of Izuku, Ochako and a few others, you began to explain your quirk to them.

Without your quirk, you’d be too slow, too weak to be much of use. But with how you’ve developed your quirk, you were able to push and pull yourself and others to your advantage.

You could create shadowy tendrils from your back or limbs, able to pull and push yourself as needed, able to wrap others up to restrain or throw them. With enough focus and energy, you could even slip through shadows, adding to your dexterity.

Your voice would waver, going in and out with volume, your mind hissing with all the words people told you about your quirk.

Not very heroic.

Scary or worrisome.

Too dark.

You didn’t say those thoughts out loud, of course, but they were instantly swept away when Izuku started rambling.

“That’s so cool! Are you able to morph your entire body into shadow or just parts of it? Can you move only through shadow that way or can you move anywhere? Is it like Tokoyami’s quirk where light—“

“Midoriya.” Shota cut him off, the green-haired boy giving a sheepish smile as a few others sighed in unison.

“Sorry, Mr. Aizawa.”

You figured this was a daily occurrence.

It wasn’t long after that the training resumed, the students easily falling back into their routine. Shota had you go up against one of Ectoplasm’s copies, just for you to warm up and get used to using your quirk in a fighting style rather than an aid like at home.

You were too focused on blocking or dodging attacks to really notice a few students glancing your way, not even Shota’s, who no doubt had his gaze moreso on you than anyone else.

After your warmup, you turned as Shota called out. “Asui. I’d like you to pair up with (Y/n).”

Nervousness rising, you watched as Tsuyu hopped down from the cement towers, right down next to you.

“(Y/n), Asui’s here is fairly quick with her movements, I want you to try your hand at capture. Asui, I want you to do your best at dodging and blocking (Y/n)’s attacks.”

“Got it, Mr. Aizawa!” She replied, turning to you with a smile and a soft ribbit, “Good luck to you!”

“G-Good luck to you too!” You stammered, getting into stance as she hopped a distance away from you.

“Go.”

Shota wasn’t lying when he said Tsuyu was fast, it was like she was made of water almost, or as slippery as a frog. Just when you thought you had her in a grip, she found some way to wriggle out of it or dodge at the last minute.

You had a thought then, wondering if you could fake her out somehow. You sent your shadows towards her, like you had been doing, and right before she jumped you opened them like a cage that surrounded her from all sides.

You knew she could probably slip through, but this was your best bet right now.

She aimed to jump upwards, between two shadows above her head, and thinking fast you clamped down like a venus fly trap.

A startled “ribbit!” left her as you held her upside down, arms trapped to her sides.

After your surprisingly successful capture of Tsuyu, Shota had you up against Sero next.

“You said you were able to push and pull yourself, right?” He called up to you, looking a bit small from atop the cement tower you were on. “I want you to do just that, and either evade or fight back against Sero, who’s job for this mock fight is to capture you.”

You glanced around, finding yourselves on the higher cement towers, everyone else either still training or watching from below.

At Shota’s call, Sero immediately dove into action, shooting tape to try and ensnare you. You were quick to jump away, backing out of his reach, your shadows helping you cling to your surroundings.

Now it was your turn to be quick on your feet, thoughts running a mile a minute as you had to both evade Sero and keep track of where you were going.

Suddenly he was in front of you, and in two quick tugs, your shadows pulled you behind him. He recovered faster than you expected him to, finding yourself suddenly wrapped up in tape and dangling.

“Not bad.” Shota spoke, watching as Sero carefully lowered you to the ground. “Even though Sero has a lot of practice in capture, you evaded him longer than I expected.”

You took the praise with red cheeks, a little embarrassed by it all.

A few other students wanted to train with you after that, especially Midoriya, but unfortunately you needed to rest, and so spent the rest of the class period watching them all.

“You did good today.” Shota spoke up as you walked back to your temporary housing with him.

“You mean it…?”

