#have to write THIS or i would never be in peace

[sakuraszn]

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader (they aren’t together yet) but Luffy has a big crush on the reader without realizing and he’s always super touchy with her without thinking anything of it, like always holding her or picking her up when they’re on adventures and protecting her too all without realizing until the crew makes a comment about it to him, I think it would be super adorable. thank you!

unconscious affection, ft. monkey d. luffy

note: OMG YESSS, this will be my first time writing something for luffy so I’m excited! I hope you like ittt🥰.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Sunny as it glided through the calm waves. The salty breeze carried the sound of laughter and the occasional clatter of plates from the kitchen. It was a peaceful day at sea, the kind that made adventures feel like dreams rather than dangers.

And yet, something entirely different was happening right under the crew’s noses—something that had been going on for weeks, if not months.

Monkey D. Luffy, captain of the Straw Hat Pirates, was smitten. Not that he realized it, of course. Luffy wasn’t the type to dwell on his emotions, much less recognize them. But to everyone else, it was painfully obvious.

Especially with the way he was holding you right now.

“Luffy, put me down!” you huffed, though there was no real anger in your voice—just exasperation.

“Nope!” Luffy grinned, his arms locked securely around your waist as he carried you across the deck like a sack of treasure. “I wanna sit up on Sunny’s head, and it’s more fun if you’re there too!”

Robin chuckled behind her book, Sanji rolled his eyes as he lit a cigarette, and Zoro muttered something about ��idiot captain behavior.” The rest of the crew wasn’t even fazed anymore.

This had become normal.

Luffy, whether he realized it or not, had a habit of keeping you close. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing—he would sling an arm around your shoulders, grab your hand while running through a town, or, in moments like this, just pick you up and take you wherever he wanted to go, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And the most infuriating part?

He never acted this way with anyone else.

It wasn’t just on the ship, either.

On an island you had docked at a week ago, you had been walking through a dense jungle, eyes scanning the towering trees for any signs of danger. It was an unfamiliar place, and caution was necessary.

Luffy, however, had decided that caution was boring.

He had climbed ahead, jumping from tree to tree with his usual reckless energy, leaving the rest of you to navigate the ground below. But just as you were stepping over a tangle of vines—

“Wha—Luffy!”

Without warning, he had snatched you up, one arm hooking under your legs and the other supporting your back as he launched into the treetops.

“Look at this view!” he had laughed, holding you securely as he perched on a thick branch.

You had been too stunned to respond at first, but once the initial shock wore off, you smacked his chest lightly. “You can’t just grab me whenever you feel like it!”

“Why not?” he tilted his head dumbfounded.

“Because I have legs,” you deadpanned.

Luffy had only laughed again, tightening his hold just a little before leaning forward as if sharing a secret.

“But I like carrying you.”

Your heart had skipped a beat at that, but before you could even process what he had just said, he was already stretching an arm to swing to another branch, completely unaware of how flustered he had just made you.

Then there were the fights.

Luffy was always protective of his crew—fiercely so. But when it came to you?

It was different.

He never let you fight alone. Not if he could help it.

On a recent island, you had been fending off a group of enemy pirates, your weapon clashing against theirs. You were holding your own just fine—until a particularly nasty opponent lunged at you from behind.

Before you even realized the danger, a rubbery arm shot past you, stretching at lightning speed before slamming into your attacker’s gut.

Luffy landed beside you in an instant, standing between you and the remaining enemies. His usual carefree grin was gone, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous.

“Hey,” he had said, voice dark with warning. “Don’t touch her.”

The fight had ended quickly after that.

It took the crew making an outright comment for Luffy to even begin noticing his own behavior.

One evening, you were all gathered around the dining table, enjoying one of Sanji’s extravagant meals. Luffy, as usual, was sitting next to you. And, as usual, he had an arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as he talked with his mouth full.

At this point, no one even blinked at it.

Until Nami, eyes glinting with mischief, casually said, “Y’know, Luffy, you really can’t keep your hands off her, huh?”

Silence.

Luffy blinked, swallowing a mouthful of meat. “Huh?”

Usopp leaned forward, grinning. “She’s right, man. You’re always touching her.”

“Like, constantly,” Zoro added with a smirk.

Sanji, who had been stewing in silent jealousy for weeks, exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s honestly impressive how oblivious you are, dumbass.”

Luffy frowned, confused. He turned to look at you, as if seeing you for the first time. You were staring at the table, face burning as you tried to focus on your food.

“Wait,” he said slowly, eyes widening. “Do I really…?”

Robin smiled knowingly. “Oh yes. It’s quite adorable, actually.”

The realization hit Luffy like a punch to the gut. His eyes flicked between you and his own arm still draped over your shoulders. His grip on you had always been instinctual, like second nature. He had never thought about it before.

But now that it was pointed out…

He felt warm. Too warm.

His fingers twitched against your skin, and for the first time in his entire life, Monkey D. Luffy blushed.

“oh.”

The crew burst into laughter.

And you? You just covered your face with your hands, knowing that things were never going to be the same after this.

SAKURASZN © 2025 !

[the-winter-spider]

hi!!!!! i was wondering if you could write a little something about bucky with fem!tired!reader where she is always really sleepy, and he thinks its cute <3

like he always rubs your back until you fall asleep, watching you wake up to him all needy because you were just too tired to do anything the night before, gentle mornings full of adoration and just fluffy love!!!!!

Sleep

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Flufffffff

A/N: Hope this is what you wanted! Sorry if not lol 🤣

---

Bucky had spent the whole night just holding you.

You’d been too tired to do anything else, too exhausted to even keep your eyes open when you’d crawled into bed with him, murmuring something soft and sleepy against his chest before passing out completely. He’d just chuckled, running his hand over your back, rubbing slow circles into your skin until your breathing evened out.

Now, morning had crept in, golden light spilling through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. Bucky hadn’t moved, hadn’t dared to, afraid of waking you. Instead, he laid there, watching you, memorizing every detail. The way your lips parted slightly in sleep, the way your fingers were still tangled in his shirt, the way you were tucked so perfectly into him like you belonged there. Because you did.

Bucky had never known peace, not really. Not in the war, not after, not in the years spent as a ghost of himself, and not even in the so-called stillness of recovery. Peace was something fragile, fleeting, something that slipped through his fingers just as he thought he’d grasped it and yet, here you were.

Wrapped up in his arms, your breathing slow and steady against his chest, your fingers curled loosely in his shirt like even in sleep, you were afraid to let go.

Bucky didn’t move. He barely even breathed, afraid that if he did, the moment would shatter. He’d spent too many nights lying awake, convinced he wasn’t allowed to have things like this to have you, warm and soft and trusting, pressing yourself into him like he was something safe. Like he wasn’t ruined.

His flesh hand traced slow, absent-minded circles against your back, memorizing the way you fit against him. You were always tired, always halfway to dreamland, always seeking him out like your body knew, even before your mind did, that he was there. It made something deep in his chest ache, something warm and unfamiliar.

He’d never had someone like you before.

Someone who didn’t flinch at his touch, who didn’t hesitate to reach for him even when exhaustion had made your limbs heavy and your words slurred. You trusted him so completely it scared him sometimes. But then you’d sigh like this, nuzzle your nose against his collarbone, fingers twisting sleepily into his shirt, and he’d realize there was nothing to be scared of at all.

Because, somehow, you were his and he was yours.

You let out a tiny, barely-there hum, shifting against him, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you mumbled, “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Bucky huffed a soft laugh, rubbing a hand down your spine. “You always say that.”

“’S true,” you slurred, still half-gone, and god, you were so fucking adorable like this soft and warm and needy in a way that made him want to wrap you up and never let go.

His vibranium fingers ran through your hair, slow and deliberate, coaxing you further into rest. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you.”

You made another soft, sleepy sound, shifting closer, like that was even possible and whispered, “Promise?”

Bucky’s breath stopped, his throat tightening. The answer should have been easy. But he’d made promises before. Promises that shattered. Promises that turned to dust. But you, it didn’t feel like a promise that could break. It felt like something inevitable. Something written into his very being, carved into his bones, the way you fit against him so perfectly.

So he just held you closer, pressing another kiss to your forehead, his voice soft but sure. “Yeah, sweetheart. I promise.”

You let out a contented sigh, your body relaxing completely, finally giving in to sleep.

His heart ached with something deep and unshakable, something he didn’t have a name for something too big to be contained in a single feeling. He lifted his hand, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his touch featherlight.

In the quiet stillness of the morning, you sighed softly, barely stirring, and whispered, “I love you, Bucky.”

His breath hitched. He thought you were still dreaming, that the words had slipped from your subconscious without you even knowing. His throat tightened, his chest burning with the weight of it. He swallowed hard, staring up at the ceiling as he blinked rapidly, but it didn’t stop the tear that slid down his cheek.

He exhaled shakily, there was no possible way you meant to say that, you were asleep but he knew he had to say it back because he’s been wanting to say it to you since the day he laid eyes on you, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you too.”

Warm fingers brushed his jaw, catching the tear before it could fall past his chin. His eyes snapped to yours, surprised to find you awake, watching him with soft, half-lidded eyes.

You didn’t say anything, not at first. You just leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, then another, trailing your lips up the column of his throat, slow and sweet and deliberate.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, his grip on your waist tightening. “Sweetheart…”

You hummed against his skin, tilting your head to kiss along his jaw before finally capturing his lips with yours. He melted instantly, groaning softly as he pulled you closer, his vibranium hand sliding up your back.

In one smooth motion, he flipped you onto him, your legs straddling his hips as he gazed up at you, eyes dark and searching. His fingers traced lazy circles over your bare thighs, his voice quieter now, rough with emotion.

“Did you mean it?” His voice was timid, quiet. His heart pounded nervously for the answer.

Your hands cradled his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones as you nodded, your gaze unwavering. “I’ve never meant anything as much as I mean that.”

Bucky let out a breath like he’d been holding it his whole life. His hands tightened on your hips, grounding himself in the warmth of you, the weight of you in his lap.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“I know.” You kissed him again, deeper this time, slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world.

Bucky’s hands gripped your hips, holding you against him as you deepened the kiss, pouring every bit of warmth, of love, of want into it. His lips were warm and soft beneath yours, but there was nothing soft about the way his hands roamed, slow, deliberate, fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you shiver.

You rolled your hips against him instinctively, chasing the heat pooling low in your stomach, and Bucky let out a quiet groan, his grip tightening.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands sliding from his face to his chest, pressing lightly over his heart. “Bucky,” you whispered back.

Something in his expression shifted, something raw and full of emotion, like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear that. His hands slid up your sides, under the thin fabric of your shirt, fingertips skimming the warm skin of your waist.

“Say it again,” he rasped, his thumbs stroking over your ribs.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “I love you.”

Bucky groaned softly, flipping you onto your back in one fluid motion, his body caging you beneath him. He kissed you again, hungrier this time, like he couldn’t get enough. His hands moved with slow reverence, memorizing every dip and curve of your body, like he was trying to make up for lost time.

You arched into his touch as his lips trailed down your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His metal hand slid down, tracing the outside of your thigh before hooking behind your knee, spreading you open for him.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with need.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned, nipping gently at your collarbone before soothing the spot with his tongue. Every touch, every kiss, was slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor you, like he was committing every little sound you made to memory.

His lips ghosted over your chest, then lower, and lower still, until all you could do was gasp his name, your body arching into him as he worshipped you the only way he knew how.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his voice rough with something deeper than just desire, he whispered the words again, just so you’d never forget.

“I love you too.”

[rosenclaws]

I See the Light || DOFP!Logan x Reader

Summary: Logan saved the future but now he doesn't feel like he fits into the mansion anymore. He doesn't know what he needs but he just knows he needs a break. So Charles sends him on a mission that changes his whole world.

warnings: fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), abusive parents (Not descriptive), injury, reader deals with a jerk and logan saves the day, swearing

wc: 6k

a/n: Sooo I might have fucked around and wrote 6k words today. This is my entry for @princessanglophile birthday writing challenge! I was given dofp logan and I see the Light from Tangled. I was so so excited to get this song as its one of my favorite disney songs and I'm so happy that I was able to finally get the story that's been in my head in writing. This fic very very loosely follows the plot of tangled but only in a few ways. I really hope it lives up to the song and I was able to do it justice. Enjoy!!

If there was one word to describe how Logan felt after coming back from 1973. It would be lost. He wouldn't say it himself, in fact he'd insist he was just fine. I mean the plan worked, he went back and he saved everyone. Who wouldn't be thrilled to come back to a peaceful world?

But in doing so Logan sacrificed everything. His friends, his family, they don't remember him.

They only know this timeline version of Logan. So now he's a stranger to them and they're strangers to him. He wakes up and teaches his classes but he doesn't know these students.

He sees Rouge and Bobby and he can't help but think of the timeline where Rogue took the cure and lost all her powers. Seeing Kitty all grown up and teaching the new generation of mutants. Storm being the leader he always knew she could be. And of course. Jean. She was alive in this world and so was Scott. It had been years since he saw them.

He doesn't know how to feel. He's found and lost those closest to him. After all of this, he just needs a break. To find himself and learn to stop fighting. He doesn't have to anymore but the rest of him hasn't caught up with that sentiment.

"Logan, I have a mission for you." Charles has called him into his office. He can sense Logan's unease and despite helping him regain some memory from this timeline he knows that Logan is struggling.

"While this world is not as violent as you remember, there are a few anti mutant sentiments still lingering throughout the country." He hands Logan manilla folder.

"She's been raised her whole life in hiding. Her parents forced her at a young age. You need to find her and bring her back.

"And exactly how am I going to do that? If she's in hiding?" Logan asks, flipping through the little information he's been giving.

"Don't tell me you've lost your touch." Charles says with a smirk. Logan shuts the folder and tosses it back at Charles.

"Give me a week."

"This will be good for you Logan. Be patient with her." Logan nods and turns his back to leave.

"One more thing, Take your time Logan." Charles gives him a look that Logan doesn't quite understand and just nods.

After throwing a few things into a backpack he slings it over his shoulder and silently weaves through the mansion. He sees a few people in the kitchen, laughing over cups of coffee and stories of their students. His heart tugs as he looks away, he has a mission to complete.

He doesn't even say goodbye.

Swiping Scotts keys he hops into one of the many cars in the garage. The only information Charles really had was that she was located across the country.

For days Logan drives through the mountains and plains of America. It's a little weird to be honest. He remembers the world turning to a complete wasteland. Nothing but death and destruction. He never once looked at a field of grass while driving down the interstate and thought anything but how boring the view was. Now things are a little different.

