#snoring tool

[successfulblackparenting]

Shhh... Mommy's Sleeping: How to Outsleep the Snorer and Outsmart the Night

by Janice Robinson-Celeste 6-minute read Let’s face it, mamas, we love our partners dearly, but some nights they sound less like soulmates and more like a symphony of chainsaws. When your partner snores like they’re trying to saw logs in their sleep, getting your much-needed rest can feel like a fantasy novel titled The Dream That Got Away. But don’t lose hope (or sleep). Thanks to Manta Sleep…

[crunchywho-comix]

What is my problem? Weight? Age? Species? This is stupid.

[chuulyssa]

── ★ the one bed trope™ with the squid game men

teaser the guards cleared out too many beds after the last game, assuming there are far fewer survivors than expected. so when your group stumbles into the dormitory, you realize the horrible truth: there’s only one bed for every two players, and your bed is missing!

starring inho gihun (drabbles) & daeho sangwoo ali (hcs) x gn!reader genre fluff fluff all fluff, some nightmares, some crack

a/n wasnt gonna watch s2 but then i saw the lee byunghyun edits and sjsjs theres only few chars here because i havent watched the whole season :( i dont think ill be watching the whole thing any time soon, jus waiting for s3 to drop before watching it all together

inho / youngil / the frontman / 001

youngil stared at the guards while you stared at the bed in front of you. it looked stiff and scratchy, and barely wide enough for one person, let alone two.

“we can share. i don’t mind,” he had said to you, though he had looked tense as well. he sat on the bed, allowing you to scoot over. he laid as close to the edge of the cot as possible.

“oh, it won’t be necessary.”

“well, what other choice do you have?”

you sighed and nodded, awkwardly laying down next to him on the bed. as your shoulders touched each other, he relaxed visibly, though he was still lying on the edge, and that scared you a little.

“stop lying on the edge like that. you’ll fall off,” you warned.

“i’m fine,” he mumbled, staring right up at the ceiling. you kept looking at him, not minding the three times he had glanced your way pointedly at all. “don’t stare.”

“hm, why not?”

“it makes me feel strange,” he said simply.

you nodded, your hands instinctively reaching to your arms to shield yourself from the cold. there was only one blanket with only one bed after all. next thing you knew, you felt the blanket being nudged towards you by youngil’s foot.

“i saw that; it’s not very subtle, you know.”

“what’s not very subtle?” he asked innocently. then he shifted his body closer to yours. “it’s not because of you, okay?” he muttered quietly. “i just didn’t feel like falling off.”

“are you asking for cuddles now?” you snickered.

“no,” he replied gruffly, though his eyes softened slightly at the sound of your silent laughter.

“nuh uh, i think you’re cold as well,” you lifted the blanket up to accommodate him as well. you then glanced at him expectantly. he hesitated for a moment before slipping under the blanket, taking the moment to tightly grasp your hand. you smiled, resting your head above his shoulder on the shared pillow.

you woke up in the middle of the night to find him softly murmuring your name in his sleep. he looked peaceful, beautifully so. you brushed your hand on his chest to wrap it around him, and felt him waking up as well.

“hush, go back to sleep,” you whispered to him, and he raised an eyebrow at nothing in particular. his eyes were still closed. then he let out a tiny giggle and tightened his grip on your hands.

the guards executed this one perfectly, right as per orders from the frontman; hwang inho will make sure to reward them later, but for now he’d rather stay in this shared bed with you by his side.

seong gihun / 456

“i guess it can’t be helped then,” gihun said simply, sitting you down on his bed and pulling the covers over you. “sorry if i snore by the way.”

“what do you mean? where will you be sleeping?”

“on the floor, of course.”

“no, you’re not,” you shook your head, patting the empty space beside you. “i still have some place left here for someone.”

“oh, then let me find someone who can’t find a partn—”

you pulled the man down onto the bed, his face crashing against the pillow. throwing the covers over him as well, you turned to face him, muttering, “you really aren’t the sharpest tool in the shed.”

“no, uhm, what if i hog the blanket? that would be unpleasant—”

“i can live with that.”

gihun blinked rapidly. “i don’t think i should be sleeping. what if someone attacks?”

“relax, they’re keeping watch.”

“i think i should keep watch with them,” gihun gulped at your proximity.

“well, i don’t. and you need sleep; have you seen yourself?” you laughed.

gihun beamed at the sound. “then how about I tell you a story?”

“a story?”

“yeah, to make you happy.”

“why though?” you said tiredly.

“to make you laugh. i like seeing you laugh,” he said genuinely, and you nodded in response. his eyes lit up and he began, “so there was this one cow, and it had a baby cat—”

…

“gihun?”

he snored.

“gihun!”

he snored again.

did he really fall asleep mid-sentence? you sighed, shaking your head before snuggling up to him. he unconsciously draped an arm over you in his sleep.

throughout the night, he kept tossing and turning, before—

smack !

you clutched your face where gihun’s hand had just made contact. before letting out the loud cuss you wanted to, you peeked over to see if he was asleep. and sure enough, if the snores hadn’t let it be known earlier, then the closed eyes did.

“this dumbass,” you muttered, nuzzling your face into his side.

but what could you do either way? if you complained, he’d be mortified and force you to switch places, and you’d lose a chance to cuddle with him. so you instead figured the occasional smacking would be worth being the first person to see his hair sticking out in every direction with his sheepish grin in the morning.

a/n: i’ve only got hcs for the others; sorry guys i prefer my old men inho and gihun :P

daeho / 388

he insists on taking the less comfortable side of the bed

even if that meant he barely has any space MY GNELTMAN

at some point his hand will brush yours (because its an ff duh) and he’ll get all startled like :O

but he won’t move away because he decides he likes it

we all know the trauma this man carries :( so don’t be surprised when his grip on your hand loosens in the middle of the night and his face scrunches up because he’s having a nightmare

just please cuddle with him :(( he’ll try to play it off like it’s nothing but know better!

when you quietly offer comfort, his defenses will crumble, and he’ll whisper a quiet thank you to you

in the morning he’ll wake up before you and realize just how close the two of you are.

he’s been bearhugging you in his sleep and you’re reciprocating it? hes so confused like ??????? do you wanna get choked or sum yes you do

he’ll just quietly stare at you as if he’s in a daze. he’s got that lovesick smile and all, just silently looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen you are

he just as silently fixes the blanket on you because he wants to offer as much comfort as you did last night to him

then he’ll gently apologize to you for disturbing you, smiling to himself when you grumble in your sleep

sangwoo / 218

this little shit

he’ll pretend not to care about you or about the bed or about the entire situation at all

but you can see how he tries to be as subtle as possible when adjusting the pillow under your head to make sure you’re comfortable

you’re practically begging him to accept his feelings atp but this man is a menace

as soon as he saw the one bed he started calculating how much space you’ll take and how much he’ll get

if you shift closer in your sleep he’ll freeze for a moment but he won’t pull away

if you move a lot in your sleep he won’t say anything just yet

but expect to be bombarded with complaints when you wake up in the morning

he watches you out of the corner of his eye, something he describes as “just trying to protect you” by “keeping watch” but you know he’s just dazzled by your beauty who isnt

he’ll lie awake for a while staring up at that huge piggy bank that his future lies in, and he knows he can’t love you like he wants to, but he hopes that just this once his brain will accept what his heart feels

when the sunlight hits his face in the morning, he’ll look so peaceful that it makes even ali question his mood

all the while gihun is just staring in horror at sangwoo like he got some puss

ali / 199

THE POOKIEST POOKIE

he’s so shy UGH i jus wanna gobble him up sjsjsjkgnskjn

but he can’t help smiling softly when he realizes how comfortable you seem to be around him

he’ll offer to sleep on the cold hard floor and insists you take the blanket for yourself, but duh you don’t allow that

so with a grin on his face he lies down next to you

he asks you if you need more space at least 10 times, he’s that nervous

the blanket stays on you though, he can’t risk you feeling cold or uncomfy because of him GNELTMENANN

he’ll stay awake if you want someone to talk to, or to make sure you’re warm enough, or even just to admire you

but if you don’t want that, he’ll pull an aurora and fall asleep so quickly you don’t even realize it

his hand stays brushing against yours under the blanket though, and you feel so warm and fuzzy next to him

he’s a snuggler, so there’ll be times where he’ll shift very close to you in his sleep, not realizing the hand he’s keeping on your waist or the head he’s resting on your chest

someone points it out in the morning and he’s so flustered he apologizes profusely even though you keep telling him you didn’t mind it all

definitely says something like “i slept with you, remember?” because he doesn’t realize it’s an innuendo

© chuulyssa 2025 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[bi-writes]

sweet as simon's sugar-mommy <3 (18+) PREVIOUS

you trace a line down the side of his mask. he looks so peaceful when he sleeps, and he sleeps like a rock with you. snores all thick and low. you needed a nap after work, and you just curled up right here on the couch, and he just followed your lead. now it's dinner time, and you're hungry, but you don't want to wake him when he looks so cute.

as your hand falls over his lower stomach, you're reminded he's not so cute everywhere. nope, not cute...but delicious.

you wake him up with soft kisses to his cheek. you tease the band of his sweats, smoothing a palm over his happy little trail, and when he blinks his eyes open and turns his head towards you, you pucker your lips and slide a hand between his thick thighs.