“I mean it.” He glanced back at you and caught your gaze for a short moment, just long enough to emphasize his point before turning away. “A lot of my students wanted you to come back and join them in the second year. If you’re up for it, you can join the hero course with Shinsou.”

You found yourself smiling. “Guess I got a lot of training to do now, huh?”

Shota was smiling as well, even if you couldn’t see it. “That, and you got a lot of people who care about you now as well.”

[httpshoney]

jungwon has always been observant.

no one could catch the glances he’d take in your direction, they were quick and discreet and he usually conceal a smile that forms on his face whenever he catches you staring out the window with your mouth agape, or when your head is hanging low as an attempt to catch a nap from all the cheerful activities you do.

you were the sunshine of their class, your presence alone made it hard for everyone to go on their day adorning a frown. jungwon has always been amazed by your consistency and failure to show other emotions than joy and calm. to them, to him– you happen to be the best person they’ve encountered. his mind would wander during the afternoons when he heads straight to hybe, the thoughts of you and sunoo meeting keeps him preoccupied and it never fails to leave a grin on his face.

he wasn’t in love with you, not yet. it’s just that, you frequent his mind more than he expected.

those were the words he’d repeatedly mumble, a mantra to convince himself that the flower in his heart hasn’t bloomed to his favorite feeling but there was no denying when he wants to see your vulnerability and stay with you, the same way you did when you caught him in the middle of a breakdown on the school’s rooftop. he became a firm believer that during his breakdown on the rooftop, you would break down too if he wasn’t there.

you were all smiles and laughter, you were the warmth of their class but surely your cheeks would hurt from all those smiling and laughter and if they did, could it be that you were shivering inside?

the day when you became all he can think of, jungwon wanted to be your safe place, just like you were his. the fast paced environment he’s settling in was too much in most occasions, the numbing pressure of being on his toes 24/7 to make sure their group’s name is void of dirt, and the fact that his current social status became a threat to his mental health– jungwon was more than relieved to know you.

but now that graduation is around the corner, there was added pressure to keep you in his life. he didn’t want you to be a part of his past only where he can only talk about you in past tense. he wanted to keep you in the present and in the future. so he frantically observed you on the day of their graduation.

his eyes were almost fixated on you, he followed your movements and looked if you were around any family members because in that case, it would be hard for him to finally talk to you.

shockingly, despite being each other’s company countless times. Neither of you initiated a conversation, your moments together were filled with pushing banana milk to one’s side to comfort them and the silence did all the talking. his fingers fidget and his throat felt too dry for his liking, god… he never felt this nervous when performing. was getting someone’s number this hard? jungwon never knew that it was this hard, he suddenly thought of his previous admirers who had the courage to ask for his number– and suddenly felt bad that he never gave it to them.

jungwon is observant, he’s alert and in whatever situation he’s in. he’ll always notice every movement, but maybe because it was hot in the auditorium, or maybe because his hyungs were there but jungwon never noticed you walking up to him.

“jungwon?” you watched as he flinched, shocked at the sudden intrusion that put all of his thoughts to rest. you felt bad, from where you were, you noticed all of his fidgeting and figured that he was overthinking. you were sure he was overthinking, from the moments you spent with each other on the rooftop; the furrowing of his brows, although very minimal and the nibbling of his bottom lip were all you needed to know that his mind was going haywire.

“y/n from your class, figured you might have forgotten my name.. are you okay?”

jungwon isn’t in love, not yet. right? but when you asked him how he’s feeling, he knew you picked up all of his mannerisms. jungwon is in love. he really is.

he never forgot your name even when you’ve never fully introduced yourself to him, and the thought of you holding a conversation with him excites him. he felt his blood rush to his face, his hands were sweating;

“can i have your number?”

[coffeedrinkeryeg]

Little treat

Sometimes I think I deserve a little treat.

If I just had a lee I could celebrate little things that happen every day with victorious tickles.

Oh, I baked a loaf of banana bread? Good for me! Let's go over to my full-time lee, and start nibbling their delicate and lovely ribs! You know? As a treat. Because I deserve it.