After hopping from shitty motels and diners with sweet waitresses and heart stopping food he finally makes it to where Charles said you were. It's a small beach down on the coast of California. Of all the places to be trapped this isn't the worst he thinks as he parks his car at some motel.

The front desk worker barely paid attention as he handed Logan the keys to his room and a brochure of everything the town had to offer. Which was two restaurants and the beach. Realistically he knows you wouldn't be anywhere in town. Too many people. Probably somewhere on the outskirts of town. He slips into a bar, ordering a glass of whiskey and pokes around. Asking the already drunk locals about the weird parts of town. Any strange people.

After some teeth pulling conversations with a woman who was clearly trying to get in his pants, he manages to get information about this house on top of a hill about five miles out of town. How the kids think it's haunted and only a lone woman lives there. The windows are boarded and a wire fence blocks any trespassers.

Bingo.

Apparently the woman leaves every three days at dawn and doesn't return until night and luckily for him she should be leaving tomorrow morning.

With a cigar in hand Logan stares out at the ocean, he doesn't know what time it is but he knows he can't sleep. His dreams are still plagued with watching his friends die. He just can't shake them off, even if that's not how things are anymore.

At the first sight of light peeking over the horizon he hops into his car and drives towards the lone cabin. He ditches the car about two miles in and walks the rest of the way. The sky is painted pinks and purples as he reaches the small cabin.

He catches two unfamiliar scents as he nears. One makes his eyes water, it's rotten. The other is much sweeter, like fresh flowers and honey. The door opens and Logan jumps behind a tree. The sound of footsteps and a car ring loud in his ears. He moves like an animal as he blends himself in with the foliage.

Once the car is gone he hurries past the fence. Cutting through it with ease and making his way into the cabin. He doesn't see anything as he enters. The lights are turned off and everything seems in order.

"Hello?" He calls into the dark house. His nose twitches as that floral scent invades his nose again. He closes his eyes and his hearing zones in on a heartbeat. It's beating faster and faster.

His eyes snap open and he turns around, grabbing your wrist that was inches above his back. In your hand was a crude excuse for a knife. Your eyes are wide and full of fear, your hands trembling in his grasp.

"There you are kid," Logan plucks the knife from hand with no fight and tosses it onto the counter.

"W-Who are you?" You try and tug your wrist away but he's too strong.

"Logan. Now I'm here to get you out of this place." He expects this, fear or uncertainty is common. But you he's never had someone try and attack him before. He wonders what your powers are.

"No." You say making Logan raise an eyebrow.

"I can't leave. She said they'd hurt me."

"Hurt you?" He lets go of your wrist and you slink back to the corner of the room. He wonders just want your mother has told you. He sighs and sits down on one of the dining room chairs.

The look on his face makes you shiver. He's so. Intense. No smile, no soft words. Like he could careless if you went with him or not.

"Why did they send you?" You ask and Logan just shrugs.

"I'm a people person." He says in a deadpan voice. You don't say anything back and Logan slowly lets his so called "angry" face shift to something else. You're probably scared and he's not great with people but he does want to help.

"Look I don't know what she told you, but I can promise that you don't deserve to be locked up from the world." He says and you lower your head.

"I know you're scared, but I'm just like you." He unsheathes his claws making you jump.

"There's this place, a home for people like us where we can be safe and you can learn to control whatever powers you have." You look down at your hands. Still uncertain about all of this.

Your mother had kept you here your whole life, forcing you to never use your powers. Telling you that the world hates what you are and to be lucky she hasn't fed you to the wolves already. Honestly you don't know why she keeps you around, but its true. You can't protect yourself from whatever is out there.

But this man, Logan. He seems like he's taken care of himself just fine. Not a single scratch on him. Maybe he can protect you too.

Your heart has longed for so much more than whatever this life has been so far. The books you read don't hold a candle to the real thing. Could he really take you to a place that's safe.

"Come with me and if you don't want it, if you don't like it. I'll take you back home." He offers, seeing the swirling emotions in your eyes.

"Promise?" You ask softly.

"Promise." Logan sticks his hand out. You glance down at it. It feels too good to be true but this could be your chance to leave this house, to be yourself. But your mother? Honestly, she'd be happy with you gone. Would she come after you or rejoice that her one problem is gone?

Guess you'll have to find out. You reach out and take Logan's hand, hoping you didn't just make a big mistake.

Logan doesn't waste much time heading back home. He takes you back to the motel and tells you to wait in the car while he packs his stuff and checks you. You've never been in a car before. Of course you knew what they were but being inside one was different.

Curiosity gets the best of you as you open every compartment and press every button you can see. You press something the car makes a noise making you jump. You press it again and again before Logan pulls the door open.

"Hey, quit fucking with the horn." He grumbles as gets into the drivers seat.

"Sorry." You apologize, putting your hands in your lap and looking down at them.

You're silent for a while. Not moving, not speaking a word. Logan keeps sneaking glances at you, guilt slowly building as you don't even look out the window.

When Charles said you were sheltered, he didn't realize you were this sheltered. He thinks back to what Charles said before he left. Patience. He's still working on that one.

"I didn't mean to snap at you." Logan says making you look up at him. Your head tilting in confusion.

"You really never been in a car?" He asks as he turns his attention back to the road.

"No, my parents wouldn't let me. I had to stay inside. I couldn't leave." You say quietly.

"You were pressing on the horn, you don't want to use it often. Only to get someone's attention or when someone's being a jackass." You nod your head, watching the other cars driving.

Suddenly Logan swears as a car cuts too close in front of him. He slams his hand on the horn and swerves around the car. He speeds up, glaring at the driver and throwing up his claws in a threatening manner.

"Like that?" You ask. Logan looks at you and lets out a small laugh.

"Yeah, like that."

He drives a little while longer before stopping for gas. He hands you a twenty and tells you to grab some snacks as he fiddles with the machine. You're too shy to tell him you've never been in a store before so you take the money and head in.

It's like a wonderland of sweets and food. You're mom didn't let you have anything like this. In fact she never even told you about half the things on the shelves. You had read about candy and soda in the books she'd bring you but that was it.

You grab anything you can carry. You're too wrapped up in the overwhelming options that you don't see the man in front of you. You bump into him and send both of your things to the ground. The drink in his hand spilling onto his shirt.

"I'm so sorry!" You squeak as you the man turns around and glares at you.

"Watch where you're fucking going." He snaps making your eyes widen.

You reach down and try to pick up the fallen items but he grabs onto your wrist. This isn't the same as when Logan did it. Logan was firm but gentle while this man was angry.

"You're hurting me." You try tugging yourself free but its no use. The mans grip tightens on your wrist. Suddenly the man is ripped away from you and thrown onto the ground.

"Get the fuck off her!" Logan growls. He stands tall above the man, a pissed off look on his face.

"She ran into me!" The man scrambles to his feet, trying to puff his chest out to stand toe to toe with Logan but it's a feeble attempt.

"Stupid bitch." Logan grabs onto his shirt and slams him into the shelf, uncaring if things fall.

"Listen here bub, you get the fuck out of here and take your cheap gas station coffee with you." Logan lets go of him and grabs the coffee cup.

Slamming it into his chest with force. You watch, afraid to even move as Logan pushes the man out of his way. He scrambles out the door, yelling something that you can't quite understand. Logan turns to you and your eyes start to well with tears.

"I'm so sorry I didn't mean to cause all this I-"

"Hey, stop crying." Logan grabs your arms and waits for you to calm down. "It was an accident. That asshole isn't worth crying over alright?" He grabs all he fallen snacks and brings them to the counter.

The poor cashier couldn't even look Logan in the eye as he pays. Too afraid Logan might beat him up too. He hands you the bag of snacks and grabs a few cigars too.

"You really like sugar don't you?" He jokes as he sees the amount of sugary items in the bag.

"I've never had it before." You admit as you dig through the bag and find something small.

Chocolate.

You dreamed of tasting it for the first time. You rip open the wrapper and bite into it. Wolfing it down in seconds. Logan chuckles, seeing the brightness in your eyes as you taste it for the first time.

"Pretty good huh sweetheart." He reaches over and takes your chin in his hand.

You drop whatever's in your hand, a sudden feeling of...you don't what to call it. Your stomach flutters as he wipes some chocolate off the side of your lips. Your heart starts to beat faster when you see him smile, his eyes turning soft. Palms sweaty and for some reason you don't think you can even look at him right now.

He lets go of you and turns back to the road without a second thought, like he didn't just cause this kind of reaction in you. You hug the bag of sweets and stare out at the road. Trying to calm your beating heart.

Night falls and Logan is still driving, he could drive for a while if he had to but he sees you asleep off out of the corner of his eye. He pulls of the highway and into the parking lot of a motel. He leaves you asleep in the passenger seat reluctantly, checking every couple seconds as he books a room.

When he comes back you're still sound asleep. You look so peaceful, a smile on your face and he wonders what you're dreaming about.

Candy wrappers sit on the floor the car but he just leaves them be. He did have to cut you off after about three kit kats, not wanting you to give yourself a stomach ache.

Seeing someone try flavored chips and processed candy for the first time was amusing. Seeing your face light up with each bite. You were just so, optimistic. He doesn't really know how. He expected you to be angry, jaded, afraid and meek from being locked away for so long. But instead you're full of wonder and curiosity.

You almost gave him a heart attack when you saw a cow for the first time. You slammed your hands on the window and you screamed in excitement. Pictures didn't do them justice, they were just too cute. Things that other people take for granted every day, you saw as new and wonderful.

He opens the car door and scoops you up in arms. Trying not to wake you as he makes his way into the room. Placing you on one of the beds.

"Hm?" You mumble as you sit up, the jostling having woken you.

"Sorry, tried not to wake you. We're stopping for the night go back to sleep." Logan whispers, laying a blanket over you.

"Okay..." Logan takes a sharp breath when he sees your wrist. The one that man from earlier had grabbed on to. You paid no mind to it as you roll over on your side, snuggling the warm blanket.

"Hey, we need to get this checked out." He gently grabs your wrist but you shoo him away.

"M'fine, it doesn't hurt." You say but he doesn't budge.

"Still, it looks like a nasty bruise is forming." You bat away his hand and cover your wrist with your other hand. Logan's jaw drops as your hair starts to glow. He scrambles back as the it shines brightly and then slowly fades away. When you move your hand your wrist is completely back to normal. No bruising to be seen.

"What the?" He looks at you in shock.

"My powers, I don't really know why but the hair glow seems to be apart of it." You rest your head back into the pillows.

"Why would your parents ever want you to hide this?" He asks in disbelief, your powers weren't ones of destruction but of healing.

A sad looks appears on your face and he doesn't ask any more questions. He sighs and rests his hand on your shoulder.

"Get some rest, we'll keep going in the morning." Your eyes close and sleep comes quicker than it has in a long time, Logan's presence lulling you into a feeling of safety.

The morning light shines right in your eyes as you wake to the sound of snoring. You groan as you roll over onto your back. As the world comes into focus you expect to find yourself staring at the cold wood ceiling you've woken up to every day of your life. But you don't.

You shoot straight up in bed seeing the motel décor and Logan asleep on his bed. He's sprawled out on his stomach, shirtless. His hair is still somehow in the same shape as it always sits. The gray streak in his hair matches with the slight graying of his beard. You feel that fluttering sensation in your stomach as you look at him. You want to look away but you can't. His face has that grumpy look on it, even in his sleep. You giggle as you see some drool on his pillow. You lay back down on your pillow, turning to face Logan. Is it creepy to watch someone sleep? Probably, but you wouldn't mind if Logan watched you sleep.

The only man you had ever known before was your father. When he left your mother grew bitter and angry. Neither of them liked your mutant powers but your mother really hated them. You never really understood why. You could help so many people but she refused.

She would tell you that people lead to nothing but trouble. That everyone was cruel and selfish. That love of any kind wasn't real. But some nights you'd sneak into her study and take on of the many books on the shelves.

Stories of romance , adventure, a knight in shining armor. Despite what your mother said to you, those books kept your fantasies of love alive. You just haven't experienced for yourself let. Could that be the silly feeling in your stomach?

I mean, Logan did come in and rescue you. He wasn't wearing armor or riding a horse, instead he showed up in a blue car and a leather jacket. He didn't slay a dragon but he did threaten that one guy at the gas station. You hear him stir, his eyes opening as he groans and shoves a pillow over his eyes so the sun stops hitting him.

You quickly turn on your other side, pretending to be asleep. Would Logan even want to be with someone like you? He's on a mission to bring you back to his home. This is just a mission for him.

Right?

The week deadline Logan gave Charles has gone out the window. It's been far longer as the two of you drive into a new state. Truth be told Logan has been enjoying being away from the mansion. There's no pressure to be anyone but who he is out here.

You don't know anything about his past, or who he was before he came back. You're bright eyed and curious. You had become more and more comfortable around him. You didn't care if he could shoot claws through his knuckles, you trusted him completely.

Now every time you saw something new you begged him to stop. He pretended to be annoyed, making some comment about how he doesn't have the money for all this damn gas. But he can't say no to you. Despite being locked away for so long you seem to have perfected your puppy dog eyes in a matter of days.

In some weird way, watching you discover the world has made him find some joy in life that he's been missing. Logan has always been a glass half empty person if you will and you were so full that some of it was spilling into Logan's glass. He learned that you weren't completely clueless but there were a lot of things that you had never experienced for yourself. Being told stories could only do so much.

You're leaning against the window of the car humming a song on the radio. You really love the radio. In the cupholder sits a water bottle that had been cut in half and filled with dirt and flowers. You had asked him to pull over while passing this field of flowers. He leaned against the car as you took your time admiring them all.

Laying down in the grass and staring at the blue sky. You had called him over and he stood above you, a smile on his face as you held out your hand.

"I don't frolic in flowers sweetheart." Still he let you lay and watch the wind blow the clouds, pointing out the ones that looked a little funny. By the time you got back in his car you had dirt on your clothes and the biggest smile on your face.

You handed him a little handful of daisies. You could barely look at him as you gave them to him, telling him they were a thank you. Those cute little flowers are now living in a cupholder but he likes being reminded of that day.

"Woah! Logan what's that?!" You sit up and point out the window. To your right was a massive wheel and tents and lots of cars.

"Must be a fair or something." He says.

"What's that?"

"It's like a big party I guess. There's greasy food and games and rides." He points towards the big wheel.

"Can we go?" You beg, this is the fourth time today you've asked him to stop and at this rate you won't get back to the mansion by next month. But Logan pulls off the freeway anyways.

The parking lot is uneven ground and you stumble as you try and step in the right spots. Logan just laughs, holding out his arm for you. Shyly you wrap your hands around his big biceps. The bright lights and smells overwhelm you as you step through the gates.