"can i?" you purr, and simon sighs deeply. his blushes always show on his chest, pale skin burning a little pinker, and you giggle when he nudges his nose against yours.

it's heaven with you. you look so cute. bobbing your head, pretty lips wrapped around his cock, suckling on his tip all sloppy and wet. you pay special attention to the underside of him, wrapping your hand around the tip and tugging gently until he spurts hot cum onto your tongue.

it's all worth it when he cups your face to kiss you and you feel the sting of the ring he's wearing, white gold band on his thick finger on his left hand⏤just where it's meant to be.

you sit like that beside him at the dinner table, same smile on your face as you load his plate with veggies (you need more greens, baby) that you did putting his dick into your mouth not even an hour earlier.

he takes you to work now. you hate the manner in which he does, that obnoxious motorcycle that makes way too much noise, but you couldn't help yourself when his birthday came around. you saw the helmet in the boxes when he finally moved in (just until you get back on your feet, yeah?), and you woke him up that morning naked with the keys to the bike between your teeth.

if you fucked him with the helmet on later that day, too, well...no one had to know about that.

he's getting better at receiving your gifts. at first, you had to pretend they weren't gifts. when he came out of the shower, you'd hand him some new clothes, or he'd touch something on the shelf at the shops, and somehow he'd find it in the bags once you got back home. he learned slowly that giving him things was your love language; the shine in your eyes when you saw him using something you gave him made him warm all over.

you're still getting him used to baths, too. your bathroom has a magnificent tub--white porcelain, wide and large, jets, gold detailing. the first time you tried to get him to take a bath, he couldn't find it in himself to sit still like that and relax. he doesn't know how to relax.

your new strategy seems to work, though. you kick off your heels from work. simon's in the living room, his tools laid out on the coffee table. there's a disassembled handgun there, and he's oiling up one of the chambers when you lean over the couch and wrap your arms around his big shoulders. you kiss the side of his mask, watching him, getting a little too distracted watching a thick finger push into the cylinder slowly to clean it.

"hey, hot stuff," you coo in his ear. he grunts, looking away, but you hear the heavy swallow in his throat as he tries to be anything but bashful. "i'm exhausted. gonna get in the bath. wanna join me?"

simon doesn't say anything at first. he's still feeling it out, the relaxing part, but when he turns to look at you, you're unbuttoning your blouse and shimmying out of your work skirt. both fall at your feet, and when you unclasp your bra and toss it, the drop of your tits is enough to have him on his feet and following you into the bathroom.

simon always gets in first. he settles with his back against the far side, and then you get in. you make a show of bending over to sit, and simon snarls a little when he's facing the curve of your ass for just a beat too long. you lean back against his chest, letting the warm water and bubbles cover you both. his arms circle around your middle, and you close your eyes once the water has settled.

"feel nice?" you mumble. simon just shrugs, and you turn over a little until your chin rests on his shoulder. you cup the back of his neck, scratching as his cropped blonde hair with your nails, and he hums a little. your new manicure is simon-approved, it seems, and he leans into your hand as you drag the tips of your nails across his head and soothe him that way. "you deserve it, baby."

it's hard for him to hear it, but you try to say it anyways. there's good days and bad days. some days, it's failed cake recipes and good takeout and hours spent on the couch watching movies. he'll be smiling all day, enjoying the quiet and peace of his new life, and then you'll make love and take a long walk and sleep in the next morning.

other days, the pain in his back seems to hit him tenfold. the spasm in his knee acts up, and he'll falter a little, and he'll look ashamed when he has to take a seat, even if it means sliding down the nearest wall until he's sitting on the floor and cupping under his knee with a hiss. those days, you see a little less of simon riley, and a little more of something else. he looks defeated. you know he must feel useless. his body betrays him, but his mind knows better, and you know it kills him inside because he'll spend the rest of the day quiet and in another headspace.

it doesn't matter how much of himself he is that day. simon deserves it, you know he does. he deserves good food and expensive wine and nice things. he deserves hot baths and hydrating moisturizers and as much chocolate as he can stomach. he deserves messy kisses and more than one orgasm, and if you can give him even a fraction of it, it's money and time and love well-spent. simon has always been dealt the worst hand⏤he's earned this life of luxury.

"my..." simon clears his throat as you sit in his lap at your vanity, draping a cool face mask over his face. you're listening still, just concentrating on smoothing the edges of the face mask over his nose and along his cheeks, massaging the excess product into his neck. "my team is gonna be around next week. goin' to the pub. if..." simon swallows, and you meet his eyes. "if y'd like t'come..."

you smile a little.

"is this...your little task force?" you tease, and simon just purses his lips.

"just...they want t'meet you."

you put your hands on his shoulders, giggling. he looks so cute with the face mask on, and he's even cuter when he's being shy. those eyes are deadly--a killer's eyes, you know this deep down, but simon will never scare you. he's your big, soft teddy bear, and he sleeps in thousand thread-count cotton sheets now.

"you told them about me?"

he gives you that dead stare, but all it does is make you laugh. you scoop out a generous amount of body butter from a container on your vanity and start to massage it into his shoulders.

"you are so adorable, simon," you murmur, watching and feeling as the tension in his shoulders starts to melt under your warm touch. already, your fingers are working the knots out of his neck, and he leans towards you as they touch a particularly tender area. "right there, baby? oh..."

the conversation quiets. you're much too busy concentrating on pampering your sweet lieutenant.

simon's never been nervous seeing his team before, but he's also been out of service for more than a year now.

they have experiences without him now. life or death situations that they've survived together, without him. jokes and hours spent sleeping on dirt floors, places they've seen and people they've met, and simon's been here, sleeping in a king bed and learning about how much better his skin feels now that he uses that hyaluronic acid serum you gave him a few weeks ago.

he's got a ring on his finger now. there's a credit card in his new wallet (no more velcro, baby) that he doesn't pay for, and even his mask looks different now that you insist on daily rotations of them and frequent washes.

he's a pampered fucking prince, and he doesn't know whether they will laugh at him or not be able to recognize him.

which is worse?

they look the same. his captain still looks like a tired bear, and he still wears that awful hat. johnny still has a giggly grin on his face. kyle still is the one to retrieve the drinks so he can try and talk up some bird that he'll definitely take home later.

they still leave the spot closest to the corner with the wall to his back open for him.

"where's the missus?" john asks. he's nursing a warm drink, ice long melted, and simon scratches the back of his neck.

"workin'. she'll be 'ere soon."

you're on the phone when you walk in. hair clipped up out of your face, perfectly manicured hands holding the phone to your ear as you make your way inside. you walk very assertively, expensive purse over your shoulder, and johnny leans back to look you up and down as you finally come into view. you're wearing a perfectly tailored work suit, blazer over your forearm as you talk animatedly.

your eyes light up when you see simon. you wave at him, blowing him a kiss, and simon shuffles in his seat a little.

"bloody hell," kyle mutters, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "tha' her?"

"tha's her."

you get to the table just as a server brings drinks. he sets down the beers for the sergeants, another whiskey for their captain, but you put the phone aside as you pick up the bourbon and take a whiff of it.

"what is this?" you ask.

"bourbon."

you raise a brow. "really?" you laugh a little. "that's bottom shelf, honey. open up a good bottle, and⏤i'm sure he asked for it on the rocks, did you ask for it on the rocks, baby?"

"he did," johnny grins, and you smile at the server.

"and bring it on the rocks."

you tuck a few notes into the server's shirt pocket and look at captain price expectantly.

"you gonna move, captain, so i can sit next to my fiancé, or should i sit in your lap?" you raise a brow. "great to meet you, by the way. i've heard so much about you."

john chuckles, slipping out of the booth, and you hop up onto it after him. you cup simon's masked face and kiss him softly over it, rubbing a thumb under his eye.

"you alright?" you coo, and simon just nods. "you ate dinner, right? it looks like you didn't eat dinner⏤" the server comes back with the bourbon, on ice, and you hold up a finger, "⏤do you have a menu? you know what, it doesn't matter, just bring us some fish and chips. whatever you have."

johnny can't wipe the smile off his face. he nudges kyle with his elbow, looking at him with wiggly eyebrows, and kyle just chuckles.

you pick up simon's bourbon and take a sip of it, humming low.

"finally. some good fucking liquor."

you pass it to him with a wink before turning back to his team.

"alright, what did i miss?" you ask. you put your phone on silent, sticking it back into your purse, and you assume a relaxed place there in the booth, nails scratching along the back of simon's balaclava as you pay attention to the conversation. simon nearly purrs as you scratch him, leaning into your hand as his eyes flutter a little.

you are enchanting. johnny's enamored with the way you pay such attention to simon even when you're enraptured in conversation. you always keep a hand on him somehow, always showing him you're actively thinking about him with your fingers rubbing circles in the back of his hand or smoothing a touch over his head or leaning your cheek against his shoulder. always touching, always soothing him, always checking in even without words.

kyle notices the way simon is so relaxed. his shoulders are low, his eyes are lidded, and he doesn't fidget like he normally does. he's just leaning into you, completely at ease.

john adores the way you take charge. you always have an answer to everything, and you know exactly what you want. from just the drink you order to the way you talk about your new life, there is nothing timid or questioning about how you feel, about yourself or simon.

where you live? you have places in manchester and london, you come back and forth. are you really getting married? you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life. is simon really that pretty under the mask? he'd be in more magazines if he was out of your bed more often, probably.

on the way out, you pay the tab. you slide a heavy credit card over the table, and you don't even look at the receipt, just sign it quick and take simon's hand when you get outside, waiting for your car.

