The writings on this blog lean toward 18+ material. You may look, but if a post reads 18+, please respect the boundary I'm setting and do not read further, reblog, or like that content if you are under the age of 18.
Also, if you put any of my writing into any sort of AI, I will personally hunt you down, steal all your teeth, and choke you with your intestines!
With that out of the way, hello! I'm going to be cross-posting some of my works from AO3 to here on tumblr.
I like to write OCxCanon, Reader-, and Self-Insert fanfiction, and I've dabbled a little in 18+ ASMR script writing. Right now I'm very hyper-fixated on One Piece, so that'll probably be what you see the most of to start. I intend to cross-post some of the fanfic I've already got up, but I'm also using this blog to post any drabbles or ramblings I might have that don't necessarily fit into a fic or the fic format.
Feel free to send me any questions you have! About my fics, writing habits, myself, my OCs, etc etc! I'm not currently taking any fic requests, but if you ask me my thoughts/headcanons on a character there's always a chance I'll start rambling.
While I like to write a variety of things, I feel it's best to also give this warning: I often write darker themes, including (but not limited to):
Non-con/Dub-con/CNC
Abduction
Stalking
Violence/gore
Monster fucking (passing the Harkness Test)
I'm not going to go into a whole lesson on the differences between fiction and realty because we're adults and should understand. The short version is this: just because I write about it in fiction, doesn't mean I condone it in realty!!
I do have a few HARD NOs however that I will not write. So please do not ask me to write the following:
Incest (blood relation, step relation, and adoption relation)
Adult x Child
Underage relationships (if this blog were SFW, I'd be more inclined to write cutesy things, but given this is mostly NSFW, I'm not comfortable with having that here)
Scat
Food kink
If you'd like to follow my main blog, it's just @strawberriemars. I do also have another blog that's specifically for reblogging suggestive content and dark/horror themed stuff, @pineberriepluto.
And hey, on the down-low, if you like what I do, consider buying me a coffee! I can't legally write fanfiction for money, so just consider it a donation to a starving artist.
Summary: You work at a bakery and a couple of punks take a liking to you
Pairing: Kid/Killer/Reader
Rating: First chapter is pretty tame, chapter 2 will be explicit
Ao3 Link: Chapter 1 (2,247 words)
The bakery was quiet. Not terribly surprising for a rainy day, providing a reprieve from the usual busy foot traffic. The regulars still came in on their way to work or class or wherever they were headed, but beyond that it was calm. The soft pattering of rain against the windows helped ease the tension you usually felt upon facing another work day.
An ease that was interrupted only slightly by the chime on the front door. Straightening up from filling the donut case, the first thing you noticed was the customer didnât take off his motorbike helmet.
âHello, welcome to Katakuri Cakes~!â
The man approached the case with a small nod, looking over its contents. The next things you noticed were that he was tall, and he was built. His fringed leather jacket made him cut an even more imposing figure, helped further by the fact he still hadnât removed his helmet.
You leaned over the checkout counter, growing more curious about him. âIs there anything I can help you find today?â
He turned his head slightly, and after a beat he said with a lilting Scottish accent, âDâyou have anything with custard?â
You smiled and bounded back to the bakery case, pointing at the different selections as you went. âSo these long ones with the chocolate on top, those are Long Johns, and then we have these with maple frosting, but then we also have some different kinds of flan...â
As you continued to list off a few more of the options, you were unaware the manâs eyes were watching you more than the case. He had passed Katakuri Cakes regularly, but never once had gone in before. He probably would have stopped in sooner if heâd known someone so cute was working there.
âSo yeah, thereâs a few options,â you finished, folding your arms atop the case. âPersonally the strawberry flan is my favorite, if youâre looking for a recommendation.â
The man nodded again. âIâll try it, then. And I need a dozen cake donuts.â
Your smile widened and you unfolded a box. âAny kind? Blueberry, chocolate, plain?â
Though you couldnât see it, you could hear the half-smile in his voice. âSurprise me.â
As you rang him up for the items and set the strawberry flan in a tiny pink box of its own, you asked, âIs there anything else I can do for you?â Anything to hear more of that accent.
He shook his head, handing you the cash. âNot today, but maybe next time, mâeudail.â
You werenât sure what the last word was â may doll? may dell? â but it made the hair on your neck tingle. As did the brief contact of his fingers brushing yours when you gave him his change.