People all around you are laughing and enjoying themselves. You see kids running past trying to get to the next ride, people eating delicious smelling food, bells and whistles literally ringing in your ears from the different game booths.

"Too much?" Logan asks, pulling you to the side.

"No, it's just. I've never seen so many happy people all in one place." You admit. It was an contagious feeling, you wanted to explore everything. and be as happy as the people around you.

Logan takes you through the fair, not letting you go for a moment. He lets you play those rigged fair games for that teddy bear he could easily buy at some second hand store. But you want it so he pays the money. He does end up taking the last shot for you, using all his strength to knock down those damn bottles. Which he does but he also rips a whole in the tent and the tent behind it.

Oops. But you have that teddy bear now.

"I'm going to get us some food, you stay right here got it? No wandering." You nod as you sit on the wooden bench.

You're holding onto the bear waiting for him to come back when you hear someone crying. Through the noise of the fair you can pin point the quiet sobs. You know Logan told you to stay put but you can't ignore the cries. You get up and look around for the source, ducking behind one of the tents to see a little girl on the ground. She has tears streaming down her face clutching her knee.

"What's wrong?" You ask softly as you approach her. She looks scared and you try not to make things worse.

"I fell and hurt my knee and now I can't find my parents." She sniffs, wiping her eyes.

"Can I see your knee, I can help I promise." She looks unsure and so you take the teddy bear Logan won for you and hand it to her.

"This is Mr. Bear, he's a friend." She reaches out and takes him, petting his fluffy head and letting you get closer.

She hugs him tight as you gently rest your hands over her knee. Closing your eyes you hear her gasp as your hair starts to glow. When you open your eyes again her knee is healed. She stares at you in awe.

"You're magic!" She squeals as she stands up, her energy coming back in full force.

"I guess," She jumps into your arms, hugging you tightly. Suddenly she perks up, the frantic voice of an adult calling her name.

"That's my mommy, I should go." She hands you back Mr. Bear but you tell her to keep it.

She runs off to her mom and through the gaps of the tents you see her run into her arms. Her mom overjoyed at finding her again. Your heart sinks just a little, your own mother clawing her way back into your mind. Does she miss you? Did she even notice you were gone? You hear a tent rip and you turn around to see Logan pushing through the fabric. A panicked look on his face.

"Fuck! There you are." He grabs your arm and pulls you back out into the fair.

"I told you to stay put!" He sighs, running his hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry...This little girl, she was hurt and I wanted to help." You wrap your arms around your body, afraid that Logan would be upset at you forever. He looks around and sees a familiar looking bear in a little girls hand. She was talking animatedly to her mother. He can pick up a few words. Magic, healing.

"That was dangerous to do sweetheart, you don't know what kind of people are out here." The worry in his chest isn't going anywhere as he sits down on the bench.

The fear that overtook him when he saw you were gone, fuck he hasn't felt that in a long time. His mind going to the worst places as he frantically searched for you.

"I know, I just couldn't leave her there." You say.

The truth is you had forgotten what the world was like to people like you. Your mother fed you lies for years about how horrible people were to those like you. Mutants. But for some reason when you're with Logan you feel safe. You feel like nothing can hurt you with him around. He's completely flipped your life upside down and you've loved every second. So for a moment you didn't even think of the danger of using your powers out in public. Not when you had Logan.

To your shock Logan pulls you into a hug. His arms wrapping around you tightly. You're here, you're okay. He tells himself. He can't fight it anymore, this feeling inside of him. Somethin in him has changed and it's all your fault.

He lets go far too soon your liking. Not saying a word as he hands you some food. You eat in silence, your knee bouncing up and down as you keep glancing at Logan.

"You don't like it?" He asks seeing how you've barely touched it.

"No no I do, I just...I guess I'm not that hungry." You push the tray of food back to Logan and he just sighs.

"Come on, I want to show you something." He stands up and holds out his hand.

Silently you let him lead you through the crowds until you've gone past the games and the food. Your jaw drops as you see the big wheel come into view. All of your worries are forgotten as you run towards it, Logan following close behind.

"Get in sweetheart, I'll be right there." You see him whisper something to the ride operator and hand him something before getting in next to you. You yelp as it starts to move. Slamming your back against the metal of the seat.

"It's okay, I got you." Logan lifts his arm and puts it around you, letting you stick to his side as the cart goes higher and higher.

You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest as you feel yourself getting higher up in the sky. A loud pop makes you screech and slide closer to Logan. He chuckles and gently tilts your head up to look at him.

"Check it out sweetheart, got the best view in the house." You slowly move your face to see big bright colors in the air. You let go of Logan and grab onto the metal bar. Leaning over it as you watch the bright colors shoot through the sky.

"Fireworks." You say breathlessly.

Every year the small city near by would launch these into the sky. Your mother always forced you to bed before night fall but you had your ways and would sneak all the way to the attic. Watching through the tiny window. You could only ever catch a glimpse but it was the highlight of your year, now here they are right in front of you.

"They're beautiful."

Red, Orange, Blue shimmers of light just light up the whole sky. The sky rumbles from the loud booms and the soft fizzles. You rest your head in your hands, utterly mesmerized by the scene in front of you.

Logan has seen a lot of fireworks in his day but these just might be his favorite. They're nothing special. Maybe a little bigger than he's scene before. But these are the ones to bring a smile to your face. You haven't stopped smiling since the show started. He wanted you as close as you could get and what better place than the top of the Ferris wheel.

There's colors lighting up the sky but his eyes are on you. He just can't help himself. Seeing you so happy, so at peace. It's all he wants. His own heart beats a little faster when you look back at him. Nothing but pure joy in that pretty smile.

"Gorgeous." He whispers. You look down at your lap, fighting the fluttering in your stomach.

"Thank you, for everything Logan. For showing me the world, for...for just being you." You don't think you could ever repay what Logan has done for you.

Everything feels so different now but it's a good different. The kind of different that makes you want to dig deeper to see just what has changed.

"I owe you more than you know sweetheart," Logan's rough hand covers yours. He gently takes lifts it off the metal bar and interlaces his fingers with yours, squeezing it gently.

"You asked when we first met why they sent me to come get you." His other hand reaches to cup your face. There's nothing but love and adoration in his eyes as he tilts your head up.

"The truth is I was lost." He doesn't want to spill everything but he needs to know what this whole trip, what you mean to him.

"The past couple of months it feels like I've been drowning, like I couldn't breathe. Until I met you. You look at the world with an optimism I haven't scene in so long. It's infectious. You're infectious."

"Is that a good thing?" You whisper, afraid to even move in fear of ruining this moment.

"Depends, I'm an old man sweetheart. If you don't mind that, if you don't mind me." He knows that he may not be the kind of person you've dreamed of. He's not exactly out of a storybook now is he?

"Logan...All I've known is the inside of that house. I didn't know what was out here," You glance back at the fireworks, at the people below you watching and laughing.

"But you showed me just what I've been missing and I could never thank you enough. I don't know why you felt so lost, but I'm glad it led you to me." Everything just feels right, your heart beating in time with his as he leans in.

Capturing your lips in a soft kiss. Now you don't know if the fireworks are in your head or if they're still going. You can't focus on anything but the feeling of his lips on yours. Both his hands now cupping your face as he deepens the kiss. Chasing after the fresh air that he's longed to breathe.

You reach up and tug on his jacket. Needing him closer to you. This, this is more than you could ever imagine. The stories don't do it justice. Words on paper could never have prepared you for this. For the feeling of his hands on your skin, the movement of his lips, the soft noises, the scent of cigars and honey, the desperation behind every single thing he does.

It couldn't have prepared you for the overwhelming flood of emotions swirling through your heart. It's brand new and you never wanted to it to end. It feels like an eternity passes by the time Logan finally pulls back, his lips still so close to yours. His chest rises and falls slowly. Maybe it's just the fair lights but you swear you see the red creeping up his face.

"What are you looking at?" You ask shyly. A giggle bubbling in your chest as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

"Just wondering how I got so lucky." He says sincerely. Seriously how? Maybe this was the worlds way of thanking him, for forgiving him for the sins of his past.

"I think I'm the lucky one." You kiss his wrist, resting your hand on his arm.

The ferris wheel lurches back into motion taking you both off guard. Logan grabs onto you quickly, pulling you into his chest as you slowly move back down to the ground.

It's like everyone else fades to the background as Logan guides you through the crowd. You're very aware of his hand in yours. You don't ever want to let go. But the fair has come to an end and it's time to leave. Though you don't think you'll ever forget today.

"Do we have to go back to New York already?" You ask as you rest your head against the car window.

"There's still so much I want to see." So much you want to see with Logan.

Logan taps on the steering wheel, he knows he'll have to return to the mansion eventually but he looks over and sees those pleading eyes.

"I don't think they're missing me too much, maybe a little longer." Your eyes light up and he just shakes his head, a smile on his face. Man is he fucked.

I'll be home soon Charles, if you can hear me.

As Logan pulls out of the parking lot he thinks back to what he was told before leaving. Take your time. Well he never specified just how much time. In fact, a small cabin up in Canada doesn't sound too bad right about now. But he'll take you there another day. For now, you have the whole world to explore. He rests his hand on your thigh and pulls out onto the freeway.

"So sweetheart, where do you want to go next?"

[apricot-blossomss]

I was wondering if u could write the gods(you can chose any but i would love hermes to be in it if thats ok with u) reactions of waking up next to reader.

U can skip this request if u want.

Love your work btw. ❤️😆

☛ the gods [apollo, hermes, dionysus, ares] waking up next to you

☛ sfw, cw: suggestive, mentions of blood & violence in ares' part

APOLLO

Apollo had found himself doing this every morning for the past few weeks. The god's eyes fluttered open as the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, mind slowly clearing off the haze of sleep. For a moment, he simply lay there, letting the sense of contentment flood him, the soft sounds of your breath like music to his ears.

His gaze wandered as he turned towards you, still soundly asleep next to him. Somehow, you had managed to get completely tangled up in the sheets. The sunlight that bathed his palace in golden hues caressed your skin as softly as his fingers might have. It made your hair shine as it lay sprawled out on the pillow, just calling to be twirled around a finger as he leaned close to you, watched you blush and laugh.

But you weren't laughing now. Your expression showed only utter serenity as you drooled cutely on the pillow, fingers twitching occasionally, signs of a restless dream. But other than that, your chest rose and fell with steady breaths as your body relaxed against the sheets. So pliant, so soft, yet marked. Apollos eyes traced the line his lips had drawn over your collarbone, up to your neck, and his lips twitched as he remembered the little sighs they had elicited from you, the way your cheeks flushed.

Apollo never thought he would ever find someone he would want to wake up next to every day, for eternity. Sure, he loved, and he loved deeply. But it was always temporary. He had never planned to be anything but an eternity-long bachelor, simply because his attention tended to stray, always in search of someone new to inspire him. But gods, you were enough to inspire his poems and songs for eons to come. And it would never be enough to grasp just how much he cherished you.

He propped himself up in bed, watching you intently, eyes drinking in every little movement, skimming over your peaceful expression. And he felt it. The itch in his fingers. The need to capture you, to capture this, to grab a quill, a pencil, a paintbrush, whatever was suited best to express his adoration for you in this moment.

He rose from the bed without making a sound, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber, and reached for a canvas and a palette, along with a brush. As he settled down onto the bed, his hand travelled over your figure, his eyes raking over you with the steady assessment of a professional. With touches so tender they were little more than breaths against your skin, he draped the covers just right and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, basking in the little sigh you answered him with in your sleep.

His hands moved quick over the canvas, with experienced precision and a commitment to detail, to immortalize this moment. His eyes drank you in, every inch of you, and flickered down to the canvas as his brushes formed the curve of your hips, the slope of your nose, the rosiness of your lips. He painted you as he saw you- drenched in the gold of the morning sun, ethereal, otherworldly. And yet, even the minor imperfections found their way onto the painting- because to him, even calling them 'imperfections' was an oxymoron, when they were what truly made you perfect.

As he completed the last brushstrokes, your lashes fluttered and you stirred slightly. A yawn broke free from your lips and, eyes still closed, you stretched your arms over your head. Then, you slowly blinked up at him, your lips curving into a smile at the sight of him. "Hey," you said, almost shyly, as you spotted the marks you had left on him the night before.

His voice was full of reverence as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss onto your lips. "Good morning, sunshine."

HERMES

The first thing that seeped into his consciousness like the most intoxicating drug was the smell of you. Second, the warmth, third, the pulsing of your heartbeat against his temple. He breathed in your scent, breathing out against your neck and tightened his hold on your soft body. To wake up like this every day...

Hermes slowly raised his head from your neck, his own curls brushing over your skin softly as he did. As if you felt it through the haze of sleep, you sighed softly, and his lips twitched into a smile as he propped himself up next to you, eyes wandering over you. Your chest was rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, and even in your sleep, you managed to be so utterly adorable.

Sometimes, your fingers would twitch against the sheets, a reaction to a dream, or your lips would string incoherent sentences together. A grin spread on his lips as he heard something closely resembling his name, a mumbled sigh, and he leaned in to catch more of it. Distinctly, he made out the words 'don't go' in the midst of your vague dreamy ramblings before you slipped off again, a long sigh escaping your lips, leaving him to guess what you might have been dreaming about.

But Hermes had never been one for patience. Before long, his hand came up to trace a line down your jaw, relishing in the way your breathing hitched softly. Slowly, he let his fingers trail down, down your back, over the curve of your hips, and up again. He could see the way your eyelids fluttered, the way you tried to hold onto sleep - a nice dream, then - but your consciousness was slipping and your brows scrunched up.

First, you didn't know what had woken you up. Then, through the still present haze of sleepiness, you felt a soft touch, running up and down your spine. Before you could stop it, it elicited a shiver from you and you could hear a chuckle, resonating close to your ear. "I know you're awake, you know?"

With a low groan, you pushed his hands away, pulling the covers more tightly around yourself. It had been such a pleasant dream, and you desperately wished to know how it ended, even though the waking part of you was aware that your chances of slipping back into slumber under his watch were utterly nonexistent. As you had suspected, your groggy protest did little to deter him. His hands returned- and this time, they ran up your sides in a more teasing way.

He was tickling you.

That bastard.

With a loud whine, you squirmed away, still squeezing your eyes shut. But instead of taking pity on you, the god only increased his teasing touches and your attempts to shake him off remained futile. Now, even the last remnants of sleep were lost, as you trashed under his relentless tickling, you held onto the dream like water slipping through your fingers. Finally, as the god tenderly pinched the soft flesh of your stomach, you snapped.