On the other hand. I was stuck in traffic? Grr, that was unjust, I deserve a treat for that. Maybe I'll just drag a bristly brush over her poor arches for a bit~ aaand I'm feeling much better now! You see what I mean?

[cuddlepilefics]

HI! I love your stories and I don't know if you've already done it (if so sorry in advance) but you could do a story with Felix who is sick (migraine, stomach cramps whatever you want) but stubborn and only admits it when he hurts himself due to a fall during training and others (specific;chan and hyunjin pls) take care of him??? pls and thank you ❤️

Dizziness

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Felix

Caregivers: Chan & Hyunjin

Prompt @whumpril

No one’s POV.:

Felix had already felt a little odd when he had gone to bed the previous night, muscles achy with exhaustion that didn’t even feel justified considering their schedule for the day hadn’t been that draining. Though he had gotten a decent amount of sleep, the exhaustion hadn’t improved at all and it took all his willpower to get out of bed. At least he was lucky enough to not run late, unlike Minho, Seungmin and Jeongin, who completely missed their friend’s struggle in their rush to get ready and out of the dorm on time. With how tired he was, Felix would’ve almost fallen asleep on the drive to the company building if it wasn’t for the weird swimmy feeling in his head. Every time the car took a turn, the Aussie’s head was sent spinning and watching the buildings pass by did little to anchor him. Since looking out the window barely helped at all, Felix eventually gave up and closed his eyes, resting his head on Hyunjin’s shoulder.

Thinking the younger was falling asleep, Hyunjin gently rubbed Felix’ knee, which earned him a low hum of acknowledgement. In reality, the Aussie was trying his best not to get carsick but his stomach was starting to feel a little fluttery by the time they arrived at the company building. “You good?”, Hyunjin whispered as he helped his dongsaeng out of the car. Still a little unsteady on his feet, Felix yawned: “’m tired.” - “Maybe you can nap between the recordings”, the older chuckled as they made their way to the studio. Luckily, their schedule was starting off with a recording session and they’d have dance practice after lunch, so Felix still had some time to properly wake up and get into the groove. He could only hope it’d be enough because he doubted he’d be able to dance well anytime soon.

The mood in the studio was a little tense because adrenaline was still running high in Minho, Seungmin and Jeongin after the hectic morning they had had, so Felix didn’t dare ask if it was okay for him to lie down for a bit. His head was beginning to hurt as he read over his lyrics, the words blurring in front of his eyes. At least, the nausea he had experienced during the drive was slowly dissipating but he still didn’t have an appetite when Chan asked if they should get anything for breakfast.

Thinking that having something in his stomach might quell the remaining queasiness, Felix figured he could just have some fruit and crackers and he even volunteered to go to the store with Jeongin to get breakfast for everyone. His main intention was to get out of the stuffy studio, hoping the fresh morning air would settle his stomach and maybe wake him up. It did turn out to be a mistake though because he still felt far from steady on his feet but he didn’t want to worry Jeongin when the maknae was still reeling from that morning’s events. Pretending to just be in a bit of a cuddly mood, Felix linked their arms and held onto Jeongin’s arm to steady himself.

The trip to the store had taken more out of Felix than he would have expected but he was glad that he had been able to get out of the studio for a bit because the tension and chaos had almost driven him mad. Once they had sorted out everyone’s food orders, Felix plopped down in his seat and suppressed a groan. Nobody seemed to notice how quiet the Aussie was as he slowly nibbled his crackers. The crackers settled alright but by the time Felix finished his banana, his stomach was in knots. He had been determined to finish both though because he really wanted to take something for his worsening headache and knew he shouldn’t do so on an empty stomach.