The rest of your shift, you kept turning the encounter over in your head. You really hoped there would be a next time.
Next time turned out to be a few days later. Again, the man didnât take off his helmet when he came in. You nearly tripped over your coworker to greet him as he came up to the register.
âHello, welcome to Katakuri Cakes~!â You couldnât hide the genuine beam in your smile as you added, âDid you like the strawberry flan?â
The manâs shoulders shook with stifled laughter, his tone tinged with sarcasm. âAm I really that memorable?â
Your smile turned into a smirk. âIs that a trick question?â
Again, the stifled laugh, then he nodded. âI did like it. And my friends liked the donuts.â He side-stepped toward the cake display. âAnything youâd recommend today?â
You followed behind the counter, folding your arms atop the case. âWell, itâs hard to go wrong with chocolate. Weâve got truffles, brownies, devilâs food cake...â
The man pointed to a chocolate cake slice with a marbled raspberry icing. âIs this one any good?â
You nodded. âDid you want something to drink today?â
He seemed to think for a moment before nodding. âA small black coffee.â
âName for the order?â
âKiller.â
You scribbled it down on a cup, resisting the urge to shrug at the name. Maybe he was messing with you, but you could play along with that. Youâd certainly been given weirder names, and it admittedly fit his intimidating appearance.
Once you had Killer rung up and finished pouring his coffee, you went to hand it to him, only for him to already be reaching. Your hands made contact once again, just for a moment. This time it felt like lightning shot through your veins, sending your heart rate through the roof for just those few seconds. And then the moment was gone as he pulled away. Your imagination had you believing his pinky intentionally brushed over yours, but you were more certain that Hell would freeze before this near-total stranger would do something like that.
If Killer could read your mind, heâd crack that he better get a warmer coat.
âThank you, mâeudail,â he said, the word rolling off his tongue. âDo you work tomorrow?â
You nodded, still too stunned by the electricity in your arms to speak.
âIâll see you again, then.â
Killer came in every morning shift, each time giving you a chance to know about him a little more. He was a drummer for a band called Victoria Punk, and they played metal and (appropriately) punk music. He also liked cooking, and you learned he liked elephants one morning when the manager put out various animal-shaped sugar cookies.
You still hadnât seen him without his helmet, but you didnât want to press him about it. Especially when it seemed like your politeness paid off and eventually earned you the privilege to see him with the visor up one day. It only revealed his eyes, but they were a striking blue that pierced your heart.
That same day, as you handed him his order, Killer said, âMaybe Iâll cook for you sometime,â and you could see the hidden smile crinkle his eyes.
Killer, in turn, learned more about you. He was surprised your taste in music aligned with what Victoria Punk played, even sharing a few favorite bands of his. You told him about how you liked to bake even in your free time, and that you went to art school for a few years. You had jokingly offered up your skills to draw an album cover or poster, but he genuinely kept it in mind after you had (sheepishly, at his insistence) shown him your art instagram.
As much as you were intrigued by Killer, he was interested in you in equal measure. He kept it to light flirting, though, unsure how comfortable you were with anything more. There was something about you that sparked a bit differently, even though he hardly knew you. Maybe it was the dimples. Every time you smiled at him, there they were. They were unbearably cute.
âKiller.â
He looked up from his coffee, looking right into the eyes of his friend and partner, Kid.
âThanks for cominâ back to Earth,â Kid said, his brow raised. âMind tellinâ me whatâs got you so distracted?â
Killer shrugged. âAh dinnae ken what you mean.â
âYou fuckinâ know well what I mean.â Kid folded his arms. âYouâre quiet. And not in the usual Killer way.â
Killer took a sip of his coffee, staring the redhead down through his shaggy bangs. âNope. Still dinnae ken what youâre on about.â
âYou âdinnae kenâ me one more time and weâll be here all day.â
Killer stifled a laugh, his shoulders shaking. âItâs nothing. Just another day.â
Kid took a step closer, narrowing his eyes and leaning down to look under his friendâs bangs. After a beat, his eyes flicked to the tiny box by the drumset behind Killer and he asked, âHow come you always got something extra?â
ââCause I pay for it,â Killer deadpanned.