"you're always welcome at our place," you tell them, smiling wide. "got plenty of guest rooms, don't we, simon?"

"plenty," he echoes, and simon opens the car door for you when it pulls up to the curb. "give me a minute, love."

you duck your head and slide inside, and simon turns back to his team, shrugging his shoulders as he looks at them.

"so?"

"mighty fine, LT," johnny grins.

that's all he really needed to hear.

his belly and his heart are equally full when you ride him that night. he's naked on your bed except for his mask, tattooed arm anchored around your waist as you throw it back, pussy squeezing his cock as your thighs meet his all languid and heavy. your mouth is open, hot breaths leaving you as your dig your nails into his shoulders, and he grunts as he feels his balls tighten up every time you gasp his name.

"what would i do without you?" you whine, and simon grips your ass tight with the other hand, shaking his head.

"i should be askin' tha'."

"n-no," you kiss him, tongue wet against his, and he groans into your mouth as you wiggle your hips, until his cock nudges against your cervix, and you can feel him in your stomach. "i need you, simon. i need you⏤"

"bloody fuckin' hell⏤"

"you deserve it," you babble, fisting the sheets beside his head. you move your hips quicker, cupping his cheeks, and the part of his face that you can see flushes pink at your words. "deserve m-more, simon, y-you deserve⏤"

your breath gets knocked out of you when he flips you onto your back. ankles hanging off his shoulders, back bowed, mouth fallen open, you melt right into the sheets as simon fucks you straight into them. he's so heavy, a big weight pushing him even deeper, and the angle has your toes in a tight curl as he throws you over a cliff's edge as his pelvis stimulates your clit just enough, right there, just like that⏤

his cum between your thighs is warm. you bite your lip when you feel his thick fingers cup your pussy, sliding through your folds before he pushes two fingers into you, soft and slow. you whine from the overstimulation, but your hips push into his hand anyway.

"you spoil me," simon mutters in your ear.

"how's that?" you whisper, nudging your nose against his. he props himself up on his elbow, pushing his fingers into you to the last knuckle. your legs shake a little, and your back arches again, pebbled nipples pressing against his taut chest as you give into him.

"olways givin' me wot i want," simon hisses. "olways sayin' yes ta me. keepin' me fat 'n happy...think i don't know wot y'r doin'?"

you giggle, touching his lips. he's fighting a smile, dark eyes trained on your own, and you trace his bottom lip as he pulls his fingers out and swipes an eager tongue over them.

you pinch his hard jaw between a few fingers and bring him closer. when you kiss, he relaxes, and the thought of simon having just another good night's sleep in your big, comfy bed makes your heart clench.

seeing his team tonight made you think, and while it hurts to admit it, you are happy simon will never go back with them. he'll never join them again. he'll always be here, his head on your silk pillow. he'll always be home, eating good food, getting the attention and the care he so desperately needs.

what he's so desperately owed.

simon would've died for king and country, and they don't deserve it. they can't have him.

he's mine.

"thanking you for your service is all, lieutenant."

it's the truth, even if he doesn't want to hear it. he's warranted this kind of life, even if he doesn't believe it, even if he rejects the soft hands and the comfy cushions and the filling food. simon is an abused dog; he's not violent to his core, he isn't a biter or a fighter by nature, but when you are forced into a corner for all your life, it's the only thing you understand⏤it's all you know.

you don't want that kind of life for him. you don't think it was the one meant for him. simon's been looking over his shoulder for his entire life, but it's over now.

it's time for him to lay his head down. it's time for him to rest.

"do you miss it?" you ask. you know he's not asleep; his heartbeat hammers under your ear, and even though it's dark in the room, you know he must be looking at you. you can feel his eyes, even though you can't see them on you.

do you miss them? do you wish you were there and not here? is there a part of you still stuck there, finger on the trigger, mind over matter, life in-between death?

"no."

simon tells you this with ease. his voice doesn't waver. his hand anchors itself to your back, where you know it will stay⏤where you know it will be tonight and even into the morning.

[gtgbabie0]

Sevika x Reader

Synopsis: {Sevika has some trouble with her mechanical arm, you offer her help} For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

softSevika,softSevika,softSevika! Enjoy my lovelies <3 💕

The pale light of the moon was drowned out by the neon signs that flicker soft colours of pink and blue which bleed through your small apartment, it was the only source of light guiding Sevika through the room before she finds the light switch, clumsily flicking it on.

It had all gone so horribly wrong so quickly, what was meant to be a simple drop off and pick up turned into a violent mess— fucking useless, she thought bitterly. It’d be the last time she would work with some newbies who couldn’t tell their left from their right.

Her frustrations were bubbling over, that much was clear when she slams the front door shut, immediately wincing at the loud noise and once again she silently curses, this time at herself.

It was well past midnight and you were definitely knocked out like a light, it was endearing how quickly you fell asleep, one moment the pair of you would be talking then the very next you were snoring your head off. The thought of you curled up in your shared bed with your face smushed against the soft pillows makes her smile— the type that softens her hardened features.

It almost made her forget about the dull ache that seized her muscles, almost. She needed a drink.

So with a bottle of whiskey and her toolbox, you had so kindly brought for her spread out on the coffee table she sat down on the couch trying to fix the mess that had become of her mechanical arm— which was so much more harder to do by herself, without you there to unscrew the screws she couldn’t reach or to hand her the right tools… or to caress her cheek with those soft hands of yours, fuck, she had missed you more then she’d like to admit.

Sevika had been at it for hours, fumbling with one stubborn screw that had been lodged stuck. It refused to come loose for love nor money and it was driving her up the damn wall that she throws the stupid screwdriver across the room, watching it bounce across the wooden floorboards with a loud clang and a thud.

She stares down at it with a small scowl, scoffing before reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

“Sev?— what’re you doing?” Your soft voice, heavy with sleep ripples through the silence, breaking down the spell of anger that seemed ever present.

“Nothing, go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.” She mumbles the reply, ducking her head down to look at the floor beneath her, it was almost ridiculous how fast the guilt hit her. She’d woken you up at god knows what time with her banging around.

You shake your head at her dismissal, padding your way over to her with a small frown— your hands tightening the silk robe you had wrapped around your body. Without a word she moves her legs so you can perch yourself on the edge of the coffee table, sitting in front of her.

“You won’t be able to fix it if you’re drunk.” You tell her, a small smirk ghosting over your lips as you watch her put the bottle of whiskey down on the table with a small huff.

“It’s not the alcohol—” Sevika replies gruffly, her heart skipping a few beats at the feeling of your hand against her knee as you rummage through her toolbox. “It needs a specific part.” Gods, you made her feel like a lovesick fool sometimes but damn if she didn’t absolutely adore the feeling.

With a soft hum, you let your fingertips graze along the metal fixings of her prosthetic arm, the joints were all broken and a couple of cogs were missing— it’d be easier to fix if it was detached and by the look on Sevika’s face she knew this… but it was a pain to do.

“I could-” you go to offer her an alternative, eyes skimming across the mechanical arm as your tired mind runs a mile a minute.

“Just help me take it off,” She concedes with a weary sigh, nodding over to the screwdriver which you’re quick to pick up.

She didn’t like having it off, to feel so vulnerable and defenceless. In a strange way, it scared her. Sure she could probably knock a guy or two out with one hand but it was still daunting to feel so stripped in such a way.

You stand up from the coffee table, situating yourself in between her legs as you begin to gently unscrew the bolts, handing them over to her one after another as she puts them safely into a bag. Then with a soft hiss of air, the arm comes loose, the weight falling from Sevika’s shoulder and down on the sofa beside her.

“We’ll fix it tomorrow… get that specific piece.” You promise her with a tender smile, looking down at her from where you stand with her rough hand resting over the curve of your hips from between the opening of your silken robe— caressing up to your waist slowly.

“Mmhm.” She hums in agreement, leaning forwards to bury her face into your soft tummy with a heavy sigh that borders on a groan as you skim your fingertips along her cheek and through her hair ever so slowly that it has her nuzzling into you like a damn cat.

Gods, you knew just how to dismantle her… you were a dangerous woman— her kryptonite.

“C’mere.” She mutters, pulling you down onto her lap without a single second thought. Her strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against her as you melt into her body— her fingers brushing along your hip.

“Come to bed Sev— you look like you’re about to pass out.” You whisper, turning your head to get a good look at her with those soft eyes of yours… so tired and sweet.

“I will just let me hold you like this for a minute.” She replies back, bumping her forehead against your own— pressing a kiss to your cheek then burying her face into the crook of your shoulder, a muffled ‘I love you’ spoken into your skin.

[moonselune]

I've been playing alot of harvest moon/stardew recently and was wondering how the companions would react to a tav or durge prefering to settle down for the farming life post game. I know Shadowheart would love it anyway but Astarion would be the type to groan about the summer heat at times.

Btw love your work ❤️

Awh thank you! I freaking love stardew valley, I actually got to the point where I would see things in real life and be like oh i need that for my bundle...

Minthara:

Minthara had agreed to come with you back to your little patch of dirt. That was the first miracle.

She stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the rows of squash you'd lovingly planted weeks ago. Her elegant armor had been swapped—begrudgingly—for leather trousers and a dark green blouse with the sleeves rolled up. She claimed she only wore it because it “blended well with the shadows.”

In reality, she looked dangerously attractive, and you told her so often enough that it stopped earning you eye rolls.