“Are you okay, Lixxie?”, Chan asked softly, “You’re so quiet today, mate. Like, something about your energy just feels off.” – “I’m tired”, Felix chuckled, though the little, forced laugh aggravated his headache. He didn’t want to worry Chan, so he wouldn’t let the older know that he wasn’t feeling well at the moment. Especially because he didn’t think he was sick, just having a bit of an off day. Ruffling his dongsaeng’s hair, Chan smiled: “Alright, speak up if you need anything though. Had you said something earlier, you could have taken a nap here but now we’re short on time and need to leave for dance practice soon.” – “Hyung, it’s nothing really”, Felix insisted, too stubborn to crack now because he could’ve asked about taking a nap earlier. It was his own fault that he hadn’t. Poking Chan’s side, he reminded: “I’m tired, not dying. We’ve all been tired before.” – “I guess so”, Chan sighed, getting back to work.

Felix was feeling more miserable by the minute but he decided that he had missed his chances to speak up. That didn’t mean that he would turn down the painkillers Seungmin offered him. The vocalist had noticed how Felix flinched whenever there was a loud noise and pressed long enough for the Aussie to admit to having a headache. Felix could only hope that his stomach too would settle once the pain improved or else he had no idea how he’d get through their dance practice session.

Luckily, his headache did improve and though his stomach still felt funny, he was only the slightest bit queasy. What Felix hadn’t considered though, was the intense vertigo that hit him the moment he got to his feet to head down to the practice rooms. Squeezing his eyes shut, he clutched Hyunjin’s arm for support and was grateful that the older wrapped his arms around his waist to steady him. “Woah, you good?”, Hyunjin frowned worriedly, hesitant to step back even after his dongsaeng had found his balance. Felix nodded but it was barely convincing, still, he muttered: “Got up too fast. We’ve been sitting for too long.” – “Well, guess it’s a good thing we’ll be moving for the next couple of hours”, Hyunjin hummed, patting the Aussie’s shoulder. And boy were they moving.

Felix didn’t know how he did it but he had made it through the first two hours of dance practice with only minor slip ups. Sure, his moves weren’t as sharp as they usually were but hey, that was still pretty good considering that he felt like he was dancing aboard a wonky ship that was tossed about a stormy sea by relentless waves crashing against its hall. His stomach was churning once again, almost as if he was getting motion sick from his own dance moves. Still, he had only gagged into his mouth once and had been able to turn away from his group, so that nobody noticed. When Minho eventually called a ten minute break, Felix didn’t take a single step more, shakily sitting down on the floor right where he had stood.

Chan seemed worried about Felix despite the younger’s best efforts to hide his struggle. By now, the boy was too out of it to notice Chan’s concern though. Felix’ stomach cramped horribly and it was almost impossible to move but somehow, he still managed to get to his feet and resume practice once the short break was over. How he was able to stay on his feet, the dancer didn’t know because his head spun and his vision blurred. Felix wasn’t even sure if his moves were on beat, not hearing the music over the ringing in his ears, and he also didn’t notice how he lost his balance, realizing a moment to late that the blurry picture was tipping sideways.

Without as much as an attempt at catching himself, Felix crumpled to the floor, the impact sending shock waves through his body and making his head pound. “Shit, you alright, mate?”, Chan frowned as he crouched next to his dongsaeng. Felix’ eyes seemed out of focus despite the leader being pretty sure that the boy hadn’t hit his head, which confused and worried the older greatly. Dazedly sitting up, Felix slurred: “Gonna be s-“ Before choking up his meager breakfast over his lap. He almost slumped over, had it not been for Chan catching him by the shoulders, steadying him as he retched. Hyunjin was by their side in an instant, carefully brushing Felix’ hair out of his face, impressed by how long it had gotten. Tugging the hair tie out of his hair, Hyunjin tied his dongsaeng’s hair into a messy ponytail and gently rubbed the younger’s back.