âWhat dâyou get?â
âNothinâ youâll like.â
Kidâs eyes narrowed further and he smirked. Killer knew that look. He side-stepped to block the path to the drums. âDonât you dareââ
âSHAAARE!â
Killer braced himself as Kid lunged forward. They grappled for several minutes, the equivalent of two brick walls crashing into each other as neither relented. When one side gained the upper hand, the other would soon reclaim it, until finally Kid gave a hard push that forced Killer to slide back almost a whole foot. The latter relented with a heavy sigh as he let his friend snatch up the box. Kidâs triumphant grin quickly dissolved when he opened it and saw its contents: a blueberry muffin.
He made a soft sound of disgust before handing the box back to his friend, who only offered up a deadpan, âTold you so.â
Even with his victory, the disappointing discovery left Kid unsatisfied. âJust never seen you eat so much junk before. Youâre obsessed with that place â their donuts werenât even that good.â He folded his arms, his eyes narrowing. âWhatâs gotten into you?â
Killer took another sip of his coffee. He figured it was only a matter of time before Kid said something, but he debated whether or not it was too soon to mention you. Still, he wasnât one to lie, especially not to his partner.
âNice girl works there,â he said. âThatâs all.â
âNice girl, huh?â A smirk graced Kidâs features and he cocked his head. âWhy didnât ya say so in the first place? Is she cute?â
Even though his eyes were mostly shielded by his hair, he still averted them. âVery.â
Closing shifts werenât the worst, you supposed. The part that didnât make much sense to you was being open until ten at night, especially since it was usually dead after seven. At least it meant there was plenty of time for prep work for the early morning when most of the baking was actually getting done.
It wasnât entirely unusual for someone to come in thirty minutes before closing time, but it was still annoying to hear the bell go off. You heaved a sigh, your back to the door as you worked on the frosting for tomorrowâs cookies, before putting on your best customer service smile and turning to face whoever just walked in.
âHello, welcome to Katakuri Cakes~!â
The spiky redhead standing near the door gave you a look that, were you in the presence of your boss, would have scared you stiff. Instead it just annoyed you more. Why did the ones who came in late always have an attitude? They were still gonna get what they wanted. Your smile slipped as he approached the counter, catching him give you a once-over. Under different circumstances, you probably would have blushed, given he wasnât half-bad looking himself. But you were tired; you just wanted to finish the frosting prep and go home.
Rarely did Kid find himself at a loss for words. He usually said what he was thinking no matter who was nearby and gave even less of a shit if it hurt their feelings. Heâd heard from Killer that youâd be working that night, and he had a whole thing ready to go about how you better stop giving his drummer the goo-goo eyes because it was distracting him. But the second he saw you, his mind went blank. Even though your smile was fake, the dimples werenât, and he found himself grasping for straws.
Heâd been told before that he had something called âcute aggressionâ. He hadnât really understood what that meant, but the phrase came to mind when the first thing he wanted to do upon reaching the counter was pick you up and start shaking you. No wonder Killer kept coming back.
You knit your brow, his intense stare starting to get unnerving. âUm... How... can I help you?â
Fuck. Right. Distracting. âI need you to stop flirting with my drummer.â
âHuh-what?â
âYou heard me,â Kid said, putting an elbow up on the bakery case and leaning closer. âStop flirting with my drummer. Long hair, always keeps his face covered. Sound familiar?â
You took a step back, trying not to let the Scottish brogue lull you into a false sense of security. Was he talking about Killer? âIâm not flirting with him. We hardly know each other.â
âBullshit.â Kid flexed his hand, resisting the urge to reach over the register to roughly poke your damn cute little cheeks. âHow come heâs in here every day, then? Youâre fattening him up with these sweets and trying to get into his head. What is it you want, then? You wanna be his little groupie? Is that it?â
Your jaw dropped. âExcuse me? You canât be serious â I was just being friendly.â
âFriendly. Sure.â The way your face was steadily turning red had Kid pushing down urges like his life depended on it. You looked even cuter angry.
âYes. Friendly. Ever hear of it?â You folded your arms, trying to keep from raising your voice. âNow are you gonna stand there and keep making baseless accusations, or are you gonna buy something and get out.â
Goddamn that was hot. Kid always liked them fiery. He finally cracked a crooked grin before pushing off from the bakery case and giving it a quick glance. âI want whatever the hell that is,â he said and pointed to a Long John.