“I still don’t see the appeal,” she muttered one morning, kneeling beside you in the loamy soil as you both weeded a row of carrots. “Endless dirt. Scratching at the ground like a deep gnome grub. You truly believe this is more fulfilling than conquering the Underdark?”

You grinned, pushing your hair back and letting the sun warm your face. “The carrots don’t scream when I pull them out of the ground.”

Minthara snorted—an actual laugh, short and sharp. She caught herself, frowning like she hadn’t meant to let it slip.

“I could grow mushrooms,” she said after a pause. “Real mushrooms. Not these surface-dwelling imitations.”

You perked up. “You want to farm?”

“I do not want to farm,” she snapped, yanking a weed a little too aggressively. “I simply think someone must bring standards to this pitiful excuse for agriculture.”

That night, you caught her carefully organizing mushroom spores in neat rows in the shaded part of the garden, whispering Drow words of encouragement under her breath.

And every evening, she helped you without complaint. She said it was only because you were “hopeless on your own,” but there was a softness in her touch when she handed you tools, when she brushed dirt from your face. Once, she found a fat, horned beetle in the lettuce patch and spent nearly an hour observing it before letting it crawl onto her hand and releasing it at the edge of the forest.

“I could get used to this,” she murmured that night, curled beside you on the porch. The stars glittered above like Underdark crystal formations, distant and sharp.

“You already have,” you whispered back.

She didn’t argue.

Karlach:

Karlach loved it from the very first moment she stepped onto the farm.

“This place is sick!” she bellowed, boots thudding across the dirt as she chased one of the goats around the field. “Look at this little beastie—oh, she’s got attitude! Just like me!”

You could barely keep up with her enthusiasm.

Where you had slowly learned the rhythm of the fields, Karlach plunged headfirst into it—planting, harvesting, repairing fences with her bare hands. She named every single animal and gave them nicknames too. Your prize ram? “Sir Headbutt.” The hen with the limp? “Motherclucker”

You’d wake some mornings to find her sitting in the barn, curled up with your herd of goats, one snoring against her shoulder as she scratched behind its ears.

You stood in the doorway, arms folded. “I’m starting to think you love the goats more than me.”

Karlach looked up, grinning that wild, warm grin. “Babe. You don’t chew cud and you hog the blankets. These little sweeties are pure, no complaints.”

You made a show of gasping in betrayal, and she laughed so hard she nearly toppled into the hay.

She was clumsy with gardening, planting seeds so deep they never saw the light of day, but she didn’t care.

“I’m all about the brawn of the operation, baby!” she said, hoisting a broken fence post like a weapon of war. “You’re the one with the gentle hands. You’re the heart. I’m just the muscle.”

You couldn’t count how many times you found her fixing things, adding improvements. She built a rainwater system for the fields, oiled the hinges of every barn door, and even made a small, hand-carved sign with all the names of the animals.

She hung it crooked on purpose.

And on summer days, when the sun burned and the sweat clung to your back, she'd scoop water straight from the well and splash it over both of you, laughing as you sputtered.

“You look good with dirt on your nose,” she’d say, brushing it off with her calloused thumb.

And you’d smile, because she was the kind of fire that didn’t burn—it warmed. And here, among the goats and gardens and peace, her flame could finally just... flicker, without fear.

Lae'zel:

No one had expected Lae’zel to take well to the slow life of a farm. She had always been all sharp angles, roaring fire, and a blade ready at a moment’s notice. But then again—no one had expected her to stay, either. And she did. With you.

What none of you accounted for was how seriously she’d take the training of the livestock.

"These creatures lack discipline!" she declared one morning, standing in the field, arms crossed and unimpressed as a trio of goats casually ignored her barking orders and continued to gnaw on the same patch of fence they’d been told—repeatedly—not to chew.

She turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Do they understand Common?”

"They understand,” you said, trying not to laugh as a particularly rebellious chicken pecked at her boot. “They just don’t care.”

You would have offered to help, but you were too busy melting at the sight of Xan, the tiny Githyanki infant wrapped securely to her chest in a sling you had made together. Lae’zel had first insisted that she didn’t need it—that she could carry her hatchling in her arms at all times like a proper warrior—but even she couldn’t argue with the convenience of two free hands. Especially for chicken combat.

You’d find her some mornings standing in the pasture, her face serious as she recited commands to the goats and hens like they were soldiers on a battlefield. "Form ranks! Maintain spacing! No, Clucker, no! That is not your perch—”

And all the while, little Xan would nap contentedly against her, a bundle of soft green skin and big yellow eyes, utterly unmoved by the chaos of the yard. Occasionally he’d gurgle and tug at her leathers with one hand. Every time you saw the two of them, your heart swelled nearly to bursting.

You leaned against the fence one afternoon, watching as a pig stubbornly refused to move out of Lae'zel's designated “training circle.”

“You know,” you said, grinning as she glared at it with more intensity than she had ever shown a goblin, “maybe farming isn’t about commanding obedience.”

“It should be,” she replied sharply. “They would be more efficient.”

Still, you saw her lips twitch when a goat headbutted her in protest. And she didn’t stop them from clambering all over her later when you both sat in the grass and let Xan play in the sun.

Shadowheart:

The house was small, sun-dappled, and always smelled like hay and something baking. Scratch lay sprawled across the front steps most days, belly-up, completely spoiled. The owlbear—too big for the barn, too curious to be penned—had taken to nesting in the orchard, gently knocking apples from the trees like it was performing some kind of divine rite.

Shadowheart had fallen in love with it all faster than even she expected.

You found her in the mornings tending to the goats with a quiet, practiced grace, her long hair tied up messily, a smear of dirt across one cheek that she never noticed. Her cleric’s robes had been replaced with linen tunics and earth-toned skirts—though her armor still hung by the door, just in case.

“What happened to the chicken pen?” you asked once, only to be met with a long sigh and her pointing silently toward Scratch—muddy, feather-covered, and absolutely unrepentant.

You were never alone. Not really. The animals had adopted you both. Scratch followed you everywhere. The owlbear guarded the house like it was the holiest temple. You even had a few stray cats that Shadowheart swore she didn’t feed, but you caught her slipping them treats more often than not.

Still, there was one part of the land she hadn’t explored yet—because you were keeping it a secret.

You worked on it in the evenings, tucked away behind the western slope of the hill. A dozen rows of posts were driven deep into the soil, with the first few vines already climbing, green tendrils reaching for the sky. You’d been studying grape varieties, borrowing books from Gale, and mapping sun paths like your life depended on it.

And finally, one golden evening, you took her hand and said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

She followed without question, her fingers warm in yours, and when you rounded the hill, her breath caught.

“You—” she started. “You planted a vineyard?”

“For us,” you said simply. “I know you love wine. I thought… one day, you could make your own.”

She stared in stunned silence, eyes glossy in the light.

“This is…” Her voice trembled, and she smiled so wide you saw the dimples that only showed when she was truly, deeply happy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” She launched herself at you, arms thrown around your neck, kissing you with such fervor that you stumbled backward into the half-dug earth. “You sappy, wonderful thing. I don’t deserve you.”

“You absolutely do,” you whispered, burying your face in her hair.

And from the other side of the hill, the owlbear let out a low hoot of approval—promptly followed by Scratch barking and barreling toward the two of you like a freight train.

“You know,” Shadowheart said as you braced for impact, “we might have too many animals.”

“I regret nothing.”

Jaheira:

Jaheira had said no at first.

She’d crossed her arms, brow furrowed in that eternally war-hardened way, and declared she was not the “settling down type.” A Harper, a druid, a warrior—too much duty still ran in her blood, and she wasn’t one to lie to herself.

And yet, you often found her on the porch in the morning, sleeves rolled up, tending to the basil or trimming back the ivy that tried to swallow the trellis. Her hands were calloused, steady, already shaped by years of coaxing life from the soil—and the moment she touched the earth here, she remembered. Not war. Not rebellion.

Peace.

She fit into the rhythm of the farm as if she’d always belonged. Milking the goats, harvesting herbs, reorganizing the tool shed within an inch of its life.

“A sharpened blade is less likely to betray you than a dull one,” she’d say when she caught you leaving shears in the dirt. You tried—gently—to get her to stop sometimes.

“Jaheira,” you’d say, handing her a mug of tea in the shade, “you’re supposed to relax. Remember that? The whole ‘breathing’ thing?”

She’d huff, but her smile would betray her.

“I’ll rest when the tomatoes stop growing unevenly,” she’d mutter, before adding with quiet fondness, “Besides… this is good work. Healing work.”

And the best days—the very best days—were when her children visited.

The younger ones would come tumbling down the trail with satchels and stories, running up to greet their mother, who stood like a pillar of strength at the garden gate. The number of times Jaheira had to pry Fig from a scarecrow as she was practising her 'wrestling moves' was one too many. You’d watch her soften visibly, smile lines crinkling, arms open as they piled into her.

They helped with the animals, with mixed results. One of them always ended up covered in chicken feathers, another face-first in a flowerbed, and Jaheira would roll her eyes while secretly delighting in every second of it.

It was domestic. Soft. Loud and messy and full of warmth.

Every now and then, you’d catch her staring out over the fields as the sun set, a quiet melancholy in her eyes. You knew she felt the pull of Harper duty—that someday, she’d have to return to that life. But she never pulled away from this one.

And you never stopped reminding her: “This moment is yours. Don’t let it slip away.”

Gale:

Gale loved farm life. Maybe a bit too much.

He delighted in every step of the process—from sowing seeds to baking fresh bread in the stone oven. He was the first to rise (with magically summoned coffee, of course), and the last to go to bed, always muttering about “optimal composting cycles” and “rotational planting enchantments.”