A few unproductive heaves later, Felix collapsed backwards and Chan slowly lowered him to the ground, so he wouldn’t hit his head. “You with us, Lix?”, the leader asked softly, taking the other’s hand and lifting up his arm to examine it. Humming in confirmation, Felix squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fight off the unbearable dizziness that threatened to send his stomach over the edge again. It was only now that he was taking stock of his body that he felt warm liquid running down his arm and the moist warmth that soaked through the fabric of his pants. Realizing that his stomach contents were currently seeping through his pants, Felix tried to roll onto his side and gagged emptily. He couldn’t even really prop himself up because Chan was still holding onto his arm. Felix tugged in the arm in Chan’s grasp, whining hoarsely.

There were a few muffled voices in the background but Felix couldn’t decipher what anyone was saying until Chan’s calm voice right next to him promised: “It’s okay. Your elbow is bleeding though, so don’t put it on the floor. We wouldn’t want you getting any dirt into that wound.” Or vomit but Chan didn’t say that out loud. “His knee’s bleeding too, hyung”, Hyunjin mumbled and Felix could feel him tug on his soiled pants. Barely even lifting his head, the younger winced: “Could you stop, please?” The skin on his knee stung already and Hyunjin’s fussing was making it worse. “I’m sorry, do you think you can sit up and change into some clean shorts though?”, the older hummed, “If not, at least keep your eyes open, so we know you’re still conscious.” – “Dizzy”, Felix breathed but shakily sat up to wriggle out of his pants.

Taking a seat behind Felix, so his dongsaeng could lean against his chest, Chan whispered: “Did you hit your head or have you been dizzy before?” – “Been dizzy for a while. Wouldn’t have toppled over that easily if I hadn’t”, the dancer muttered but relaxed into his hyung’s arms. Minho had handed Chan a towel, so the eldest could wipe the sweat from Felix’ pale face, while Hyunjin had removed the younger’s vomit stained pants and was making quick work of cleaning the mess of his thighs, so he could patch up his knee. “Can you tell us how you’re feeling now?”, Chan hummed as he cupped Felix’ cheek, “And the truth please, no more, I’m-fine-just-tired-BS.” Drawing a deep breath, the other shuddered: “Dizzy an’ my head hurts. Stomach really doesn’t this merry-go-round.” – “Can I have your arm, please?”, Hyunjin asked softly once he had finished patching up Felix’ knee.

“How long have you felt like that?”, Chan continued, feeling his dongsaeng’s forehead, “You feel pretty warm and I don’t think that’s just because you’ve been dancing.” Leaning into the leader’s touch, Felix yawned: “Went to bed exhausted as hell and woke up feeling odd. Didn’t think I was sick though.” – “Well, I think you’re sick though”, the eldest countered with Hyunjin adding: “Same here.” The were quiet sounds of confirmation from the other members, making Felix sigh: “I guess. Just really wanna go home.” – “We’ll take you home”, Chan promised, “Could you sip some water first?” Weakly shaking his head, the younger admitted: “Wouldn’t stay down.” – “Okay, we’ll try later. Would you like some gum?”, Hyunjin offered, handing Felix a strip of gum when the boy nodded. He really wanted to get this awful taste off his tongue.

Minho lent Felix his spare pair of shorts and they hoisted the boy to his feet afterwards. Felix hadn’t been kidding when he said he was dizzy, almost tumbling down again if it hadn’t been for Chan and Hyunjin steadying him. “Easy there”, Chan shushed, rubbing Felix’ back when the younger slumped against his chest with a tired whimper. He really didn’t feel good at all and why was he still so dizzy? Clutching the leader’s shirt, Felix sniffled: “I really want my bed and not to get up anytime soon.” – “That sounds like a great plan actually”, Chan smiled. With how stubborn his dongsaeng had been earlier, he had already feared how difficult it would be to get him to rest but it seemed the young dancer was done putting up a fight. “Come on, let’s get you home and to bed”, Hyunjin whispered, taking Felix’ arm to guide him on their way.