Glaring the whole time, you packed his order, took his cash, and handed him his change. âHave a nice night,â you snapped, intending every ounce of venom that came with it.
heyyy did you ever get around to the cute kidxreaderxkiller fic? -đ§
P.S also slightly curious about who had asked for it first?
Ages ago, my friend Tulip asked me to write her a fic with a baker reader and rockband Kid/Killer. She has since passed away, so I'm trying to keep working on it in her memory. I'm mostly having trouble making Kid not a total asshole lol.
I'll at least share this little bit, maybe it'll give me the drive and focus I need to work on it some more:
Could I request head canons of Sir Crocodlie and a reader who is a wildlife rehabilitator. They take in any animals but a particular and specialize in Bananawanis. Maybe they have a devil fruit that they totally use to help in the process of rehabilitation a animal or they don't and are that much of a badass. Because this average size person can just effortlessly wrangle and coddle these giant creatures that surprisingly listen very well to them?
Timeline-wise, this happens like, right before the Strawhats make it to Alabasta and when the citizens had no idea Sir Crocodile was causing the drought.
Sir Crocodile x and GN! Reader who's a wildlife rehabilitator
Rating: G
Words: 346
Youâve worked with all sorts of Alabasta wildlife in your time as an animal rehabilitator. Given how dangerous most of said wildlife is, your job isnât exactly easy. It certainly makes every day interesting.
Of all the animals you work with, you have an uncanny knack for the care and handling of Bananawani. You actually work well with most variations of the massive reptile, but Bananawani seem to like you best.
One in particular youâre admittedly attached to is one thatâs been deemed unfit for release back into the wild. Missing her left front claw and left eye, sheâs been nicknamed Big Boss on account of her sheer size. Sheâs been made an ambassador for her species and visitors frequently stop by to see her. If sheâs ever transported anywhere, sheâs not allowed to go without you.
One day, an anonymous benefactor makes a huge donation in exchange for a private showing of this beautiful beast.
Imagine your surprise when that benefactor turns out to be Sir Crocodile, the enigmatic owner of Rain Dinners Casino.
You go through the usual routine with Big Boss, petting her and directing her to turn around in a circle, allowing Sir Crocodile to pet her snout and back, discussing various points like the Bananawani diet, anatomy, and Big Bossâs uniquely calm demeanor.
After a bit of back and forth on whether or not Big Boss is technically tame enough to be considered domesticated, you put your foot down that it doesnât matter, because even if she was for sale, sheâs not going anywhere without you and your expertise.
âHow much?â
The question stops you dead in your tracks. âIâm sorry?â
Sir Crocodile asks again, âHow much?â
âSheâs⌠not for sale.â
âEverything is for sale,â he laughs, lighting a cigar. âSo, name your price.â
âSir, this is a Wendyâs a wild animal, not a pet.â
Sir Crocodile pauses, looking you up and down, before nodding. âThen youâll come work for me.â
Summary: Kid and Killer want to fuck your brains out. Potentially literally.
Pairing: Kid/Killer/F!Reader (she/her pronouns used)
Rating: Explicit
TW & Tags: Rape/Non-con, kidnapping, stalking, off-screen reader death
Word count: 914
You reminded them of someone they once knew. You were spirited, fiery, and knew how to bite back. Most people who came into the auto shop were regulars driving certified shitboxes. But you pulled in with probably the most well put together car (well, by comparison) theyâd seen in a long time. Kid figured youâd be easy enough to fool into paying a higher price than what they usually charge. Killer could tell from the look on your face that it wouldnât work, but he kept that to himself, curious to see what would happen.
Of course you knew their prices were lower than that. You were told to try their shop by a coworker whoâd said he had the same problem fixed for two-hundred bucks â you were paying five when Hell froze over. Kid laughed in your face, saying you were getting the rich bitch discount. What followed was a heated argument, that ended only when you snatched Kid by the front of his shirt and yanked him down to your level, demanding an apology and the real pricing.
Kid was ready to pick you up by your pretty little neck before Killer put a hand on his shoulder. All it took was a shared look between them for Kid to relent, taking your wrist and pulling you free of his shirt. âFine. Two-hundred.â
Given their line of work, once you signed a few papers, they had everything they needed to track you down. Killer did most of the work as far as learning your routine, where you worked, what sort of family and friends you had. You were almost too easy of a mark. Rarely deviating from going between work and home, sometimes the grocery store. You were a loner, too, never once entertaining or even going out for after work drinks. You must not have been terribly close to the coworker who put you on their path.