You never had to worry about the crops failing. Not when Gale enchanted the soil to stay perfectly moist and fertile. Not when your scarecrow occasionally waved to you and politely asked for new clothes.

And that might’ve been fine.

Until he started taking the produce to Blackstaff Academy.

"Look at this carrot!" he’d proclaim with the glee of a proud parent, holding up a perfectly orange, absolutely normal vegetable.

Then he’d bring it back.

And it would be the size of a horse’s leg, glowing faintly, humming with a magical pulse, and—for reasons unknown—smelling like cinnamon.

"Gale!" you’d exclaim. "It’s a carrot. It does not need to be arcane-tuned!"

“But imagine the nutritional value!” he’d insist, delighted. “It now increases constitution by two points for an hour! Also, I added a small glamour charm—look, it sparkles in the moonlight!”

You buried your face in your hands. “It was for stew. Now it looks like it is for a health potion with a beard.”

The tomatoes came back one week with eyes and a faint sense of existential dread. The potatoes exploded on contact with fire. A single cucumber once tried to recite Elminister.

You instituted a new rule: No magical alterations unless specifically requested.

Gale apologized with his signature dramatic charm, bowing deeply and presenting you with a bouquet of roses (grown in your garden, made of light, that sang quietly when touched). You forgave him. Eventually.

You did catch him sneaking a pumpkin to his satchel the next week. You pretended not to see it.

After all, the man who once swallowed a Netherese orb deserved a little whimsy.

But gods help him if your wine starts talking.

Astarion:

The summer sun blazed above your little stretch of farmland, turning the sky into a wide, cloudless expanse of light and heat. Cicadas sang from the trees. The golden fields shimmered. You were sweating through your shirt, but you'd gotten used to it by now. Not everyone had, though.

“I am wilting,” Astarion declared from the shade of a fig tree, fanning himself with a piece of parchment and looking like the most glamorous corpse in Faerûn.

You were knee-deep in the garden bed, dirt up to your elbows, pulling weeds with the satisfied sort of grunt that only came from knowing your tomatoes were going to thrill the next farmer’s market.

“You know, you are wearing a magical ring that lets you walk in the sun,” you reminded him, not even glancing back.

“Yes, and I am grateful,” he said in a tone that was both long-suffering and exasperated. “But that doesn’t mean I must enjoy it. Honestly, do farms not understand the concept of ‘shade’? Or a cool breeze? Or a bloody parasol?”

You chuckled and wiped sweat from your brow. “I can take the ring back, you know. Could always go back to lurking in crypts and brooding in velvet.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “How dare you.”

You turned just in time to see him stalk toward you, predator grace still intact despite his muttering.

“That was a threat, wasn’t it?” he said, tone mock-scandalized. “You’d condemn me to a shadowed existence just to win this argument?”

Before you could get a word out, Astarion planted both hands on your chest and shoved. You stumbled backward with a yelp, landing with a mighty splash in the nearby pond, water closing over your head with a slap. When you surfaced, spitting water and pushing your hair out of your face, he was at the edge of the pond, arms folded, grinning.

“Next time you threaten to take away my precious accessories,” he said smugly, “perhaps you’ll remember who you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I remember,” you said, swimming toward him with a grin of your own. “I also remember that you’re a terrible swimmer.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you—!”

You grabbed his ankle and yanked. Astarion screeched like an offended seagull as he tumbled in after you, limbs flailing in the most elegant way a vampire can flail. The water swallowed him with a splash, and when he resurfaced, gasping, you were already laughing.

“Well,” you said, treading water beside him. “You’re cool now.”

His curls were plastered to his forehead, pale skin gleaming with pond water, clothes clinging in all the right places.

“I loathe you,” he hissed, completely unconvincing as he waded toward you.

“You love me,” you replied, and when he tried to dunk you under, you laughed even harder. He did try to drown you (with affection), and the pond echoed with splashes and laughter long into the afternoon.

Wyll:

Wyll loved the farm. Really, truly loved it. He dove into farm life with the same unshakable optimism he brought to battle: sleeves rolled up, a bright smile on his face, and an absolutely terrible sense of crop rotation.

“Look!” he said, beaming, holding up a vaguely wilted carrot. “That’s my fifth one! It only took me six tries!”

The carrot was... lopsided. And slightly blue.

You peered at it. “Wyll... did you plant it next to Gale’s ‘experimental vegetables’ again?”

He gave you a sheepish grin. “Maybe?”

Despite his noble upbringing, Wyll took to labor like it was second nature. He loved feeding the chickens (even if they pecked at his boots), singing as he milked the goats (who responded by trying to eat his shirt), and tending the soil (even if he constantly mixed up which plants needed full sun or partial shade).

But he tried. Gods, did he try.

He’d wake up before sunrise to help gather eggs and bring you wildflowers with muddy fingers and a bashful smile. He gave names to every single pumpkin, saluted the cows like old comrades, and taught the pigs how to sit. (One of them sort of learned. You suspected it was coincidence.)

The vegetables he harvested often ended up a little too bruised, or crooked, or tiny—but he presented them with the proud air of someone who had just defeated a demon lord.

“This one’s for you,” he’d say, placing a funny little beet in your hand like it was a diamond.

And honestly? It was perfect. Because Wyll’s joy was infectious. His laughter echoed over the fields. His presence made every sunrise feel warmer, every day brighter. Even if his corn always grew sideways.

“I might not be the best farmer,” he’d admit, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m exactly where I want to be.”

And when you kissed him, fingers brushing dirt from his cheek, you couldn’t help but agree.

Halsin:

If anyone was born to thrive on a farm, it was Halsin.

Where others groaned about early mornings and sore backs, Halsin greeted the day with that warm, deep voice and a calm certainty that made the roosters crow more enthusiastically. Shirtless more often than not, with the morning light catching on his golden skin and broad shoulders, he looked like a god of the harvest incarnate—muscles flexing as he hefted hay bales like they were pillows.

You tried not to gawk every time he wiped the sweat from his brow with the hem of his tunic.

(You failed often.)

“I thought you were a druid,” you teased one day, leaning on a fencepost, watching him load the cart with fresh hay. “Shouldn’t you be turning into a bear and napping under trees or something?”

Halsin smiled, the kind of smile that settled in your bones like warmth. “Being one with nature doesn’t mean shying away from hard work. Besides, the goats get nervous when I shift. And they like it when I talk to them.”

He said this while gently stroking the head of a particularly moody billy goat, who stared up at him like he hung the moon.

You raised a brow. “Are you telling them secrets?”

“I’m telling them not to eat your herb garden,” he said. “Again.”

It wasn’t just his strength or his ease with the animals—it was the way Halsin belonged here. The land responded to him. Trees leaned in closer. The soil felt richer. Even the bees seemed to hover around him longer than they should’ve. And when the chores were done and you sat together beneath the old oak with your hands dirty and your hearts full, it felt like everything was in balance.

He never rushed you, never questioned your need for this life. He only helped shape it into something stronger, steadier. More alive.

And when he pressed a kiss to your temple after a long day, murmuring about stew for dinner and the chickens needing checking, and building some new play equipment for the goats -and the orphans, you couldn't help but smile.

Because your druid? He wasn’t just a bear in the forest. He was the heart of this little farm.

OMG how freaking wholesome was this, I did it more as a drabble style as I kinda had rambling thoughts about this, but I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[inseobts]

Ghost Knife

strawhat crew x fem ! winter soldier ! reader (platonic)

inspired by bucky barnes (marvel) - after getting separated from the other strawhats you return as the world government’s masked assassin with orders to kill them all. but then memories begin to resurface and so does the person you used to be.

a/n: omg I had a huge crush on bucky at some point so thank you anon for this request lmao

words count: 4.3k

tags: platonic, sabaody archipelago arc spoilers, kidnapping, brainwashing, torture, angst, hurt/comfort, cybernetic arm

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“Robin!”

Your voice cracks as you watch her vanish into thin air. One second she’s there, eyes wide, body tense, and the next, she’s gone. Swallowed by that giant’s palm. Sent flying through nothingness by Kuma’s strange power.

You run to where she stood, hand outstretched “Robin!”

The man, the machine, turns toward you.

Your breath catche “Don’t you dare.”

He says nothing. Just moves.

“Y/N!” Luffy yells from behind, voice full of panic “Run!”

You try to run. Kuma’s too fast. In a blink, his hand slams down.

You land hard. Cold floor. White lights. The air smells like metal and bleach.

You groan, pushing yourself up “Where…?”

Then pain shoots through your side. You curl up, coughing.

“Subject is awake, she forgot again.” a voice says above you. Mechanical. No kindness.

You blink through the blur. A face leans close with goggles, gloves, clipboard.

“Where am I?” you whisper.

He ignores your question “Sedate her again.”

“No!” You try to stand, but hands grab your arms. Straps hold your legs. A needle pricks your neck.

Your world fades to black.

The days bleed together.

They don’t call you by name. They call you Asset. Like a tool. Like a thing.

You scream the first time they put you in that chair. Metal clamps, flashing lights. They press buttons. You forget how many days pass. You forget the sound of Luffy’s laugh. Nami’s voice. Zoro’s snoring.

You try to run.

One day, you make it to a hallway before someone shoots your leg. You fall. They drag you back.

They don’t punish you with words. They punish you with fire.