[mediocre-writerr]

love quinn x fem!reader where reader celebrates valentine’s day with love like she baked and prepared dinner just like love had taught her before and reader paid attention to make this day special for her. everything is a surprise btw but as we know love she was starting to freak out a bit thinking reader is being distant and secretive but all turned out well. anyways lots of fluff 💖

-🎈

banana pancakes [love quinn]

love quinn x fem!reader

warnings: a few curse words

mediocre author's note: hey guys! happy belated valentine's day, hope it was full of love in all different forms. love you guys!

Your location was off…why was your location off? Your location was never off. Love swiped out the app, only to re enter it seconds later. It had to be some kind of tech issue right? Your location wasn’t actually off…right? Wrong. Sure enough your location was still off. 

Love let out a huff, as she shut off her phone, throwing it onto the metal counter in the kitchen of Anavrin. The brunette closed her eyes, resting her head on the cool metal door of the fridge, as she took deep breaths. ‘I trust her’ she repeats to herself over and over in her head, like a troubled school child writing ‘I’m sorry’ on their paper repeatedly. It was odd to her. It was Valentine’s Day, the day of love, and you were completely ignoring her. Only sending a ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ text to start off her morning. 

Everything seemed fine then, so what changed? 

You were stressed, like really stressed. It was your first actual Valentine’s Day with someone you truly love. You wanted to make something perfect for the first time. The only problem? You can’t cook to save your life, despite Love teaching you her favorite recipes. 

“Oh for fucks sake!” You yell, opening your apartment door to let all the smoke out of your house before you set off the fire alarm. You take a deep breath, resting your head against the cool metal rail, as you try to get your shit together. This needs to be perfect. Everything needs to be perfect. 

Your head snaps up, as someone’s voice calls your attention. “Hey Gordon Ramsey, I see cooking is going super well for you. A solid five Michelin Stars!” your sometimes favorite 15 year old teases from right next to you. 

“Not now, Ellie. I keep fucking up the recipe and Love gets off work in like 3 hours and nothing is ready,” you vent to the brunette, as you begin to pace the small pathway between apartments. 

She rolls her eyes at you, “Dude, chill out. You’re stressing out about this way too much.”

“I’m sorry, I just want everything to be perfect.”

“And that’s the problem,” she shows herself into your apartment. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “Sure Ellie, you can come in,” you say before mocking her voice. “Oh gee thanks Y/N. You’re the best.” 

You follow in after her, a fearful expression on her face as she looks at the steak you attempted to cook. The entire piece burnt to a crisp, she cuts into it, nibbling a tiny piece out of the corner. Her mouth immediately opens, dropping the tiny piece onto the dirty counter. “I didn’t think anyone could be this bad at cooking,” she admits, grabbing a glass of water to wash down the taste. “Like, I actually think you used sugar to season the steak and not salt.”

“Ellie, if you’re just gonna sit here and tell me how shit I am, you can just leave. I already know all of that,” you swing the front door open, gesturing for her to leave.

“Oh stop that ‘poor me’ bullshit,” she tells you, causing your eyebrows to furrow at her sudden tone. “This is why nothing is working out. You’re trying to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be perfect. For some odd reason that I don’t understand, Love is madly in love with you, and no amount of shit steak can change that. So shut the fuck up and just stop trying so hard!” 

Then it all clicks in your head. One of your first dates, she mentioned the simplicity, yet perfect bite of roasted chicken. Nothing too extravagant or special, but a dish that is strong with flavor, yet still feels like it's made by someone who cares. You snap your fingers together, “That’s it, Ellie! You’re a genius! C’mon, we gotta stop at the store!” 

“We?” 

You smile at her, a cockiness written all over it, “Yes we, you just got hired to be my sous chef,” you grabbed your keys, immediately ushering her out of the apartment, and to your car. 

“Oh fuck me,” she mumbled. 

Cooking for Love was supposed to be therapeutic, a way to ease her mind. Unfortunately, for the vegetables she’s cutting right now, it means that they’re receiving a brutal chop. Especially since you left her text message on read, asking what your plans were for tonight. 