It was Kidâs job to use all this information to come up with a plan.
The truck wasnât exactly subtle, but it did the job. Just shy of being loud enough to wake the neighbors. It didnât wake you, at least. Not until you were in the covered truck bed and the engineâs vibrations rattled your skull through a cheap mattress.
You knew you were dead when they didnât bother to hide their faces. They dragged you into the cabin kicking and screaming, your cries dying out before they could escape the treeline. Between Kid straddling you and Killer above you pinning your wrists to either side of your head, they didnât need restraints to keep you on the bed.
âIâm gonna use her cunt first,â Kid growled, ripping your pants and panties off in one pull. âThen Iâm gonna finish in her mouth. Keep it warm for me.â
You were nowhere near ready for Kidâs cock when he bullied his way into you. The scream echoed in the cramped bedroom. Then it was cut off when Killer shoved his cock down your throat. From the angle he was at over your head, it took no effort for him to push further until you were deep-throating him. His grip on your wrists tightened when Kid lifted your legs over his shoulders to push in deeper, your body betraying you as your cunt started to get wet. You fought back until you had no energy left in you, lightheaded from the forced deep-throating.
After what felt like an eternity, Killer finally pulled out, leaving you gasping for air. Before you regained enough of your senses to fight again, you were flipped over and turned around, Kidâs cock now being pushed into your mouth. He grabbed two fistfuls of hair as he began fucking your face, while Killer slowly pushed into your abused pussy.
âFuck, sheâs still tight,â Killer groaned. âCouldnât have loosened her up a bit more for me?â
âShut the fuck up,â Kid hissed, one hand letting go of your head to grab his partner by the scruff of the neck. âPut your mouth to better use.â
When one pulled out, the other pushed in, and they mashed their mouths together, moaning softly into one another while you were just their shared cocksleeve. Kid bit down on Killerâs lip as he pulled back, before kissing down his neck until he met the junction of his throat and his shoulder and bit down, sucking on the spot until it was dark. They came simultaneously inside you, both letting out guttural groans as they filled you with their seed.
Tears running down your face, they both pulled out at the same time, though Kid still kept a firm grip on your head, tilting it back to look up at him.
âDonât think weâre finished yet, darling,â he spat the word. âWeâve got all night to play with you. At least until we get bored, anyway.â
It was two weeks before you were found in the woods. Battered, bruised, two sets of hand marks around your neck.
Kid and Killer had to hand it to you, you kept them entertained until sunrise, and you fought until the very end.
A few more weeks passed when they were both drinking with friends at a dive bar. Killer watched as a girl threw her drink in some guyâs face after he had tried to slip something into it. He nudged his partner, and they watched her until she left the bar.
Hey I was the one that sent in the doflamingo ask thank you! The more that I also sat down an thought of it I was also thinking that if he was like that it would more than likely go down the platonic yandere trope route.
Thank you for the prompt! I'm glad it still was enjoyable to read even though I took a bit of a different way around. I'll get to writing some proper yandere!Doflamingo at some point. Hopefully ;^-^
If it's okay may I request an yandere mihawk vs yandere sir crocodile x mermaid reader.
I hope itâs okay I have just a touch of Buggy in here, heâs just such a little shit who stirs up trouble without even realizing it.
Yandere!Mihawk vs Yandere!Crocodile and a Mermaid F!Reader
Rating: M
Words: 515
When you wash ashore, Buggyâs the first to find you.
Well... âfindâ is a stretch. More you were brought to him by a few bumbling mercenaries hoping to gain his favor.
He immediately gets you into a spacious tank that puts you on display in the Cross Guildâs office lounge.
Mihawk is the first to stop and look at you. He asks you your name, where you came from, and if there was anything they ([cough] Buggy) could do to make you more comfortable. Aside from setting you free, of course.
Crocodile approaches in the middle of the conversation, asking what the hell has the clown gotten into this time.
Though, he admits you make a nice addition to the lounge.
At the very least, most of the amenities you ask for are obtainable. A nice vanity, a comfy chair, [[whatever the fuck those innertube bubbles are called]]. You have to go back into the tank every night but it could be worse.