In one fluid motion, you shot up, grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him down onto the duvet, settling on top of him. You were well aware that you would have not been able to tackle him had he not allowed it, but you would take what you could get as you glared down at his far too pleased expression. "What the fuck, Hermes?" you groaned, the last bit of drowsiness draining from your mind. "I was having a nice dream!"

"Did you dream about me?" he asked, a tenderly teasing smile playing around his lips. Knowing. You shook your head, but it was a lie, and he seemed well aware.

You squeaked in surprise when he lifted himself up, you still perched on his lap as he looked down on you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "Hm, I think you did," he mused, lips hovering just above yours. He clicked his tongue at your spluttered protests. "Y'see, honey... you talk in your sleep." His grin turned downright wicked when he saw your mortified expression, and as you felt your cheeks heating, you leaned your head against his collarbone, desperate to hide them. But no chance.

"Aw, don't be embarrassed, baby," he cooed softly, but with a distinctly teasing edge to his tone. His lips came up to brush against your temple tenderly. "Don't be mad you didn't get to finish it." He locked eyes with you, and the look in them made you swallow. "In fact," he drawled suggestively, hand running down to your waist, "How about we reenact them, hm?"

DIONYSUS

Your morning could have been peaceful. However, peaceful wasn't really in your lover's repertoire. Thus, your steady flow of vague dreams was disrupted when hands shook you awake, hands that had been traveling down your body with teasing touches the previous night, had latched onto you as if you could fade at any moment, had dipped into a goblet of wine and drawn patterns of red liquid down your squirming body.

Now, however, they were barely tender, no, they were demanding, and you reluctantly let them pull you out of your quite pleasing dreams. With a huff of annoyance, you shook his hands off and turned your back to him, propping up your pillow and praying he would let you drift back into slumber. But of course, your hopes were futile.

"Baby," he sighed into your ear, shuffling ever closer to your figure. His arms closed around your midriff as his forehead came to rest against the back of your neck. And gods, you were sure a diety was not meant to sound this whiny. "Baby, wake up."

With a frustrated groan, you gave him a push and turned in bed to face him, stretching your arms over your head and glowering at him. The sight of him, however, caught you off guard. His long curls were impossibly disheveled, eyes glazed over, his expression pulled into one of great agony. He looked positively wrecked.

With a low groan, Dionysus let himself fall back into the mattress, wincing at the movement. The sound was stifled with the way he buried his face in his pillow, but the pain in it did tug at your heartstrings. It looked like you had been right last night- he had completely overdone it, even for a god, and now, he was paying the price. But that didn't mean you had no pity for his predicament.

The scowl on your face slowly melted into a softer smile as you shuffled closer to his figure, sprawled out on the duvet. A mop of curls obstructed his face, as well as a pillow, so you settled for carding your fingers into his hair and softly running their tips over his scalp. The sound of elicited from him, though muffled against the sheets, was one of relief rather than pain.

"Everything hurts," he moaned into the duvet as you continued to run your hand through his hair. "I'm a god. This shouldn't be happening."

"You poor god, you," you cooed sweetly, laughing when he released a muffled scoff. As he rambled on, listing his complaints, you hummed along, smiling down at him. You liked these moments- moments when you got to see him raw, almost human. Only to be reminded of his divinity when he slowly raised his head from the sheets to rake his eyes over your bare figure. They glinted dangerously.

"You know what, baby?" he purred seductively. "I think I'm starting to feel better. Not quite though. Got some ideas on how to ease my ache?"

You slapped the back of his head.

ARES

Ares was used to blood. He was used to violence, to shouting and screaming, the clanking of steel on steel, the roaring of the victorious and the cries of the vanquished. But not to this. He didn't think he could ever get used to this. Waking up next to you, the first thing to see your bare figure, wrapped loosely in his sheets, chest rising and falling softly, lips parted as if they were about to tell a secret. But your eyes were closed, lashes delicately brushing over your soft skin.

But, though he would never get used to this, to you, he was already addicted to it. He craved every little touch, every small smile, every little grace like a drowning man the air. And it was so very tempting to accept it all, take it all, take everything he could get. That was the way he used to do it. He was the god of war, he didn't ask for things, and he certainly didn't take other people's feelings into account before acting- until you.

It burned in his fingertips, the need to reach out, to touch, to pull you against him, to bury his face in your neck, breathe in your scent, bask in your warmth. To hear your breath hitch in the most delicious way, feel your body melt into his. Your voice would be rough from sleep, but it would sound all the sweeter in his ears. He yearned to feel you against him, if only for prove that you were real, that he was granted something this good.

But as he watched you, as he listened to the soft sound of your breathing, he couldn't bring himself to destroy your peace, as he would any other. The only thing greater than his desire to feel you was his need to let you rest. Putting up with him every day, you needed it. No, he could not wake you up.

Pathetically, he ended up shifting as close to you as he could without touching you, so close he could feel the warmth of your body gently nipping at his skin, so close that his fingers twitched to close the thin gap between your bodies. But he didn't. Restraint had never been his strength, as his sister would gladly remind him, but now, he disciplined his urges and closed his eyes, knowing sleep would not take him back.

But it didn't have to. It was only minutes later that you stirred, shifted against the covers and finally, turned around beneath them to face him. His proximity startled you for a second, but it could not break your sleepy gaze as you lazily threw your arms around his neck and pulled him close.

Ares surged. Hadn't he been careful, he would have crushed you with the way he wrapped his strong, scarred arms around your middle and pulled you flush against him, eliciting a startled little squeak from you. Your soft, pliant body all wrapped up in his arms, he could not have been more content, and as you relaxed against him with the sort of undeniable trust that went to his head in the most twisted way, he lowered his head to the crook of your neck.

The steady fall and rise of your chest against his was a strong enough tether to keep him right there, possibly forever, wrapped up in your gentle warmth that was so different to his scorching fire. But fuck, did he crave it.

Ares stiffened for a split of a second when your fingers carded into his dark curls, but his shoulders relaxed in an instant as you ran them through the strands. A soft groan left his lips, and he would have been content admitting that a tiny mortal like you had rendered him utterly defenseless. The soft giggle that sounded against his ear was more heavenly than all the odes his brother ever composed.

"You're cuddly today," you commented vaguely, fingertips scraping over his scalp tenderly.

An indefinite sound rumbled in his chest, vibrated against yours, but he only sank deeper into your touch, wishing every morning could start like this.

a/n: thinking about making taglists for my works/specific gods, would anyone be interested in that?

[cowboyschumi]

ANGEL

Summary: Who was Max Verstappen when the cameras were off? A mystery to everyone but a reality for you. A four-time champion is more than just a mentality, and luckily, you went through all those layers to finally reach who he really is.

Author's note: First time writing for Max, so bear with me as I try to portray a realistic personality for him! Flashbacks are aligned differently for clarity and easier reading. As is typical of me, there's a song inspiration for every fic. Not my finest work. English is not my first language sorry for any typos.

Warning: Slight mentions of cursing, mental health, drinking; jealousy and intercourse.

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COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

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No one knew how on earth you pulled Max. Not because of his status or wealth, but because you somehow ended up dating the man who was the devil reincarnated on track.

The answer was simple and it was the number one rule in your relationship: what happens on the track stays on the track. No rage, no outbursts, no carrying emotions home. Managing feelings. Was it easy at first? Absolutely not.

"Breathe in, breathe out." Those stupid breathing exercises of yours, that’s what he used to call them. And now, they were one of his top habits, something he did every morning and before bed. He was a new man with you, no doubt about it. Max sat on the edge of the bed, the one permanently covered in cat hair, while you knelt behind him. Connected by body contact, by the rhythm of your synchronized heartbeats and breathing. Your torso pressed against his back, one arm wrapped over his shoulders, and your free hand resting gently on the center of his chest, rising and falling with each of his now-steady breaths.

Managing emotions wasn’t for everyone. You had to know when to react, how to handle things. Anyone else might have freaked out at Max’s outbursts, but not you.

He definitely wasn’t a verbal guy. Occasionally, he made exceptions, but his love language was acts of service and quality time—an action-based way of showing how grateful he was for your patience and love. Sometimes, he outdid himself, crossing the line into extravagance.

"I mean… they didn’t look that big in the photo, I swear." His thick Dutch accent always became more noticeable when he was nervous. That was an indoors thing though, because there was no way Max Verstappen would ever let nerves show in front of the press. But around you? He was a mess. He had bought you flowers. Not just a bouquet, a whole bed-sized arrangement, so massive it nearly swallowed the room. There was no reason behind it, no special occasion. Just a sudden, over-the-top surprise.

Sometimes, Max felt like he owed you something, or like too much time had passed since he last gave you a gift. And when that happened, he’d show up out of nowhere with the most ridiculous, oversized boxes imaginable.

There were nights when he fell asleep first, and you stayed awake, watching him—running your fingers through his still-damp shower hair—wondering how you even ended up by his side. If you hadn't taken the time to get to know him, you probably would have run away at first glance, judging by how awful his first impression was: a man who didn’t seem to care about much of anything.

But as time passed, you realized the two of you weren’t so different. It was the little things that brought you together—sharing the same interests, enjoying the same comforts. There was a quiet peace in the home you shared, despite the occasional chaos of his late-night gaming sessions. He napped with the cats while you baked, or you’d both sit in the living room—paddle tennis playing in the background—while you lost yourself in a book. Everything was perfectly balanced, respecting each other’s schedules and space without overstepping. That’s why spending all day together never felt suffocating. Living together, coexisting, wasn’t a burden the way it ended up being for so many other couples.

Cracking him open took months, maybe even a solid year. There were dates where he barely spoke, post-race weekends where he completely shut down, and times when he disappeared without a word. It took you a while to understand that every person, every emotion, is its own world. You couldn’t be behind him constantly, checking in like some obsessed detective. Everything had its time. He would open up when he was ready.

You certainly didn’t expect him to open up on a Monday at midnight, after winning a race.

"He drank—just a little bit," Daniel Ricciardo grinned widely, as always, helping you carry Max into his apartment. No shit, Sherlock. The younger driver could barely stand, stumbling over his own steps. After Daniel overexplained for the millionth time—without bothering to hide his amusement—that Max always drank this much at parties, you shoved him out through the front door. Oh, how you wished you could share his optimism. And there you were, alone with the drunken enemy. Though, not much of an enemy now, considering he was about to pass out in his party clothes, sprawled across the couch. Arms crossed, a jokingly disapproving look on your face, you stared at him from across the room. "Bet you even drank from the flower vases." "Don’t make me say a word, or I’ll throw up any second," He shot back, his usual sarcastic and sharp tone. The cameras knew him for this side of his personality. You were already used to it. Once again, you guided him to bed, making sure he lay on his back so the dizziness wouldn’t hit as hard. More than a few times, he complained that the ceiling was spinning. "Hold me," He murmured, not demanding, just needy. You stood frozen beside him, and he had to say it twice before you snapped out of your daze. His head rested on your lap now, the sound of the ceiling fan filling the quiet room with a soft hum. The dim, warm glow from the bedside lamp cast shadows on his face, highlighting the sheen of sweat from the party still dripping down his skin. Curled up beneath you, ready to sleep for the next eight hours, he hadn’t even registered that you hadn’t congratulated him yet. "I’m proud of you," You sighed, running your fingers along his back. His black shirt clung to his body, outlining the definition of his muscles. No response. You hadn’t expected one. That had always been your dynamic from the beginning—being present, caring, without expecting anything in return. How could you ask for love from someone who had never learned how to receive it? Someone who had never truly felt it? "Fuck you." His voice was muffled against your lap, trying to silence the quiet sobs that shook his body. Even now, you hadn’t figured out how to get him to swear less. You’d have to work on that.

It took him a long time to figure out sex, he barely knew the basics. To him, it had always been just a mechanical act, nothing more than pulling in and out. Aftercare wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

It felt like moving backward, but in the purest, sweetest way. Learning each other’s bodies from scratch, asking if every touch, every movement felt okay.

You gave sex meaning for him, the feeling of making love, rather than just bodies colliding.

"Do I have to dress up for that?" Max asked, tossing his shirt aside. He wasn’t joking about not wanting to wear a costume, he was genuinely concerned about the possibility. You brought the word foreplay into the conversation. Perplexed was an understatement. His reaction caught you off guard for a second, but then you laughed it off. Him not knowing? Actually hilarious. You hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him closer as you lay back on the bed. Keeping deep eye contact, without any warning at all, your hand trailed down—palming him through the fabric of his clothes. Slowly, deliberately, letting your touch explore every warm inch possible without actually giving him what he needed most. In an instant, his head nestled against the crook of your neck. His handling span was subtle, as if unaccustomed to your overwhelming attention. "It's about teasing each other just the right amount," You murmured. "Testing our limits playfully."

From an outsider’s perspective, anyone would assume he was a wreck in bed, and truthfully, he used to be. In fact, if you asked him to go back to his old ways—ruthless, relentless—he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you utterly wrecked within minutes. But that wasn’t his comfort zone anymore. You had taught him how to take care of you, how to slow down, and he had learned to like it. Now, he preferred to take his time, savoring every moment. After all, for him, you always came first—in every sense of the word. His top priority.

The building of a healthy relationship has a bit of everything—ups and downs. Sometimes, no matter how much effort you put into someone, their beliefs were stronger. Self-esteem is key to that—well, at least in Max's case. Being number one wasn’t just a state or a way of living; you had to believe you were the one first.

But in a world of multiple numbers, there’s always more than one number one

"Haven't you seen how he stared at you? He even looked twice." He had very expressive, almost cartoonish reactions. Brunch was set on a table outside— a tranquil midday scene, with just enough people around to create that typical background hum of chatter. Your favorite kind of day involved eating out, trying new restaurants, and pretending you were exigent food critics. It had become a sort of ritual—while it took you over an hour to get fully ready, he would just shower and throw on the same white shirt as any prior date. The dress code was formal, but the manners were anything but—immature, noisy laughter, and an endless string of inappropriate jokes.

Looks were tricky. You appeared composed and serious, but never judge a book by its cover. The same went for Max—rock-solid on the outside, with a slightly silly demeanor or playful banter for the media. You two brought out each other’s true selves because, with each other, you felt the safest being your realest.

The way you were with him: compassionate and soft, became the meaning of it all, the reason behind his persistence in calling you angel and reminding you that you were his angel. Sometimes, you could hardly bear his cliché explanation that you saved him, but in truth, you did—not from any external harm, but from himself. You had some sort of protection and halo over him.