“You’re stubborn,” the woman says. She has short black hair and cold eyes “Most subjects break after three weeks. You’ve lasted five.”

You spit at her.

She slaps you “Fine. We’ll go further.”

The next time you try to run away you then wake up with your left arm gone.

You scream until your throat bleeds.

“You don’t have to be in pain,” they say “Just obey.”

You don’t speak.

They give you a new arm. It’s metal. Heavy. Cold. It hums when you move it.

They teach you how to fight like a machine.

They wipe memories. Try to bury your name.

But in your dreams, Luffy still grins “You’re our nakama!”

Zoro still says “Tch. Don’t get soft.”

Usopp still brags “I’ll protect you!”

Robin still reads with you under the sun.

They can’t take that from you.

At least not yet.

Later on, the voice returns, steady and cold, always the same, “Who are you?”

You answer like they trained you to “I am Weapon Unit 27.”

“What is your mission?”

“Obey. Eliminate targets. No emotion. No hesitation.”

Your voice doesn’t shake anymore. Not like the first time. Or the fiftieth. But when you sleep, if they let you, shadows curl at the edge of your mind. Laughter. A rubbery arm slinging around your shoulders. Someone yelling about meat. Orange hair in the sunlight.

You reach for it but always end waking up screaming.

The woman with the cold eyes, Commander Drayke, watches as you fight in the simulation room. You’re faster now. Your metal arm crushes steel like paper. You don’t flinch when blades touch skin.

“She’s nearly ready,” Drayke says “Complete memory collapse in progress.”

The man beside her, white coat, tired face, glances at his screen “Her brain patterns still show flickers.”

“She’ll forget,” she says “Sooner or later.”

You now sit in your cell. Metal walls. One bed. One sink. One screen.

A small bird taps on the bars, black feathers, a bag tied to its leg.

News Coo.

The guard grabs it, rips the newspaper free, tosses it into your room.

“Read. Stay updated. Don’t fall behind.”

You almost ignore it.

Then your eyes catch two names.

PORTGAS D. ACE AND MONKEY D. LUFFY

The paper crinkles in your hands.

Luffy.

Ace.

The names itch in your chest.

You stare at their faces. Luffy’s wild smile. The straw hat on his back. Ace, strong and scarred, fire dancing in his hands.

You tilt your head.

“Why do they look… familiar?” you whisper.

You flip the page. There’s a bounty poster. A crew. Pirates.

The words Strawhat Pirates ring in your ears. It makes something in you tighten. Like a string pulled too hard.

Your hand trembles. You clutch your head.

Something hurts. Deep.

Like static in your skull.

“No. I don’t know them” you mutter.

But a voice inside you says: Liar.

Year 1, Month 8

Location: Secret Government Base – North Blue

The Winter Soldier... you stand motionless in the training room. Your breath is slow. Controlled. Your mask hides the lines of your face, but not the stillness of your new soul.

You don’t remember the ocean, the Going Merry, your family.

Only orders. Only targets. Only missions.

“Tell me what you are” the voice echoes from the intercom.

She answers with no hesitation.

“I am the blade of justice.”

“And who do you serve?”

“The World Government.”

“And your purpose?”

“To eliminate threats.”

“Good girl,” says Drayke “Deploy her.”

Same time - Weatheria, Sky Island

Nami lounges under a cloud tree, weather scrolls beside her. She flips open the latest News Coo with a sigh.

“Huh,” she mumbles “Another article about that assassin again…”

She reads aloud “The Winter Soldier has completed 35 high-level government missions. No survivors left at any site. Her origin is unknown. World Nobles call her their ‘Ghost Knife.’”

She frowns, “Creepy.”

She turns the page, trying to ignore the chill down her spine.

Kuraigana Island – Wasteland Castle

Zoro slices through a falling boulder like it’s paper. Perona floats nearby, holding up a newspaper.

“Hey, Moss-For-Brains, have you seen this? New assassin. Woman. Metal arm. Wears a mask. Total psycho.”

“Not interested.”

“She’s got a bounty on her head even without being a pirate. That’s rare.”

Zoro grabs the paper, scans it.

The image is blurry, during nighttime, shadows, but she’s unmistakable. That mask. That arm. That stance. The way her fist dents solid rock.

Zoro stares a little longer than he needs to.

“Huh,” he mutters “Feels… familiar.”

Boin Archipelago

Luffy stares at the newspaper like a child with candy.

“She looks SO COOL!” he yells, eyes shining “Usopp would freak out if he saw this!”

He points to the tiny, grainy picture of the Winter Soldier mid-kick, her metal arm glowing, mask hiding her face.

“Do you think she can stretch like me?!”

Rayleigh laughs from across the fire “She’s not like you, Luffy. She's basically a war machine now.”

Luffy tilts his head “That’s sad.”

Impel Down – Level 6, Hidden Room

You stand over a rebel leader, blood pooling on the floor.

“Good,” Drayke says through her comm “Leave no trace. Return for recalibration.”

You turn to leave, but something on the prisoner’s jacket catches your eye.

A small pin. A broken symbol. An old pirate jolly roger. It’s familiar.

You don’t know why but you kneel down, fingers brushing the worn cloth, as something in your chest twists.

A campfire. A boy with a slingshot. A reindeer with wide, teary eyes. Laughter.

You jerk back, eyes wide behind the mask “What was that?”

Two Years Later - Sabaody Archipelago

The sea smells like salt and blood.

You stand stiffly on the deck of the government ship, black mask fixed over your face, mechanical arm humming quietly. Behind the mask, your heart feels cold. Heavy.

The voice buzzes in your ear “Mission: Eliminate the Strawhat Pirates. Neutralize any other threats.”

You nod once, sharp “Understood.”

The ship docks silently and you jump off without a word, disappearing into the crowd.

Nami and Usopp walk quickly through the thick crowds, keeping their heads low.

“You sure it’s this way?” Usopp whispers nervously.

“Yeah,” Nami mutters “Shakky’s bar should be close—”

She stops dead.

Ahead, a group of pirates blocks the path. Rough-looking men. One of them is dressed ridiculously like Nami, down to the orange wig.

“Hey, hey, look at these cuties,” one of the fakes sneers “Where ya rushing off to?”

Nami grits her teeth “Move.”

The fake Nami shoves her hard “Make me, sweetheart.”

Before Usopp can react, a shadow drops between them. Heavy boots slam into the ground. A figure, all black armor and shining metal, stands there.

You.

The Winter Soldier.

The thugs laugh, until you move.

A brutal punch knocks the fake Nami out cold.

The other pirates don’t even have time to scream before you take them down with smooth, efficient blows. No wasted motion. No mercy.

Nami and Usopp stare, wide-eyed. The street falls dead silent.

You turn your masked face toward them.

No words.

No threat.

Just silence as the two Strawhats freeze.

Usopp’s voice trembles “T-thank you…?”

You say nothing.

Nami grabs Usopp’s sleeve “RUN!” she hisses.

They sprint away.

You stand there, unmoving, just watching them disappear into the trees.

You could have chased, but you don’t. Something in your chest aches, and you don’t know why.

Shakky’s Bar

The Strawhats start gathering inside the bar.

Zoro leans against a wall. Franky orders drinks. Robin smiles softly. Brook hums a tune. But the air feels… wrong.

“They should be here by now” Nami says, pacing.

Usopp wipes sweat off his forehead “You guys. We saw someone scary out there. I think… it was her. That assassin the whole world’s been talking about.”

Nami shudders “Yeah. She saved us. But she was terrifying.”

Chopper clutches his bag “Isn’t she working for the government…?”

Nobody has real answers. Only dread. Only waiting.

Meanwhile — Grove 34

Marine soldiers scatter like bowling pins as Luffy punches through them easily, grinning wide.

“Man, you guys are weak!” he laughs.

He turns the corner and freezes.

You stand there, waiting. Black mask. Cold metal arm. Heavy silence.

You don’t speak. You rush him.

Luffy grins, slipping into Gear Second, pink steam curling off him. But his smile fades when he sees your eyes through the slits of your mask. Empty. Hollow.

You clash. Fist against fist. Rubber against steel.

The street cracks under the force of your hits.

“You’re strong!” Luffy yells, blocking another strike.

But then he ducks under your punch and with a sudden roar, he slams his fist straight into your mask.

The metal splits and the mask breaks off, clatters to the ground.

You stand there, gasping softly, face bare under the sunlight.

Your face.

Scarred. Pale. Tired.

The other Strawhats arrive, running after the noise and they all skid to a stop when they see you.

Dead silence.

Luffy stares at you, his mouth hanging open. His fists lower. His heartbeat screams in his ears.

“Y…Y/N…?”

Nami covers her mouth “No…”

Chopper’s eyes fill with tears “It’s her! It’s really her!!”

Sanji falls to his knees, sobbing heart-shaped tears “A goddess! And it’s OUR Y/N!!”

Robin’s eyes go wide in quiet shock. Franky clutches his huge hands over his mouth. Brook stares, frozen.

You blink at them confused.

You step back, raising your weapon again “Who’s y/n? I don’t know you.”

The words feel wrong on your tongue.

Luffy steps forward slowly, like approaching a wild animal.

“You’re my friend,” he says, voice rough and low “You’re my nakama. You’re part of our family.”

You hesitate.

Some random images flash in your mind.

Your grip tightens. Your orders scream in your mind: Eliminate them.

You attack.

The fight is brutal.

You move like a ghost, precise and devastating. But your strikes aren’t as strong anymore. Your hand shakes once when you aim at Nami. You freeze when Chopper cries your name.