You spend a fair amount of time chatting with both Crocodile and Mihawk, usually when the other isnât in the room. When they are in the same room, they both keep their distance, though you donât miss the odd glance in your direction.
Discussions with Mihawk are mostly about cooking and gardening. How different delicacies are between what heâs had and whatâs made on Fishman Island. How youâve only had barrel-aged wine once before and most of what youâve had was aged in coral.
Crocodile, however, discovers you have a knack for numbers. He finds you one day at his desk after youâd gotten just a little too curious and noticed an invoice wasnât adding up. After that he frequently sits you at his desk to look over rewards and loans and supply sheets, all the while idly fiddling with your hair or laying a hand on your shoulder.
Itâs during one of these days that youâre reviewing the latest inventory report with Crocodile hovering over your shoulder that Mihawk walks in with a bottle of wine, caught uncharacteristically off-guard by the sight before him.
Of course, this means war.
Now you find yourself frequently caught between Mihawkâs gifts of expensive wines and home-cooked delicacies and Crocodile lavishing you with jewelry and fine clothing.
It doesnât take long for you to find a thrill in enjoying a glass of said wine in front of Crocodile, or wearing the latest fashion in front of Mihawk, thus fanning the flames of their cold war.
You probably enjoy it a little too much, as soon enough they both come into the office one day staring each other down. You can practically feel the simmering jealousy coming to a boil.
Itâs when they turn that attention to you do you realize you may have made a mistake in riling them both up.
What happens next could be considered âsharingâ, but in reality they spend the entire time trying to one up each other in making you scream with pleasure.
I'm still around on the main blog as you can see, but as far as writing goes...
I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore. I struggle to write anything creative or relevant to my fanfictions. And yet at the same time I'm having vivid dreams with these elaborate settings and plots, granted often with nonsense story progression and dialogue, but I struggle to put to words what I see.
I sleep so much on Saturdays because I wish I could see more of these dreams. I'm captivated by the stories that I come up with in my sleep. I wish I could translate that creativity into my writing.
If only I could get to the root of this writer's block. Do I have no energy? Am I subconsciously trying to keep from writing at work because I know I'll be interrupted by calls, thus throwing off my groove? I certainly don't lack in ideas, again I just struggle to put them to paper. Wugh. Maybe I should just read more and hope it sparks something in me? I don't know. It's all so frustrating.
I think I just need to get the junk out of my head somehow. Like I wish I could just pop my head off, give it a good shake and dump out all the stuff that's making it so difficult to write. I feel like I've had enough resting since finishing IFDYOKAAT â I'm itching to keep going on another WIP or even those headcanons but nothing is sticking or coming out right. I don't understand. Why is it so freaking hard!!??
I'm so fed up with this. I just want to write. I just want to feel good about writing again. I just want to have fun again but it no longer feels fun. It feels like I'm forcing something out. But at the same time it's like⌠How else is anything supposed to go anywhere? What happened to me?
And then this whole business with GDocs nuking things (which seems to go back and forth between being proven and disproven) has me worried. I backed up everything I've been working on, I just don't know how I'm going to work on it when I'm not at my laptop now. I've heard Ellipsus is good, and I signed up, but they don't have an upload/import option, so I have to copy-paste everything I'm working on. Kind of a pain in the ass.
Ah well. I'm not the biggest fan of writing on my phone anyway. It's just nice to have the ability to look up and re-read what I have so I can remember where I left off.
Anyway. That's where I am right now. Caught in limbo and struggling to find a way out.
So I think part of my creative slump has just been like. Jan/Feb depression. On top of my regular depression. I'm slowly working my way out of it (and I have a new job to boot that might afford me some more free time). I'll be posting headcanons/rambles soon :3
I hope everything is getting slightly better with your mom. Take it from me my mom was hospitalized once too due to a mysterious health issue that are now resolved for the most part but yeah the first day or two she is going to be angry but itâs because sheâs probably scared. At least that how it was with my mom. She was scared in denial and then she just wanted to go home but couldnât because the doctors needed to find out how to help her.
Thank you. She's doing better, getting back to her very loud and eccentric self lol
Have you ever thought of doing a kid and killer X reader where there like maybe tattoo artists or maybe have a bar or something and the reader is a sweet girl who works at a bakery? Thought thatâd be a fun concept
Anon. How... did you know.
Like half of that is actually the premise of the KidxKillerxReader fic I'm picking away at.