A low whistle fills the kitchen as Forty walks in, eyeing his twin, “What did those poor poor celeries do to you?” She shot him a glare without another response, causing him to nod, “Don’t want to talk about it, got it. Let’s talk about something else then. What did Y/N get you for Valentine’s Day? I know she’s got her gift-giving science down to perfection. I told her multiple times to start a business doing that, I’d invest in it, she would make some serious money! I mean can you imagine all the lousy excuses for husbands going to her to buy a gift for their-” 

Forty was abruptly cut off when Love’s knife slammed down onto the metal counter. His eyes wide as he stared at his fuming sister, “It’s 8, I’m off now. I’ll see you later,” she responded in a monotone voice, storming out towards her car with one destination in mind. Your apartment. Whether you were home or not, she’ll let herself in and wait for her, so you could explain yourself to her. 

“God, I hate that you dragged me into this,” Ellie speaks up, through the soft music playing from your speaker. She wiped down the counter, as you set the table with cheesy decorations. 

You shrugged, smirking at her, “If I remember correctly, you butt in yourself. I think it was something about a five Michelin Star rating?” 

She was about to retort when your front door burst open and a seething Love stepped foot into your apartment. You and Ellie stood there wide eyed, not quite sure what happened to make the sometimes intimidating brunette mad. The two of you were bracing yourself for the burst of anger, but it never came. The girl’s frown slowly turned upward into a soft smile. 

“Surprise?” You said, smiling sheepishly at her. You interlock your fingers together, guiding her to her seat at the table. “I made some roasted chicken, and I know you could tell a lot about a chef by their roasted chicken. I just want to say, my roasted chicken will probably tell you I’m a shit chef. But uh, I tried to follow it exactly like you make it, with the potatoes and carrots and reduction, whatever that is. You’ve made it a few times, so I tried to copy from memory.”

Love smiled softly, as you pulled out her chair. “I was trying to make everything perfect, you know? I mean I even turned off my location to go to your favorite donut shop, but they were sold within like ten minutes of opening, and as soon as I got to the front of the line they were closing. So, that threw out the idea of surprising you at work. I almost set fire to my apartment a few times. But I think it turned out okay,” you drift over towards the kitchen, nervously rambling, as you pull out a small little plate of banana pancakes. “I know these aren’t super fancy pastries that you usually bake, but I remember you telling me that you and Forty would make these all the time when your mom was on this no sugar kick. You said it used to be your favorite breakfast and dessert when your were younger, so-” 

You’re immediately cut off when Love grabs the hem of your shirt, attaching her lips deeply onto yours. Your hands fly to the back of her neck, fingers lacing into her hair.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Ellie says, blowing her cheeks up to mock the vomit. The two of you back away from each other, chuckling. 

You let go of Love, walking over towards the kitchen to find a few small plastic containers. You start packing some food into the containers, before handing it to Ellie, “Thank you my sous chef. It was lovely working with you,” you chuckle as she rolls her eyes, trying to fight off a small smile on her face. “I packed enough for both you and Deliliah. Thank you again, really.” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy on me, Chef Ramsey,” she takes the containers from you gratefully, as she bids a goodnight to Love. 

“I love you Ellie!” You exclaim before she leaves. She raises her middle finger towards you without another response. You turn back to Love with a wide smile, “That means she loves me.”

Love chuckles, shaking her head, at your goofy antics with the young girl. “Sure it does,” a fake pout crosses your face as you stand in front of her with your arms crossed. Her hands find your waist pulling you to sit in her lap, “It’s okay though because I love you. Very very much…this was really thoughtful of you Y/N, really.” 

You smile softly, kissing her gently, “I love you more,” you cut a piece of the chicken, giving her a piece with skin, potatoes, carrots, and dipped into the reduction. Just like how she would always tell you to eat it, “Here, try.” 

You watched in her anticipation, biting your bottom lip. Her eyes were neutral as she chewed on what she usually calls the perfect bite. 

“So?” You ask as she finishes chewing. 

A wide smile spreads across her face, nodding, “It’s perfect. You are perfect.”