Luffy blocks, dodges, and refuses to hit you hard. His voice breaks every time he calls your name.

“Come back...” he pleads.

“Wake up!” he begs.

Your body moves automatically, but inside, you are screaming.

In a desperate move, you throw a smoke bomb to the ground to blind them.

You retreat. Not because you were ordered to but because something inside you felt like breaking.

You stumble onto the ship, heart pounding.

Memories hit you like waves.

You fall to your knees in the empty hall, breathing hard.

“Luffy…” you whisper.

You don’t hear the footsteps behind you.

The scientists grab you and drag you to the white room. Cold metal cuffs slam around your wrists.

One scientist squints at you.

“What did you say?” he demands.

You clench your jaw. But it’s too late. They heard.

The lead scientist sighs coldly “She’s remembering. Begin full brainwash protocol.”

You struggle. You fight against the straps “Please! I don’t want to forget—!” you scream, thrashing.

The machine hums louder.

“You don’t need memories,” the doctor says flatly “You need orders.”

Tears prick your eyes as the sedation hits you.

The last thought in your mind before the darkness swallows you whole... I have to find them. I have to remember. I have to go bac home.

As the smoke clears. The mask lies broken in the dust. The air still hums with tension, but you’re gone.

The Straw Hat crew stands frozen in the middle of the wrecked street, staring at the empty space where you once stood.

No one says anything.

Chopper’s small voice finally breaks the silence.

“…She ran away.”

Robin steps forward slowly, picking up the shattered piece of your mask. The black metal is cracked, still warm.

She studies it with sad eyes.

“It was her,” she murmurs “All along.”

Usopp gulps “The Winter Soldier… that assassin everyone’s been talking about… that was Y/N?”

Franky clenches his fists “No wonder she was so strong.”

Sanji exhales a puff of smoke shakily, eyes low “Two years. That’s how long she’s been… gone.”

They walk slowly back to Shakky’s bar, the mood heavy like storm clouds. Inside, silence falls again.

Then Nami speaks.

“I should’ve known it was her.”

She sits down hard, shaking her head.

“When she saved us earlier, I didn’t… I didn’t recognize her. But the way she stood. The way she moved. It felt familiar. And I ignored it.”

Usopp adds, guilt in his voice, “Her eyes… They looked empty. She didn’t even blink. Like she wasn’t even… human anymore.”

“She was scared,” Chopper whispers, tears sliding down his cheeks “Even though she didn’t show it. I could feel it.”

Zoro leans against the wall, jaw tight “They must’ve brainwashed her. Tortured her. Trained her like a weapon.”

Luffy doesn’t say a word.

He’s sitting at the bar, hunched over, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles have gone white.

Robin turns to him gently “Luffy…”

He doesn’t look up.

“For a second I thought she was dead.”

His voice is low. Quiet. Broken.

“After I broke that mask her eyes felt nothing like our y/n.”

He slowly lifts his head. His eyes are red, jaw tight with emotion.

“But she’s still y/n. They turned her into that but she hesitated.”

“They stole her from us,” Luffy growls “They made her forget us.”

Nami looks up, blinking back tears “What do we do now?”

Luffy stands “We go get her.”

Everyone looks up.

Robin nods “They won’t let her go easily.”

“I don’t care,” Luffy says, voice firm now “She’s our nakama.”

“She probably doesn’t even remember us fully...” Usopp mutters.

“She doesn’t have to,” Luffy replies “I remember her.”

The room goes quiet.

Zoro smirks “Then we break in. We take her back.”

Sanji flicks his lighter “Hell yeah we do.”

Brook plays a low note on his violin “Let’s bring our friend home.”

Meanwhile, your body lies strapped down in the cold lab room.

Machines buzz around you. Wires in your head. Drugs in your veins. But somewhere deep inside your mind, something fights.

You stand in a white, empty space.

Alone.

Then “Oi! Don’t eat all the meat!”

Laughter.

“I’ll patch you up, just stop moving!”

“You’re one of us now, dummy!”

Voices. Memories. Echoes of who you were.

You stumble forward. The ground starts shaking. The white fades.

A hand reaches for you through the dark.

It’s Luffy’s.

“Come back” he says softly.

Some days later, the alarms blare. Explosions rock the outside of the base.

Marines run through the halls in panic “We’re under attack!!”

Outside Luffy crashes down through a wall, fist first.

“Y/N!!!”

The Strawhats have come.

Your eyes snap open.

Lights above. Cold metal around your wrists and ankles. Straps tighten across your body.

The head scientist leans over you, calm as ever.

“They’ve come for you.”

Your breath hitches.

You don’t ask who. You already know.

“Kill them all” he says.

A command.

Your programming obeys. A new steel mask is replaced. The black suit sealed. Your left arm whirs to life.

You stand up, empty inside.

The Straw Hats move like fire through the base.

Zoro cuts through waves of marines, swords flashing. Robin breaks them apart with giant phantom arms. Sanji kicks his way through steel walls and floors, growling, “Where is she!?”

Luffy punches another door down “She’s somewhere here. I can feel it.”

They find you in the inner chamber, standing alone, blocking the hallway.

Winter Soldier mode on. Silent. Masked. Deadly.

You raise your weapon, red light glowing on your metal arm.

Luffy stops.

So does the rest of the crew.

You stare at them and they stare back.

You speak first.

“Leave. Or die.”

Zoro doesn’t even flinch “Not happening.”

Your eye twitches behind the mask.

“I said leave.”

You dash forward. Fast.

Your punch aims straight for Sanji’s chest but he doesn’t move. You slam into him and he staggers back, coughing blood, but doesn’t strike back.

You hesitate.

Why didn’t he fight back?

You spin, launching kicks and strikes at Nami, Robin, Usopp... They dodge or take the hit but they don’t attack.

Nami yells, voice shaking, “We’re not gonna hurt you, Y/N!”

You freeze mid-swing.

Luffy steps forward, fists unclenched.

“You can try to kill us,” he says “But we’re not gonna stop until you remember who you are.”

“I know who I am... I’m the Winter Soldier” you reply coldly.

“No” Luffy says.

“You’re Y/N. Our nakama.”

You punch again and again, he takes it. Blood drips from his mouth. Still, he grins.

“Come on,” he says “I know you’re still in there.”

Your vision shakes. A memory flashes. You stumble backward, clutching your head.

“Stop! Stop!!”

Luffy doesn’t stop. He steps closer.

Robin gently calls, “You saved us so many times, Y/N. Let us save you now.”

“Don’t you remember?” Usopp says “You made me that slingshot charm, back on Water 7. You said it’d keep me safe.”

Sanji places a gentle hand on your shoulder “You called us family.”

The words hit like thunder.

You scream.

You drop to your knees.

The pain behind your eyes explodes and the memories rush in.

Every laugh. Every fight. Every hug. Every scar. Every sunset on the Sunny. Every meal Sanji made. Every time Chopper patched you up. Every stupid, perfect moment.

The mask suddenly feels wrong. Tight. Heavy. You rip it off.

Tears streak down your cheeks.

“I remember.”

Luffy holds out a hand to you, grinning through a split lip.

“Welcome back.”

You take his hand and stand up. The mask lies shattered at your feet. Tears drying on your cheeks. The Straw Hats stand beside you.

You don’t feel like the Winter Soldier anymore.

Now, you feel like you.

But the moment is short-lived. Behind you, the reinforced blast doors hiss open.

White coats. Scientists. Dozens of them. Their voices are calm. Clinical.

“She’s unstable.”

“Reactivate the protocol.”

“Sedate her before she infects the others with sentiment.”

You freeze. The crew tenses.

You feel the shift in the air. The pure, boiling rage that radiates from behind you.

Zoro steps forward first. One hand on his sword.

Sanji lights a cigarette. Hands shaking with fury.

Luffy cracks his knuckles “You’re the ones who did this.”

The scientists don’t even flinch.

“She was never yours to begin with.”

Wrong answer.

Zoro unsheathes his sword.

“Zoro—wait—” you try, but it’s too late.

He’s gone. Charging forward with the fury of a storm.

Luffy launches after him.

Sanji’s right behind, kicking straight through the steel wall just to get a shortcut to them.

Franky roars, cannon arm charged.

Brook draws his sword with an eerie silence “You hurt our friend.”

Even Nami gets ready to attack them saying “How dare you doing that to our y/n!”

Usopp, Robin, and Chopper stay behind you, but even they look mad and protective.

You turn to them, breath fast “We can’t let them go too far.”

“They tortured you!” Chopper yells, ears flat, teeth clenched “They hurt you for two years!”

“I know...” you say softly.

Robin’s eyes are hard, but she’s not moving “People like them… they don’t stop unless you make them.”

“They already broke laws” Usopp says “They broke you.”

You step between them and the path ahead.

“I’m not asking you to forgive them. I’m asking you not to become like them.”

Screams echo through the halls.

Zoro’s blade slices through security bots. Sanji kicks a scientist across the room. Luffy punches straight through a wall of machines.

They’re not holding back.

“YOU SHOCKED HER—FOR WHAT?!” Sanji bellows, grabbing a doctor by the collar.

“She was scared, and you punished her?”

Luffy blasts a ceiling open.

Zoro cuts through an entire server bank, sparks flying “You brainwashed her.”

“She’s a person” Franky says, as Nami stands beside him and continue the sentence “She’s not your weapon.”