“My sweet angel.” "Max Emilian." You protested, just like every other time he called you that. He sounded so careful with each syllable, as if he meant every word. It was him at his corniest, if you were being honest, taking your breath and words away with just a surname. Leaving you all giggly and flustered—that was exactly why you hated being called that so much. "I'm really touching heaven by having you by my side." The Dutch man whispered against your lips, wearing a full smile. He was only this happy with you and only you. The podium wasn't a factor in the happiness equation.

You changed his life for the better, so how could he not feel happy and blessed to call you his?

[imreidswifey]

Hey!

Me again. Just read your adoption fic and it was so cute, made me cry. Was wondering if you’d do something where reader is a single mom and has been dating Spencer for a while and her child calls Spencer dad for the first time?

Obviously if you’re tired of kid related fics you can ignore this but would really love if you write this!!

𝐀 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

Spencer Reid x reader fanfiction

w/c: 900

a/n: omg, I love these types of prompts they're just the cutest things in the world. Sorry it took me so long, I've been sick for the last three days. 🥲

Spencer had never considered himself a father before. He had entertained the abstract notion, of course—had thought, in passing, of tiny fingers curling around his, of bedtime stories read in soft, sleepy murmurs. But it had always been theoretical, a distant dream tucked away between the pages of his books.

And then he met you.

You and your little girl, Ella.

She had been three when he entered your life, her wispy curls bouncing as she clung to your leg, watching him with wide, suspicious eyes. Spencer had been terrified—of saying the wrong thing, of stepping too close, of scaring her away before he even had a chance to know her. But over time, the walls came down, brick by careful brick. She learned that he would always kneel to tie her shoes, that he would carry her on his shoulders when her legs got tired, that he always had a fact ready to make her laugh.

Now, two years later, at five years old, she had wormed her way so deeply into his heart that he couldn’t imagine life without her.

And yet, as much as he loved her, as much as he loved you, he never assumed. Never dared to hope that she might see him as something more than “Mommy’s Spencer.”

Until today.

—

It had been an exhausting day.

Spencer had the morning off and spent it with Ella while you handled a work meeting. It wasn’t the first time he had taken care of her alone—he had done everything from helping with kindergarten homework to mediating princess tea party disputes—but today had been particularly long. A visit to the park, a messy attempt at baking cookies, and at least a dozen renditions of “Let It Go” later, she was finally winding down for the night.

He sat beside her on her small pink bed, adjusting her blanket.

“Comfy?” he asked.

Ella nodded, yawning as she hugged her stuffed rabbit.

“You’re the best, Daddy,” she mumbled sleepily, her voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer froze.

His breath caught, his heart stuttering in his chest. He must have misheard. He had to have misheard. But then, just as he was about to ask, she nuzzled further into her pillow and sighed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Daddy.

She had called him Daddy.

Something inside him shattered and mended all at once.

He blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he smoothed a hand over her curls. “Goodnight, Ella,” he whispered, voice unsteady.

She didn’t answer. Already lost in sleep.

Spencer sat there for a long time, staring at her peaceful little face, feeling the weight of that single word wrap around his heart and settle there.

—

He found you in the kitchen, washing dishes. You turned when he entered, instantly picking up on the dazed look on his face.

“Spence? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, breathless. “She… she called me Daddy.”

Your hands stilled. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, a smile broke across your lips.

“She did?”

He nodded, still struggling to process it. “Just now. I—I don’t even think she realized she said it. It just… came out.”

You set the dish towel aside, stepping closer. “Spence,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Of course, she sees you as her dad. You’ve been there for her. You love her. And she loves you.”

He let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. “I just didn’t want to assume. I didn’t want to—”

“You didn’t assume,” you cut in gently. “She told you herself.”

His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. You could feel how overwhelmed he was, how much this meant to him.

“You’re her dad, Spencer,” you whispered against his temple. “And I think you always have been.”

Tears welled in his eyes, but for the first time in a long time, they weren’t from sadness or grief. They were from something infinitely warmer.

Something called home.

[winwin17]

I queued this earlier with the intention to reblog with ideas of my own, but then it turned into a whole fic, and now I have to share it.

So without further ado, I present my fic:

The Mountain Dew Killed the Elf!

The bracing breezes of a serene landscape drifted pleasantly through the spacious porches of Rivendell. Never had this place been so at peace. The Ring was destroyed, and all remaining members of the Fellowship found themselves reunited in the house of Elrond.

This evening found an unlikely pair of friends in an even unliklier situation.

"What have you got there?" asked Gimli when Legolas walked out with a strange looking cylindrical can. It was the color of the brightest spring leaves, and also somehow shiny.

Legolas glanced about as if he had procured some contraband and feared being seen with it. But seeing no one nearby, he sat down and held out the can.

"I do not know," he admitted. "It is something foreign. But it is called Mountain Dew, so it must be lovely."

He lifted the tab on top of the can and it opened with a peculiar crack.

"It is bubbly!" Gimli cried in astonishment, hearing the fizzing sound the soda made.

"Shall we try it?" Legolas proposed. He lifted the can as if in a toast, then raised it to his lips.

Gimli watched the micro expressions that flitted across the elf's sensitive brow and eyes as he took the smallest sip.

"It is strange, but it is good!" Legolas decided. "It tastes like lightning."

He took another, bigger swig to get the full effect.

"Do not drink that!"

Elrond swooped in out of nowhere and snatched the can from Legolas' hand.

"Do you so thoughtlessly consume what you cannot identify?"

He turned the can around, furrowing his brow as he scrutinized the writing marked under the word "Ingredients."

Elrond shook his head.

"Never have I heard or read of most of these elements, though my days in Middle Earth have been long."

He frowned.

"But if my foresight ever can be relied upon, I warn you not to drink of this cursed potion!"

Legolas looked a little worried. Elrond met his eyes perceptively.

"And yet I see you already have," he deduced, evaluating how much liquid was already gone from the can. Still, he handed it back.

"Nonetheless, I would not-"

Elrond's words were cut short when Legolas made a strange strangled sound. It was the sort Elrond associated all too much with death.

A strange expression of pain came over Legolas' fair face, and he raised his hand to his chest, right over his heart.

Then, with no other warning signs, he slumped forward.

The can of Mountain Dew slipped from his motionless hand and hit the stone floor of the porch, spilling forth a stream of neon yellow liquid.

Gimli and Elrond both rushed to keep Legolas from falling out of his chair. Elrond gently laid him out upon the ground, but Legolas was deathly still, and his eyes simply stared, more vacant even than when he was asleep.

"Curse the Mountain Dew!" Gimli shouted. "If it does not prove to be the bane of my existence this day, then I am no dwarf!"

Elrond knelt next to Legolas and felt his pulse.

But there was none.

Elrond shook his head gravely.

"He is dead. Did not I tell him not to consume these toxins? But alas! My warning was not in time."

Sorrowfully, he reached up and closed the elf's eyes, a last tender gesture.

Gimli fell to his knees by the lifeless form. His grief rendered him wordless.

"Why, whatever is the matter?" a peppy voice broke into the heavy, mournful atmosphere.

Gimli and Elrond looked up to see Pippin standing there wearing a look of confusion.

"The Mountain Dew," Gimli muttered darkly. "It killed him. It killed the elf!"

Now Pippin looked shocked. He actually laughed, as if this were all just a prank.

"Surely you're only joking!" he cried. "It's done nothing to me yet!"

That's when Elrond and Gimli spotted the bright green can the hobbit held.

Elrond was on his feet in the blink of an eye.

"Give it to me, and do not drink any more!" he demanded, snatching the soda away from Pippin.

"Noo!" Pippin protested, looking downright mournful. "It's so good, though. That was already my second one in under an hour!"

Elrond fixed him with a look of horror, and immediately forced him to sit down while he hammered him with questions about exactly how much he'd drunk and if it had had any effects on him.

"Absolutely no negative effects!" Pippin insisted. "Why, I feel better and more energized than usual, at that!"

Elrond shook his head in bewilderment.

"Hobbits never cease to perplex me. Gandalf's accounts of their hardiness must be even more than I estimated."

Still, he insisted that Pippin remain there until he gave him permission to move. Then Elrond turned his attention back to Legolas.

"Is he really dead?" Pippin asked, swinging his legs in the elf-sized chair Elrond had sat him down on.

"I'm afraid so," Elrond replied gravely. He felt for a pulse again, but of course there was nothing.

Gimli sighed heavily. He took one of Legolas' hands in his own.

"Goodbye, my dearest friend," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Then in a gesture never before shared between elf and dwarf, he leaned down and kissed the fair, cold brow.

Suddenly it seemed to him that he felt warmth in the elf's hand. The long, dark lashes fluttered, and the bright eyes opened wide.

With a gasp, Legolas sat straight up, looking around in confusion.

Gimli jumped back in shock.

"What happened?" Legolas asked.

Elrond was standing over him in an instant, checking him all over as if unable to believe this was not some phantom vision.

"You- you were dead!" Gimli spluttered.

Legolas looked down at himself, but seeing no sign of any fatal wounds, his expression of confusion only deepened. His eyes sought Elrond's face.

"Is that truly so?" he asked.

"Indeed. My warning not to drink the Mountain Dew came too late. Your heart stopped."

Recognition and clarity began to form in his face once again. And yet as if still not believing all this was true, he lifted his hand to touch his own face, his brow...

A crease formed between his eyes, and he looked at Gimli.

"You kissed me," he said, his voice far away.

"Do not be offended," Gimli said quickly, ducking his head half in embarrassment, half in respect. "It was the last and the least I could do to honor the bond of our friendship while yet your body remained with us."

Legolas still had a strange, faraway look in his eyes.

"I don't recall that I've ever been kissed before," he mused softly.

A bright laugh from Pippin sparkled in the atmosphere.

"Haven't you?" the hobbit exclaimed. "Well, I say it's high time to change that!"

And then, in spite of all Elrond's strict orders, Pippin shot up out of his chair and hurtled towards Legolas. Even the elf's quick reflexes were not enough to dodge in time, and Legolas found himself grinning sheepishly in a shower of smooches from his mischievous hobbit friend. Gimli laughed heartily at this, but Legolas got his revenge when he stood up, snatched Pippin up, and held him upside down in mid-air for a long enough moment that Pippin had a proper panic.

Convinced now that Legolas would be fine, Elrond took advantage of the distraction to search the entire premises for any traces of Mountain Dew, determined to rid his house of every last drop of it, if he had to search every room himself.

But not soon would Rivendell forget the chaos which descended upon them that day in the form of a highly caffeinated Peregrin Took.

Ya’ll know that one trend where people name things that would kill a Victorian child? What about things that would kill a person from middle earth?

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 26

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- crying in the clubbbb 💔 like and rb and stay tuned for what comes next!

Remy’s POV

My phone buzzed, bringing my attention to my lap. The screen lit up with a text from an unknown number. I figured it was a scam and continued working.

It was finally February, and I was finally back at the office, running around, getting things done for Joe and unofficially co-writing with Rachel. For months I dove into my work and only focused on my goals, before my end of the year performance review, which Joe had postponed due to my accident.

Life was moving fast recently, not giving me much time to process the other aspects of my life. Eating and exercising were things I often forgot to do. Sleeping was also not a priority. There was so much on my plate, but oddly enough it was comforting.

It occupied my brain and took my mind off of personal life matters, such as losing my best friend, to be exact.

My mother passed away last month. I didn’t shed a tear. It was bittersweet. It was weird to think about. The funeral was beautiful, but small. There were family members giving me their condolences that I haven’t heard from since I was in school. It was odd. There were some people I didn’t recognize that swore they held me as a baby. My dad was there too. He avoided me, probably feeling just as awkward as I was.

That was the day I realized I had grown angry and resentful. All of the money I had sent her had been spent, mostly on rent, but also on unnecessary things. She had a boyfriend I didn’t know about. I wondered why he couldn’t pay for her expenses. He seemed nice. He was heartbroken. I found myself trying to mirror his emotion before my aunts’ gossip turned me into the daughter that didn’t give a fuck about her dead mother.

She passed away from a heart attack. She had a past of abusing prescription drugs. It was a habit she picked up after the divorce. She was 3 years clean.

As I said my goodbyes, I realized I hadn’t talked to her in person in almost a year, when I saw her on her birthday the year prior. Seeing her in the open casket reminded me of when I was in the hospital and she didn’t bother to show, yet I was here holding her cold, unfamiliar hand.

I gave myself a moment to mourn what could’ve been, and said a prayer in my head, only for her. She was religious, ironically enough. I was not. I hadn’t prayed in god knows how long. But, I prayed to the universe that she’d be at peace, forgiven by whoever would try to collect her debts, wherever she was now.

When I got home. I melted into my desk chair, focused solely on my work, and haven’t gotten up since.

That about sums up my life right now.

My phone buzzed again. A text from the same unknown number. I opened it, wondering who it was.

Hey I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Ellie, Billie’s girlfriend.

I wanted to invite you to a little pre-valentines day party this Saturday at 7pm! It’s also sorta Billie’s going away party before she leaves for Australia this month. She would love to have you there.

I stopped breathing for a second, reading the messages. I hadn’t allowed myself to miss Billie in a month. I hadn’t allowed my self to think about her. All of her things and all of our pictures were stored away so I didn’t fall apart at the sight of them.

I wondered why Billie hadn’t invited me herself. It almost stung. An invite by formality. I guess I deserved that. Maybe this was her way of seeing if I’d show up.

The thought of explaining myself to her again stressed me out. Nothing was ever good enough for her. My goals didn’t matter to her. That’s how I felt.

I’ll send you the details later. Please come.🤍

She texted me again.

*******

A couple days went by before I actually replied. I thanked her for the invite and let her know I would be there.

The day of the party I took hours to get ready. I was nervous like never before. I decided on some light wash jeans and a white baby-tee. I straightened my hair, wearing it longer than ever, as I didn’t bother to trim or freshen up my curtain bangs due to my busy schedule. I did my makeup the way she liked. Tiny, smudged eyeliner wings at the corners of my eyes, blushy cheeks, lined lips with a dark mauve lip tint and gloss over top. I put on a black faux-leather jacket and drove to Billie’s house.

I decided to arrive a few hours late to avoid the awkward period of time before everyone else showed up, in case things didn’t feel right.

When I arrived, the same security team greeted me at the door. They looked surprised to see me, but let me get through without hesitation.

I walked through the entrance, walking through the halls, making my way towards the noise. In the front room I saw a group of people. Neither of them were Billie.

Finneas looked at me and did a double take. Everyone else remained in conversation. I smiled at him awkwardly and kept walking. The last thing I wanted to do was small talk. I followed the noise into the living room, towards the entertainment area. A multitude of people, but still no Billie.

A beautiful girl, wearing a red, flowy, silky dress walked towards me with a big smile on her face. I took in her presence, taken off guard by her embrace. She squeezed me tight, happy and cheery.

“I’m so glad you came!” She smelled sweet and her aura was warm and inviting. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I guess this is Ellie.

The more she talked, the less I could manage to take my eyes off her. I couldn’t put a pin on it, it began to bother me. Then, I realized.

I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between us two. Her hair looked exactly like mine did when I had time to tend to it, her skin was tan, like mine, our smiles and the way our noses crinkled when we laughed… She was a girlier, prettier version of me. She had dainty tattoos on her arms. Not as many as I, but fuck, we were even the same height. I zoned out, feeling as if I were looking in the mirror.

“Feel free to get some food, there’s lots more in the kitchen. Please, help yourself! I’ll be right back.” She said, walking out into the back yard.

Help yourself. As if I didn’t frequent these halls, and help myself all the time. I looked around, the house the exact same way I left it. I walked into the kitchen hoping to get a moment to myself. I realized most of the people here weren’t the usuals at Billie’s parties. A lot of them, I didn’t really talk to much. I poured myself some sparkling water and tried a few bite size snacks.

I leaned back on the counter, reminiscing on the moments Billie and I shared in this kitchen. All the food we made and all the laughs we shared messing up new recipes, and having to clean up our mess.

Suddenly, I saw a shadow from the corner of my eye, causing me to turn and look. A dark haired figure stood in the doorway.

Billie stared at me, looking like she was face to face with a ghost.

I stood up straight, my brows slightly raised and my lips forming an unsure smile.

Billie looked away, her face reading discontent and disappointment, like she was disgusted that I was here. She quickly walked out, leaving me a mess in her kitchen.

I stood in the kitchen, about to cry, about to run out. I kept my composure, taking a breath and trying to understand what the hell just happened. Wondering why I’m here.

I walked out, b-lining towards the guest bathroom, wiping tears off the corners of my eyes, but heard faint arguing as I passed one of the rooms down the hall. It sounded like Billie’s voice. I got closer and eavesdropped.

“Why the fuck would you do this to me?”

Ellie tried to keep both their voices down, “I thought it would be a good thing. I thought the two of you could talk?”

“If I wanted to talk to her, I would pick up the phone and call her, Ellie. God, what the fuck!” Billie shouted.

“Shh! You’re being so loud. Calm down!”

“Don’t tell me to calm down when you invited her to my house without my permission! You know where I stand. You know that I can’t do this right now. And you bring her here two weeks before I’m supposed to leave for tour?”

The way she referred to me as her pissed me off. Like I was a stranger with no significant value to her.

“Billie, don’t be like that! She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be in your life. You just need to talk, you’re best friends. I thought if I got her here, the two of you would-“

“We’re not friends anymore for a reason! I don’t want to see her Ellie! I was doing fine! I was just fine, why did you have to ruin everything I-“

“No, I wasn’t trying to ruin anything, baby! I wanted you to heal! I wanted you to get closure! If you don’t talk to me, I wanted you to at least talk to somebody!” Ellie said, whisper yelling. Billie didn’t match her volume at all. I could hear the anxiety and pain in her voice. I felt like the ex boyfriend that texts out of nowhere at 3am when you’re finally over him.

The way she tried her best to calm her down… I felt helpless hearing it. I wanted to go in and fix everything myself, the way I always did. I wanted to just go in and hug her tight, even if she tried to fight me off. I’d get on my knees, beg her to forgive me, and make a fool of myself, if it meant she’d be okay again.

At the same time, hearing her talk about finally being okay, and getting over me… it cut deep. Because I wasn’t over her. I didn’t even allow myself to process it. I haven’t had time to process anything that’s happened to me in the past few months. I guess I had me to blame for that.

I walked in, standing at the doorway, watching Billie’s eyes fixed on me, stonewalled.

“Hey, Remy, I’m sorry if you-“ Ellie started.

“I thought you knew I was coming. I thought you wanted me here.” I said, looking between the two. Ellie winced, her plan crashing and burning before her.

Billie shook her head, bringing her hands to the crown of her head and turning around, blowing air out of her mouth. She faced the wall, probably wishing she could teleport anywhere but here.

“I’ll see my way out.” I began to turn, but Ellie rushed over, grabbing my arm, pulling me, and pleading with me. Normally I’d have a problem with a random girl putting her hands on me, but I was so beside myself that I didn’t react.

“I’m obviously not welcome here.” My throat tickled. I cleared my throat, feeling that pit in your stomach that makes you want to sob uncontrollably.

Ellie stood in the doorway, blocking me from exiting. Man, she was strong. “You two need to talk. Hear each other out. Billie, fucking come on! She showed up, she clearly cares about you.”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just wanted to see you and apologize.” My voice cracked. I felt like a stranger in her house. The room I had sat in so many times before felt like a cold jail cell.

What a fucking shit show.

Billie swayed, her back turned toward me, quiet as a mouse as she faced the wall.

Billie’s hair was cut differently than before. She wore a blue and white long sleeve, and a pair of wide denim jeans. She threw her little fake glasses on the couch next to her and continued to sway back and forth. I was almost afraid to be in the room with her. Her hands flexing as she opened and shut her fingers repeatedly. Her rings clinked as they hit the others. She cracked her knuckles, her triceps popping out.

Ellie sighed, “I’m sorry, but I have to do this. You need to talk.” She walked out, closing the door.

[spiritgutz]

TWO TIME HEADCANONS

i am obsessed with this freak and need to dump my thoughts

WARNINGS: brief mentions of blood (involving two time's wings) and cults, two time being two time word count: 914

authors note: i'm extremely rusty with writing and i quite literally never use tumblr. please forgive any mistakes i've made as i try to get the hang of this 🙏

First of all, Two Time is absolutely enamored by you. The two of you are practically connected by the hip. It may seem a bit much, but they just feel so drawn to you! Why wouldn't they want to spend every waking moment by your side?

Very touchy. Their hand is usually almost always on some part of you in public, most likely on the small of your back or simply holding your hand.

They would likely refer to you as their "guardian angel."

You'll catch them staring a lot pre relationship with that signature smile on their face.

Glances turn into full-on staring, innocent touches seem to last longer, your personal space seemingly becoming shared between the two of you.

In all honesty you probably catch on fairly quick to their habits.

From across the cabin you could feel eyes trained on your frame. Most would find this unsettling, but you honestly didn't mind. You didn't move to find the source, nor acknowledge it for that matter.

However Chance, who you had just been talking to, seemed more focused on something behind you rather than conversing. You tilted your head in confusion before twisting your body around to discover the distraction. Ah, that suddenly made a lot more sense. Settled up on the second floor, Two Time gazed down at you while their arms rested on the wooden railing. Their smile seemed to grow the moment your eyes locked with theirs. Chance would address you, asking something along the lines of "Are they bothering you?" In response you would only wave your hand dismissively. Their behavior, albeit creepy at times, didn't bother you. It was almost...endearing.

As stated by the devs, Two Time is a little "insane in the membrane." But this doesn't mean that you love them any less!!

They can and will talk to you about the cult and the Spawn as a whole.

Speaking of that, Two Time would love for you to be a member of the cult someday! They won't force you by any means, but that doesn't mean they won't try and persuade you.

Sometimes you'll catch them watching you while you sleep. They'll just..stare at you. They almost act like a cat in that regard.

They sleep almost completely still minus the subtle rise and fall of their chest.

You might just end up staring at them instead. They look so peaceful when they're asleep, so serene.

I'd like to think that Two Time naturally runs colder than most people. Their hands would be like ice cubes.

PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE GIVE THAT CULTIST A HUG!!! WARM THEM UP RIGHT NOW!!!!

Two Time will melt if you touch their hair. I'm not arguing about this I am correct and anyone else is WRONG /lh

One of their favorite things is when you comb your fingers through their hair as they lay on top of you after a round is completed. It makes them feel safe

The two of you have totally fallen asleep on the cabin's couch before

If you're an active participant of the games(?), Two Time will always put your safety before theirs. A killer is trying to attack you? They’re using their body as a shield to protect you.

As much as they want to keep you safe, you're very against their methods. Your heart sinks whenever you see their wings burst from their back.

Sat on their bed, your hand gently trailed down from Two Time's shoulders, to their back, to just below where their wings had sprouted from their back the round prior. Their shirt still had remnants of dry blood, just barely blending into their black top.

You hadn't meant to get in the way. One moment you were assisting with a generator, and the next you were almost another victim of the masked killer, Jason. You surely would have perished right then and there if Two Time hadn't grabbed you by the arm, pulling you behind them as they took the blunt of the attack.

As you relived the events again in your head, a shuddered breath left the cultist sitting in front of you. Snapping out of your daze, you muttered an apology. You didn't want them to be hurt, to have put their life on the line for you.

"The Spawn would be pleased in knowing you're safe."

Two Time spoke, tilting their head back and smiling your way. It was pained.

Deep down you knew they would do anything for you, but you couldn't help but feel guilty. Even "The Spawn" seemed to encourage Two Time's efforts despite the pain that came with it. So wordlessly you shook your head.

You leaned forward, placing a soft but fleeting kiss just in-between their wings. Their posture stiffened at your actions, almost making you wonder if you had upset or even worse, hurt them. But they soon relaxed, releasing a sigh of contentment. You took notice of the way their face blossomed in color.

A wave of silence washed between you two. However as your finger traced shapes along their shoulder, your partner spoke up again, although a bit quiet.

"Perhaps they would be pleased with my safety as well.."

Their muttering, that small revelation—it brought a smile to your face. Carefully you leaned in and placed a kiss on their cheek, causing them to chuckle. They're devoted to The Spawn, but to you as well. Even if it conflicts, they'll try and make you happy <3

[esmedelacroix]

01 - Details

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse, suggestive

fic radio ! Crybaby by SZA

Ohio State University, Autumn of Senior Year

To say that you didn't change would be an understatement. You felt too much guilt when you got to school. So at college, you were the same straight-A, (seemingly)perfect girl. You were the complete opposite of the people in your friend group. Then again, Shoko and Satoru were business majors; what were they doing in class anyway?

Suguru was the only one who shared your struggles to an extent as a philosophy major. Even so, he didn't care about his grades as much as you did yours. During your entire college experience, you didn't go to a single party. It was always extra studying for you. But you weren't a complete troglodyte. You went out to eat with your friends—occasionally.

They also had a habit of breaking into your dorm and closing your books and laptop, forcing the hangouts. You couldn't risk that happening because you were preparing to wow your professors with your knowledge as an Ancient History and Classics major. Being your extra self, you also double majored in English and already wanted to get a head start on your writing assignments.

You went where you knew they couldn't find you. The library at the least popular end of campus was where all the try-hards, like yourself, studied. The library was busy, of course, and there was one more study room left, so you signed your name in the time slot and snagged the last room. You had documents strewn on the table with your laptop open, playing the classical piece you needed to analyze on repeat.

After about 30 minutes of complete peace and productivity. You turned your head towards the clear glass of the study room to see a scary man standing at the door. Just staring. At you.

That man was Ryomen Sukuna. The charismatic campus heartthrob and stereotypical quarterback of the football. He was also the school's resident airhead along with his partner in crime, Toji Fushiguro. You had heard rumors about the numerous women seen leaving his room and the alleged Eiffel Towers he partook in with Toji. It didn't help that he was in the same frat as Satoru. The sole reason why you never visited him and Suguru. But what the hell was he doing here?

You look around warily before getting up and opening the door. “Um . . . Can I help you?” you questioned.

“Let’s share this room.”

“I have it signed out for this time though. I wrote my name on the sign-up sheet,” you reasoned.

“Doesn’t matter. The librarians like me so they won’t mind and I see you’re not using your whiteboard. ‘S all I need,” he sighed rubbing the back of his neck tiredly.

“Okay,” you hesitatantly agreed, stepping aside for him to walk in.

You stayed silent as you felt him tower over you. He barely squeezed past the small space you left him to enter. The smell he left was a combination of musk, oud, cedar, and amber. He smelled like a warm home with a cozy fire crackling. As much as you hated to admit it, just like every other girl on earth, you were weak for Ryomen Sukuna. The way his pecs and muscular back poked out of his shirt like mountains emerging from the fog had you aching for him in a way that made you feel ashamed.

His light pink tufts of hair looked so soft and his jaw oh so sharp. You could see a plethora of tattoos adorning his arms. Your eyes followed them as they led into his shirt. Part of you wondered just how much of his body was tatted.

If you squinted you could see his abs peek through the fabric of his white t-shirt. He was so much taller and bigger than you. You felt dominated and you hadn’t even exchanged many words.

You watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he uncapped the pink marker you had on the table and jotted down problems.

You then realized that you hadn't moved from where you were before because you were staring. Pulling yourself from his trance, you closed that door and took your seat. You'd occasionally look up from the fifteen-page essay you were writing and see that Sukuna had written the most complicated math problem you had ever seen in small-print, neat handwriting. The way he handled and solved the problem was so organized you almost felt like you understood it.

You looked down at your hand written notes and annotation riddled documents. Your fatal flaw was your illegible handwriting. It was practically hieroglyphics to everyone but you.

After twenty minutes, Sukuna finished his problem that practically covered the whole board and took a brain break sitting across from you. "What's with the music?" he asked.

"I'm analyzing it for a class. Not a fan?" you replied, eyes still glued to your laptop as you typed.

"No, I like Hymn to Vena. It's one of Gustav Holst's best pieces," he admitted.

"You know classical music?" you questioned in shock finally looking up at him. You met his piercing wine-colored eyes.

"Well I'm not completely braindead yet," he shrugged.

"I didn't know you were so historically seasoned and . . . mathematically inclined," you admitted, gesturing towards the solved complex equation on the board.

"Ah, that's nothing. I'm actually in your Intro to Classical Music class so I’m doing the same paper.”

"Wait. Really?"

"Yeah, I just sit in the back and you sit in the front," he smirked.

"First of all, there is nothing wrong with sitting in the front. Secondly, I had no idea you were in my class. I'm the worst," you smiled apologetically.

"You're good. I can't write for shit so I haven't even started the paper," Sukuna admitted leaning back in his chair and resting his large hands behind his head.

"It's due next week, Sukuna!" you exclaimed in disbelief. He noted the way your nose wrinkled when you cringed. And the way you looked away when you tried not to laugh at his jokes.

"It's no biggie. I'll just pay a writing tutor to do it for me," he said, getting up and grabbing a teal EXPO marker from your pencil pouch. This guy is too comfortable.

"I'm a writing tutor," you revealed with an unimpressed look.

"Well, then you just made my life a whole lot easier. Can you write my essay about Pas de Deux for me?" he questioned.

"No, Sukuna! I'm not writing your essay for you. You didn't even say please. I could tutor you but that's about it," you offered.

"C'mon let's work something out here," he bargained.

"What could you possibly offer me?" you quite condescendingly challenged.

"Well, I know that the only class you're not the top in is our Advanced Multi-variable Calculus class," he smugly stated.

"And how would you know that smarty-pants?” you retorted. Our? He's in that class too?

"'Cause I am, you ding-dong," he chuckled. Ryomen Sukuna is at the top of our math class? I thought people were lying when they said he was a math major!

"Okay so you want us to tutor each other?" you questioned.

"I was thinking more of a 'do each other's work' arrangement," Sukuna reasoned, he had a stupid smirk plastered on his stupid perfect lips. He quirked one of his beautiful perfect brows. It had a scar across it that you found very attractive for whatever reason. He's totally putting the moves on me, you thought.

"No."

"Okay, how about I teach you the math, you write my essay?"

"No."

"Okay . . . You just write my essay and I do your math work and get you into the Pi Kappa Alpha[fraternity name] parties? Final offer," he proposed.

"I think you're mistaken, Sukuna. I do not go to parties. I do not break the academic integrity rules put in place by the university, and I would much rather get 70s on my math tests than ever get my work done by someone else," you snapped. He didn't want to admit it, but he was impressed by your ability to talk back to him. He had never been told off like that.

"Oh, fine. We can tutor each other," he sighed rolling his eyes.

"Good," you smiled. He shook his head in disbelief and wrote down an even more complex problem on the board and began solving it occasionally grumbling under his breath when the two of you met eyes. He wasn't actually annoyed. In fact, he was intrigued. He had waited this long to interact with you and now he didn't want to stop.

"You're a real piece of work _____," he teased, as the time slot for the room finally ran out.

"Am I Sukuna? Or am I just the first woman to say no to you?" you quipped.

He smiled and shrugged, "Somethin' like that." You hated to admit it but, he had a really cute smile. His resting face made him look like he could kill everything in sight. His smile softened his facial features. It wasn't that fake cocky smile he put on to seem hot or be a tease. It was a real genuine smile. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Ugh, why do I need to be like all the other girls that pine for him?

The two of you left the room after packing all your stuff. You gave Sukuna your number and email on a sticky note. "Text me when you want to study again. Sorry about my handwriting by the way," you apologized sheepishly.

"What do you mean? I can read it just fine," he questioned.

Wow, he might be the only one on the planet, you thought as the two of you left the library side by side.

"You don't need to lie, Sukuna," you joked.

"Just Ryo is fine," he corrected.

"Okay Ryomen," you smiled.

He rolled his eyes playfully at you saying his full name instead. Internally he knew: he liked the way you disobeyed him. He found the way you smiled to yourself trying not to laugh after making a joke cute.

It was all in the details. The way you sat in the front of the class every day with a notebook out. The way you impressively scribbled notes while still looking at the board.

He memorized the way you chewed on your pen and bounced your leg whenever you did an exam. The way you always participated. Staying after to help the professor clean up. Going to office hours. You were friendly and bantering with all your teachers. But somehow in an effortless charismatic way and not a ‘pick me’ way.

You didn't know, but he stared holes into your back in every single class. He was amused just staring at your back. Though he knew you wouldn't be there he looked for you in the large sea of people in the stadium. He watched you succeed and rise to the challenge. Listening in on your musical analysis in class he was mesmerized. He just wanted to wander through your mind. Maybe then he could be just as great as you.

In his short interaction with you, he made a realization. You weren't the preppy, bubbly, sweet girl he made you up to be in his mind. You were kind of a bitch. In the hottest way possible. That made you all the better. He needed more and more of you.

. . .

-> next part

@minasuniverse @not-a-glad-gladiator @love-me-satoru @sukunawhores @emoedgylord @domainofmarie @sadrna @lazylunarlover @tamishadawn @boudoirbae @river-vixenn @bitchyfestivalbouquet @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @clp-84 @emochosoluvr @yoongithebean @linaaeatsfamilies @magalimachete @chubbydumplingbarnes @katsukiseyebrows

comment to be added to the taglist !

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Re: Lack of Raverne in Book 7's ending with all the memories of the people.

I noticed TWST does this thing sometimes where they purposefully won't bring up certain people in parts where they really should be brought up and talked about - or even if they are brought up, they're not really explained in depth - because those people will be revealed/introduced in full later. Case in point: Idia's parents. I remember when Book 6 rolled around, iirc Idia's parents were never mentioned in Idia and Ortho's backstory during the OB, and many fans thought they were neglectful because of it. But then Book 7 rolled around, their parents do get introduced and we see they're nothing but loving and supportive of both their sons, and they were among the MVP's of Book 7.

So perhaps the very noticeable lack of Malleus's father is supposed to be an implication that Raverne is alive, and that we will be seeing him, one way or another, eventually?

coughsinCrowleyisRavernetheory

In all seriousness, that being said, I very much agree with what you said. It's one thing for the game to purposefully not show somebody at a certain time - it's another thing for the game to do so in a situation where not showing them is a plot hole of sorts. Why wouldn't Raverne be where his wife was?? Was he just never in Wild Rose Castle?? I don't think someone has to be dead in order for them to appear as a memory??

[You can read my thoughts on the book 7 finale here!]

The Shroud parents may not have been present in Idia's post-OB flashback, but Idia does talk about them in book 6! It was a combination of their lack of presence in his backstory + the disparaging things Idia said about his parents ("they care more about getting results than their own son's feelings," or something to that effect) that led many fans--including myself--to think that maybe the Shroud parents were neglectful. Then the Shroud parents appear in book 7, and we see that even Mr. Shroud (who was previously described as cold and calculating) is loving, and both Shroud parents are accepting of Ortho. It can feel like a retcon to some people, but to others, this is easily explained by citing Idia's usually negative frame of mind and how that biases how he sees and presents others. I find myself split down the middle, personally. In any case, I don't think it's a good writing choice to just... not bring up people who really SHOULD be brought up. Should you not at least properly foreshadow now or at least remind us of that thread??? It doesn't read as clever to just not address it or even mention it at all, it comes off as shoving plot holes or other important details into the corner and ignoring it in favor of focusing on something else. This happened with the Shroud parents, and it happened with the end of book 7.

adlhbabyoryqe8foia IS THE CROWLEY = RAVERNE THEORY STILL... AROUND... I thought it would have calmed down a little by now, but it seems to still be going as strong as ever. (If this ends up being Real, then I'm of the opinion that Crowley could have had a brief aside or some ominous/telling line foreshadowing this at the end of book 7. Currently, we don't have anything like that.)

I've been thinking about it and thinking about it, and I STILL don't understand how that ending scene logistically worked out. Barring my confusion with how Lilia's UM worked (how are both humans and fae that resided in the castle at different points in time are having peaceful memories there??), why did Maleanor, the Dawn Knight, and Leah appear but not Raverne???? Nameless NPC soldiers showed up too, but not Raverne???? Doesn’t that imply that there is not a single memory associated with Raverne in Castle Wildrose that Lilia can summon OTL B-But surely he was there at least once, seeing as he's a diplomat? Literally described as “her highness Maleanor’s eyes, hands, and feet"???? And that's his WIFE???? Please make this make sense, because it doesn't no matter how much I try to wrap my mind around it 😭

[freyito]

ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅʏ, ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅʏ

✭ pairing(s): boothill x ftm reader

★ in which: you aren't quite happy with the IPC's description of you on your wanted poster.

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

✧ a/n: had a random wave of dysphoria so like now u guys r stuck with this. im writing like 12 different things at once SORRRYYYY i also havent written ftm reader in 5evar so like... i started this blog cause of that!!! im a traitor to my own dream!!!!!!!

🗒 cw: ftm reader, dysphoria, insecurity, anxiety, hurt/comfort, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.8k

‘Wanted’ the poster reads, ‘Dead or Alive’.

‘For the sum of 750,000 Credits’

‘Issued by the Interasterial Peace Corporation’

‘Seen with Boothill, The Galaxy Ranger…’

You were starting to wonder when you’d be getting a bounty. You’ve been by Boothill’s side for almost every escapade in the last year, including robberies and such. Not that you were looking forward to receiving a price on your head, being wanted isn’t something you’d want to gloat about. Still, you couldn’t help but be curious about the paper in your hands.

‘Female’–

– That’s enough of that. You grimace and crumple up the paper, balling it up. What a waste of ink, anyways. How many more of these did they print? There was absolutely no world in which you looked that feminine, right? No, you shouldn’t worry about what they think of you, regardless. It’s not like they matter much to you. 

But… it does bother you. You can’t deny that. No matter how much you try to tell yourself it shouldn’t, you are met with that all too familiar feeling, the one that settles in your gut and sinks its claws into your mind. It has been a long, long time since you’ve felt like this. The life you had been living with Boothill didn’t really give you time to feel insecure, nor did you have to worry about wandering eyes. Most of your time was spent with him in his ship, or hotels and motels, if the bounty or heist allowed it. The thought of eyes on you– it didn’t matter if you knew them or didn’t– started to sting. 

Uncrumpling the poster, you roll it open and look at it again, unsure of what you’ll find. The face that stares back at you is undoubtedly feminine, lashes accentuated to sell the look. While it was only a sketch of you, given the fact that you had done well to hide your body (unlike a certain someone) and face, they could only guess what you looked like, via blurry security feeds and videos posted to social media. Still, that felt like there was no excuse for the way they portrayed you. It made you feel sick.

“Who’s this handsome devil?” Boothill’s voice breaks you out of your slump, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, looking down at the poster in your hands.

No matter how much comfort you have found in Boothill in the past, you cannot find the warmth you usually had found in his hands. You don’t respond, crumpling the paper back up and pulling away from Boothill’s arms, walking off without a word.

He blinks. And stares, watching you walk off to your shared room. Not once have you acted this way with him, and worry sparks through his wires. As much as he wants to catch up with you, turn you around, and apologize for anything he could’ve done, he decides to stay still. If it were something he had done, he’s sure that you’d tell him, but he wasn’t sure what to do after you just… brushed him off like that.

With a huff, he runs his hand through his hair, deciding to give you some space. 

.  * 　　　 ✦     .     　⁺ 　 .

You spend a rather long time in the bathroom, pulling your shirt back tightly to look at your chest. Even with a binder, your chest felt prominent. The last time you did this was back when you were a teen, still figuring out what had worked for you. With no help and no sense of identity, simply seeing the size of your chest – binded or not – hurt like hell. Your mind had taken the idea that you would never be masculine and ran with it. And here you are, once more. Your face contorting in disgust, reacting before your mind did.

“Eugh,” You finally voice out, letting go of your shirt. When you face yourself in the mirror, all you can see is that goddamn sketch. Your shoulders were too small, your hips were too pronounced, your chest– it all disgusted you. What kind of man looked like this? Who would call this a man?

Your fists clench and you wrench your gaze away from the mirror, shutting your eyes tightly. You didn’t have to fit the stereotypical look of masculinity, you told yourself, over and over again. You were fine with it before. You were. Why now? Had you truly been so isolated and insecure that a wanted poster– issued by the shitbox of the universe– made you feel this way? Made your gut twist and your mind run with such agonizing thoughts– does Boothill see you this way?

Ah. He must. You think. But you don’t want to. He had been so openly supportive of you, practically shoving credits in your hands to get your Testosterone started. Yet, logic wars with insecurity, and the uglier one is winning. You want to throw up, just the thought of him seeing you as anything but yourself makes your head spin. Just like that, it seems you will be showering in the dark for the time being.

You’ll only make it worse if you decide to mope any longer. What better way to ignore your problems and the unsettling guilt of being you than a nap? When you stepped out of the bathroom, however, Boothill was leaning up against the door frame of the bedroom. His arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Darlin’...” He drawls, worry dripping in his tone as he pushes off of the frame. You shrink back, just about ready to lock yourself in the bathroom instead. “I ain’t gonna push… but ya gotta talk to me. What’s goin’ on?”

Your throat suddenly feels tight, and your hand falls to the button to close the door to the bathroom. You feel so childish, wanting to hide away. Serious conversations with Boothill are rare, and part of you was just not ready to talk about such things with him. Not that he wouldn’t understand, but the fact that the thought of him seeing you in a different light was still fresh in your mind. Your hand freezes however, as you take another look at Boothill. He doesn’t move from his spot by the bed, waiting for your reaction like you were a scared dog.

You want, so badly, to tell him that it’s nothing, swallow it, and get on with your nap. Pretend it truly didn’t matter. After all, it was one poster. A sketch. Perhaps you really were just that insecure. That thought alone makes you sink into yourself, and Boothill takes notice. But he doesn’t move, unsure of what you want, torn between what he wants to do– pull you close and press a kiss to the crown of your head, as cliche as it was– and what he thinks you want.

His face softens with a look that your mind translates to pity. It makes your body feel heavy, phantom nausea reaching your stomach once more. Regardless of this, you brave your insecurities and take a step forward. He relaxes a little at that, giving you a gentle smile.

“I… just kinda wanna take a nap, right now,” You huff finally, doing your best to ignore the heavy weight that settled into your skin.

“Alright sugar, then we’ll take a nap– You’re okay if I join you, right?” He catches himself as he realizes he invited himself, fidgeting with his fingers as he tries to play it cool, not wanting to be seen as overbearing.

“... Yeah, sure,” You yourself try to act nonchalant, toeing off your socks before climbing onto the bed.

Boothill follows you without another word, all too eager, a simple act of intimacy soothing the sting he was left with when you brushed him off earlier. He takes his place behind you, dropping his arm over you, hand splaying just beneath your sternum. You swallow the weight in your throat, before grabbing his hand and pulling it away. Behind you, a small sound of confusion escapes Boothill, propping himself up on his forearm.

“Hey, hey, do you not want me touchin’ you?” His voice is soft, and for some reason, it pulls at your heartstrings. “That’s okay ‘n’ all, but I’m startin’ to get real worried, sweetheart…”

“No, no, it’s not that. I think,” You finally turn around, meeting his gaze.

“You think?”

“... I think.”

Finally, his mind puts two and two together. You can see the metaphorical light bulb go off in his eyes.

“Oh, is this about that poster? Don’t think that reward is high enough– sorry, bad joke,”

It does get you to chuckle, and the sight of your smile, even as dim as it was, made Boothill melt. “No, no… It’s fine. But no– well, yeah, it’s about the poster.”

“Then what about it?”

“... Uhm, well…” You finally turn all the way over, laying on your back and looking up at Boothill. His gaze doesn’t falter, still soft and warm. “Do I look like a woman to you? Am I too feminine?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” He softens even further, reaching up and pushing a strand of your hair away from your face, eyes closing as lets out a half-huff, half-laugh. “No. No you don’t. What’d they do to make you think all that?”

“Printed ‘female’ for the description. Made my face look even more feminine,”

“Well they haven’t seen ya, have they? You ain’t exactly… how do I say this… ‘out there’,”

“I know. But it just… I dunno. Annoyed me. Hurt a little.”

“What are ya gonna do, sugar? Gonna walk in there and tell ‘em to change it?”

You can’t help but chuckle, and in turn, Boothill leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, lips lingering. You can feel his smile form against your skin.

“Nah. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life behind bars. Kinda like runnin’ around with you, anyways.”

“That’s my boy,” He says with pride, pulling back, his smile turned more confident. “They’ll get it, eventually. Ain’t like they matter much."

“I know, I know. I guess it kinda damaged my ego a bit.”

“Oh, I can tell,” He pressed another kiss to your forehead, before wrapping his arm around your stomach, pulling you closer so your back was pressed against his chest. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it, either. Got a pretty good reason to be hurt over it. Buuut, the IPC don’t matter much, do they?”

“... They don’t, no.”

“Then there’s no need to worry about how they see ya.” Another kiss to your cheek, then to your jawline, then your neck. The kisses turn ticklish, causing you to squirm a little and laugh under his touch. He only pulls you closer, not allowing you a chance to escape him this time. “And, just so ya know, I quite like runnin’ around with ya too. Galaxy’s a whole lot more beautiful with ya by my side, ya know?”

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[emichanted]

Hello hello! Could we please get some headcanons about Atsushi, Kunikida and Dazai(ADA) having a crush on reader that's part of the mafia?

➷ Hearts In Rivalry

Synopsis: Dazai, Kunikida & Atsushi fall in love with the PortMafia!Reader.(All seperate)

Contains: slightly OOC characters, talk of Dazai's "jokes" (double su!c!de). NOT PROOFREAD!!

A/N: thank you so much for this request! I love writing anything for my babygirl Kunikida hshdgd <3

Kunikida:

Kunikida is initially conflicted about his feelings because of the rivalry between the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia. He admires your strength and determination but struggles with the idea of being involved with someone from the enemy side.

He often finds himself stealing glances at you during missions, noting how effortlessly you handle tough situations. He might even catch himself daydreaming about what it would be like if you were on the same side.

Curses himself when he realises his feelings as it goes against his ideals.

Kunikida isn't really a words person, he'd rather buy you a cup of coffe after a long day of work than say anything out loud.

He values your intelligence and would often ask you for your opinion on strategies whenever the ADA and PM have to work together.

When he finally admits his feelings, it’s during a serious fight, where he cannot risk either of you... (He doesn't want to think about it)... Before you find out how he feels for you.

Dazai:

Dazai would playfully flirt with you, using his charm and wit to get your attention. He enjoys the thrill of interacting with someone from the Port Mafia, seeing it as a challenge.

He often teases you about your role in the Mafia, making light of the situation to mask his deeper feelings. However, his playful demeanor hides a genuine admiration for your skills and independence.

He often asks you questions about life in the PM, even though he's been in it before, just to be able to have a conversation with you. (And he is kind of curious how much it's changed since he left.)

Dazai might go out of his way to create situations where the two of you end up alone, using his cunning to manipulate circumstances. He enjoys the idea of being your ‘hero’ even if it’s just for a moment.

Always makes jokes about committing together, earning a confused and worried look from you. You can never tell if he's joking or not, but he won't tell you that either.

When he confesses, it is dramatic, during a tense moment where he risks his life to save you, making it clear that you mean more to him than just a game.

Atsushi:

Atsushi would be shy and nervous around you, often fumbling his words or blushing when you’re near.

He admires your strength and confidence, feeling a bit insecure about himself in comparison.

He might try to impress you by showcasing his abilities, hoping to prove that he can be just as strong and capable, even if he’s on the opposite side.

Atsushi would be very supportive, always ready to help you out with any challenges you face, whether in the Mafia or personal matters.

He's just a little kind cutie and wants to help you. So what if you're his "enemy"?

When he finally gathers the courage to confess, it's heartfelt and sincere. He asked you to meet with him somewhere peaceful and quiet, and pours his heart out to you, hoping you might return even just a sliver of his feelings.

A/N: KUNIKIDAAAA (I'm so normal about him I swear) I love my man SM old it hurts my bedroom is full of his merch 😭🙏

But anyway I hope this was to your liking, I definitely had fun writing this !! :3

Masterlist.

[velvet4510]

It is so ridiculous that Apocalypse wants us to believe that hiding out among humans in a life where he can’t be himself or help his fellow mutants every day was Erik’s one and only option after the White House incident. He’s a fugitive from the U.S. government for pretty much the entire OG trilogy, and you don’t see that stopping him from pursuing his goals.

I just get livid when people are like “yeah but he was a fugitive” and “he wanted a normal life” as if that is a sensible defense of Erik’s OOC behavior in the entirety of Apocalypse. Erik left behind his hopes of normalcy long before he met Charles; “peace was never an option” was a lesson he already learned. He literally SAYS that in First Class. He doesn’t WANT to be “normal” anymore; in fact that’s the antithesis of what he wants. He wants to be himself AND create a world where his fellow mutants can also be themselves. And he’s certainly not going to allow the human government’s manhunts to make a coward out of him.

Dozens of fanfics written before Apocalypse came out all depict Erik continuing his fight in the shadows. In many of them, he briefly sneaks into the mansion once in a while to see Charles but never stays for long to avoid leading the authorities to the school. But he never lets his fugitive status stop him from helping mutants. Multiple fics portray him as the one who finds and rescues young Kurt from the circus and brings him to safety at Charles’ school, which itself is a far more plausible introduction of Kurt to Charles than what Apocalypse gave us.

Literally nobody predicted that in the next movie, Erik would have given up his fight completely and shacked up with some random human, because everybody was aware that the Erik we know would never do that at that point in his story. The time for the films to show him trying to have a normal life and family was in First Class, and once they passed up that chance, it was FAR too late to write Magda and Anya/Nina into his onscreen journey ever again.

[rafayelridesfisheatsfish]

A very far fetched headcanon/AU of mine is Xavier and Sylus are siblings and not just because they have the same hair color. Here's why.

Contains: Tyrannicide sylus with a soft spot for his little brother🤷‍♀️ spoilers of Xavier's and Sylus myth, long awaited revelry and Sylus anecdote

I've always felt like Sylus' standard myth was lacking, I mean, the other LI'S myth consists of a magical feel with a tragic but beautiful ending while Sylus' myth was...boxing? Aren't myths supposed to be special? Pretty sure boxing is just a normal daily occurrence for Sylus so I made my own myth for him. One that overlaps with Xavier's standard myth but takes place after his dragon myth.

In this AU Sylus is Xavier's older brother thus making him a Royal Prince, also the eldest making him first in line to the throne. This is a half baked au so for some reason, Sylus doesn't remember his dragon past life yet. Now Sylus, just like Xavier never wanted to to bear the weight of the crown, where they differ is how they rebel against their family.

Sylus upon finding out about the royal families secrets (feeding humans to the planet) ran away and turned to a life of crime becoming a space pirate leaving Xavier to bear the weight of the crown alone. This is where Sylus starts his space pirate journey where he pillages planets, specifically going after other Royals (his anecdote) and takes back what they've stolen from other planets to give back. He saves his parents for last, he wants them to live in fear of him, of what they know is bound to happen to them, he wants them to look around to their other Royal equals and see them fall with the knowledge that they'll succumb to the same fate or so he says to himself, really it's because he wants his beloved little brother to live normally (well as normal as he can when he's a prince) to live in peace even for just a little bit because he knows his beloved little brother is innocent and is being kept in the dark just like he was, he plans to spare him.

Finally, when he's rid the galaxy of Royals and burned their castles, It was time to go after his own royal blood. But the one that sits on the throne was not his parents, it was mc. At this point, he still hasn't remembered their past life. Mc recognises him as the eldest prince and asks him why he's returned, Sylus still confused that his family is nowhere to be found asks about them, with notably much more care when asking about his brother. He learns of Xavier's journey through space and time with the back trackers and all of a sudden, his bloodlust for his parents disappeared. "worried" would be an understatement to what Sylus is feeling for his brother, he's been all through space, he knows how dangerous it is out there and so he follows him.

The N109 Zone meets it's true ruler with Sylus' arrival but Sylus hardly cares about any of that, he's focused on looking for his little brother but Xavier is elusive, changing identities every now and then and easily slipping through operations with the help of Jeremiah. It's only when this foolish girl with an aether core sells her soul to him that he finally finds his brother through her connections, so he entertains her, he shows up, prevents her from getting shot and attempts to resonates with her. When their energies synced together and resonated even for just a moment, he remembered his past life and his beloved sorceress.

Authors note: Bye this sucks and is so half assed, there's so many missing details I just CANT articulate rn so I'll maybe probably edit this when I'm not burnt out. I just really needed to get this out or my brain would've rotted with it💀🙏 YALL I'M SCARED THIS IS MY FIRST TIME POSTING MY WRITING FOR THIS FANDOM DONT JUMP ME PLEASE💔💔🙏🙏🙏 THIS IS UNEDITED💀

[littlest-w01f]

Desolated

Cassian x Reader

For @starfallweek [hosted by: @azsazz and @writingsbychlo]

Starfall Week 2025 Masterlist

Day 2 - Character A has a little too much to drink during the festivities, leaving Character B to take care of them. Or maybe not.

Summary: Everyone was having fun, enjoying the party in the House of Winds. everyone had someone, but you. Everyone was happy with the new additions to your family, but you.

Cw: Angstttt, mentions of torture

a/n: The... The way I started sobbing writing this omg, what have I done... I hate angst but it's so good

You pour another glass full of wine as you watch the Inner Circle mingle about and laugh, enjoying the festivities as the sky rained down with stars. The night was peaceful, your mind was anything but.

You never thought you would be one of those females who got bitter over a male, but here you sat, looking at Cassian with his arm slung around Nesta. You could do nothing, they were mates, and the thought made you want to scream and cry. It was unfair, you had been there for Cassian for five centuries, then the Archeron came along and he followed her around the second he laid eyes on her.

You hated the thought of hating her even more, it wasn't her fault she was broken by life, you had been too, but you hated how she had to heal with him. You had been Cassian's, but he wasn't yours, not anymore. Even this House you had called your home for so long was brought alive by Nesta, as much as you loved your family, you couldn't help but feel replaced, at how easily Nesta had taken up your space in the family, made you wonder if you had any to begin with.

As you gazed into the depths of your wine glass, the rich burgundy hue seemed to mirror the turmoil within you. The clinking of glasses and muffled laughter from the party faded into background noise, replaced by the relentless pounding of your heart against your ribcage, tears fell freely from your eyes, mixing with the wine as you drank to numb the pain, only making you fall into despair more.

A part of you had hoped that Nesta would reject the bond while consumed by haterade of your family, you really had when she figured out you loved Cassian. But mates always came together in the end, the thought stung more than the scars on your back, they were a proper mated pair now, Rhysand had paid for their ceremony, and you had been there, watching Cassian vow aloud to another what you had to him in silence. Only, Nesta wasn't another, you were. Nesta was his mate, his other half. You just were.

You drowned out your sniffle with another sip, your mind fully foggy with the alcohol, your tears made the drink far more salty. You were salty. How had Cassian not seen you? You had been his first, he had kissed the burn wounds on your back to make you feel better about how you never got to have your wings. Your brother, Azriel, lost the proper use of his hands, but your half-brothers had burned your wings weeks after you were born while they were still on your back.

But now, as you watched him laugh and dance with Nesta under the starlit sky, you couldn't shake the feeling that all those moments, all those whispers and kisses, had been for nothing. That Cassian's love, once solely yours, had been eclipsed by the arrival of this new, broken soul who needed him, and he had rolled over for her every time, despite how she'd insulted him and pushed him away, he seemed to fall for her even more.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself as you swirled the remaining liquid in your glass. The bitter taste mingled with the salt of your tears, a potent reminder of the sorrow that threatened to consume you whole. In the distance, the music continued to play, a lively tune that seemed to mock your misery with its carefree rhythm.

The weight of unshed tears felt like leaden pearls in your throat, choking off any hope of forming coherent thoughts. You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the crimson liquid coat the sides before slowly dripping back into the depths, much like the way Cassian's affections had drained away from you and onto Nesta.

It hurt to remember how you used to crave his touch, the gentle way he'd stroke your scarred back, whispering words of comfort and reassurance. Those intimate moments now felt tainted, sullied by the knowledge that he had bestowed similar affection upon someone else. Someone who didn't bear the same scars, the same history as you did.

Perhaps that's what it was, she wasn't physically scared, physically she was as flawless as any High Fae, while you were a broken mess of burns, cuts and lashes, your tortured story lived on your skin, perhaps he just needed someone who was just as beautiful as he was, and you just weren't it for him.

The cruel truth of your own self-deprecation hung heavy in the air, a tangible manifestation of the toxic thoughts swirling in your mind, a sane part of you knew it was the wine talking, but that part wasn't in charge of you now. As you gazed down at your reflection in the wine-stained glass, the shadows cast by the flickering torchlight accentuated the lines of pain etched across your face, a topography of suffering that mirrored the anguish in your heart.

"You're right," You whispered, the words barely audible over the distant strains of music. "I'm not beautiful. Not pretty enough..." The admission stung, a razor-sharp blade twisting in the wound of your shattered pride. You forced yourself to meet your gaze, to confront the ravaged visage staring back at you.

A broken sob left your lips, "For... For him..." You covered your mouth with your free hand, your hand was covered in marks of your brothers' knives when they had wanted to check their sharpness. You just wanted to be loved, to be desired for all your scars and all your pain, not just by anyone, you wanted it to be him, you had let yourself believe it was going to be him.

"You'll never be enough for him," a voice inside your head hissed, a venomous serpent coiled tight around your heart. "Not with Nesta by his side. She's perfect, flawless, everything you're not." The words cut deeper than any whip ever could, slicing through your fragile sense of self-worth and leaving you bleeding out on the cold, unforgiving stone floor.

Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked as the cruel truth sank in, each drop a fresh betrayal, a stinging indictment of your unworthiness. "Foolish enough to give love freely, not worthy to receive it."

{General Taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86}

{Cassian Taglist- @yeonalie @nestastits}