You land hard in the center of the chaos, skidding between your friends and the scientists. The room is smoke and ruin. Bodies groaning. Fire crackling.

You raise your hands “STOP!!”

They do. Barely.

Luffy stands over a lead scientist, fist drawn back. Shaking with rage.

You step between them.

“Luffy,” you whisper “That’s enough.”

“She crushed your arm, Y/N,” he growls “She erased your name.”

“I know,” you say “And I’m still standing.”

His fist trembles in the air.

“Please,” you whisper “Let me go forward now.”

His arm drops.

Slowly, the others follow. Zoro sheaths his swords with a hard glare. Sanji turns away, biting down on his cigarette so hard it snaps. Franky’s fists stop sparking. And Nami look at you apologetically.

You stand there, panting, eyes wide.

No one speaks.

The scientists back away, terrified now. Not of the fists. But of the silence.

Robin walks over to you slowly. She places a hand on your arm.

“You brought them back” she says.

“Now I remembered who I am,” you whisper “And who I fight for.”

Hours later, the ship is quiet.

You sit on the deck, wrapped in a warm blanket. Chopper’s checked your wounds three times. Sanji made you soup and hasn’t stopped calling you “my dear lost goddess”. Nami prepared you a good warm bath and brushed your hair.

After you get out all clean and dressed as your real usual, Luffy joins you, plopping beside you with his usual grin.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just sits.

Then he says “You’re really back now.”

You nod.

“I missed you, Y/N.”

Your chest tightens.

“I missed you too.”

For the first time in years, you feel still. Safe.

Your new arm clicks softly as you lift your drink. It’s light. Comfortable. Yours. Matte black metal with gold lines running through it like veins, designed by Usopp and Franky, who proudly call it “The Strong Arm Mk. I”.

“Mk. II has a built-in slingshot compartment,” Usopp boasts, puffing up “Just in case.”

Franky flips his sunglasses up “And the third one comes with a grappling hook! So you can be SUPER mid-air!”

You laugh “I love it.”

They both beam like kids on Christmas.

Chopper bounds over next, stethoscope in paw “Arm okay? Nerves stable? Circulation’s good?”

You nod, smiling “You’ve checked it twice already.”

He pouts “I just wanna make sure! What if the bone memory causes—”

You hug him before he finishes the sentence.

He squeaks, face turning red “O-okay! You’re fine, you’re fine!”

Later, in the kitchen Sanji won’t stop cooking.

Plates stack up faster than you can eat them: your favorite stew, that spicy rice from Drum Island, a cake that’s somehow in the shape of your arm, and a hot drink with cinnamon swirls on top.

He hovers proudly nearby, heart eyes practically glued to you.

“I’ll make it every day if it makes you smile, mon étoile!”

You snort “You’re gonna spoil me.”

He spins dramatically “Then let me!! You’ve been through hell, now all you get is heaven!”

Brook strums his violin, a slow, sweet tune.

It’s the lullaby you used to hum when you couldn’t sleep.

He doesn’t say anything. Just plays for you.

Robin sits beside you, passing you a book she picked from her personal collection. It’s about strong women who survived and changed the world.

She doesn’t say much either. She doesn’t have to.

You squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.

Nami and Zoro hang back at first.

You find them leaning against the mast, watching the crew buzz around you.

“You okay?” Nami asks quietly.

You nod “I am now.”

Zoro doesn’t look at you, but his voice is low and honest “You scared the hell outta us.”

“I know” you say softly.

“I’m sorry.”

He glances over at last “You don’t have to be. Just don’t vanish again.”

You smile, holding back tears “I won’t.”

Nami smiles back at you “I’m so happy to see you smile again!”

Later that night, Luffy slams his mug down “Alright!! Now that everyone’s back, let’s celebrate!”

The crew cheers.

Meat piles up. Lights string along the mast. Music plays. Laughter fills the air.

You’re laughing too, tears in your eyes, surrounded by your family.

They don’t treat you like you’re broken. They don’t treat you like a weapon.

They treat you like Y/N.

The next morning the sails are up. The wind is perfect. The Log Pose spins confidently.

Nami grins “Let's start, next stop: Fishman Island!”

Luffy points ahead “Full speed!!”

You stand beside him, wind in your hair, new arm gleaming in the sun.

“Let’s go.”

Because this time, you’re not just coming along.

You’re finally home, with them. And the world better be ready.

[targaryenfelikayt]

headcanons: passing the night. |Boys from horror|

characters: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Art the clown, Pennywise. wc: 1,630 summary: headcanons about what nights might look like beside some of horror's most terrifying icons — from cold and distant Michael Myers to unexpectedly cuddly Thomas Hewitt. tags/warnings: lots of fluff, romance (as much as possible), nighttime routine. note: how i love these routine headcanons, you should know.

Bo Sinclair.                                                  

He’s the kind of man who can fall asleep anywhere without batting an eye, so when Bo suggests you share the bed before dragging you into it — you might as well be signing a deal with the devil. A devil that’s damn handsome, charming as hell, but utterly oblivious to anyone else’s idea of comfort.

No matter how many times you try to move him — asleep or awake — Bo always ends up sprawling across the middle of the bed like a starfish.

Knowing his lover’s light sleeping habits, Sinclair is willing to allow any liberty: sleep on either side, throw your legs or arms over him, or even treat him like a human pillow and lie right on top go ahead, have fun. He won’t even stir.

But God help you or what’s left of Him after the priest left town in a pine box if you dare get up in the middle of the night. That’ll wake him up, and if he doesn’t hear a very good excuse, he’ll just haul you back under him, curl his body around you like a bear trap, and snore right in your ear.

He does not care if you’re hot, or uncomfortable, or squished. “Sorry, doll, but you’re leaving me no choice,” he’d murmur. Some might find it romantic. But when a grizzly like Bo steals your personal space, it’s mostly just... inconvenient.

Vincent Sinclair.

Catching this waxy fish from his sculptor’s pond is no small feat, he’s utterly consumed by his work, more so than most people can imagine.

He can disappear into the basement and not reemerge for three days — no food, no sleep. That’s the price of genius. And the burden... is mostly yours.

You’ve learned to tell him it's bedtime in a tone that leaves no room for discussion. You turn off the lights in the next room and wait patiently until Vincent finally puts down his tools and follows you to bed.

You might fall asleep in whatever position, but come night, the sculptor always drifts closer and clings tighter. Sometimes he holds on so firmly, it wakes you. Then, with a low, hoarse murmur asking what’s wrong, he’ll kiss whatever bare skin he can reach and stroke your hair until you calm down.

If you didn’t know him well, you might think he’d died, he breathes so silently without the mask.

Morning always starts the same: you wake first, trying to sort out what limb belongs to who is in the knot of bodies and blankets, before slipping out and leaving him to rest. Artists don’t exactly keep normal hours, let the man catch some sleep.

Lester Sinclair.

Lester took a bit from both his older brothers and made it into something uniquely his own. He can fall asleep anytime, anywhere, with anyone simply because it’s bedtime. He might toss you the truck keys and immediately move over to the passenger seat and pass out. No seatbelt, of course, he knows these roads. What for? He’s already snoring.

If you’re at home, he’s always the first one upstairs while you’re still wrapping things up downstairs.

He used to sleep with the dog before you came into his life, but he’s since adapted. If you want, Lexie will curl up at the foot of the bed. If not, she’s got cozy beds in the living room, on the porch, even the bedroom.

Be ready for snoring. This man works hard and barely rests. You can nudge him, but don’t do it too hard, he might get hurt and head to the couch. (Honestly, he prefers you over the dust mites, but he worries about whether he’s being too much.)

It’s hard to remember the last time you saw him well-rested. Oh wait, it was Thanksgiving, when he drank too much with Bo and couldn’t get up the next morning. Even disheveled, Lester looked so heartbreakingly peaceful in sleep.

Jason Voorhees.

You never really got to enjoy him fully when your need for touch crept in. Not because Jason didn’t like affection — he did. But he was never the one to initiate it.

You wanted to cuddle, to curl up beside him. But come nightfall, Jason always went off to patrol the camp, making sure no unwanted guests had wandered in. By morning, when you woke, he was already gone again doing another sweep of the grounds.

A hundred thoughts ran through your head: maybe he just wanted to keep things secure, maybe he needed control… or maybe he was afraid to let you see him without the mask.

Everything changed one summer day. You dozed off by the lake, drowsy from the sun, and when you woke, Jason was still there, unmoving, silently keeping watch.

After that, he started coming back earlier. And in the mornings, he lingered a little longer, waiting for you to wake up, understanding that in those quiet moments, you needed him just as much as he needed you.

On especially hot days, Jason would lie down beside you, acting as your own personal cooling system — machete in one hand, the other slipped under your head. Just… make sure he never mixes them up.

Michael Myers.

Michael either goes to bed in the dirty clothes he wore all day (if you're lucky, they're not bloodstained), or completely naked. There's no in-between with this man — nor does he consider any alternatives. Why bother? He's perfectly comfortable either way.

If you manage to convince him to shower before bed, it’ll only be if you join him. You can even scrub his back with a floral body wash, he doesn’t really care about scents.

Sleeps like a corpse, arms straight at his sides. He gets annoyed when you throw your legs over him, it disturbs his already fragile sleep. But he also refuses to sleep elsewhere, so you’re left finding creative compromises.

One night, seemingly out of nowhere, he brings you a pregnancy pillow, the most comfortable thing you’ve ever used.

Everyone’s content. Everyone’s happy. And on the rare nights when you’re sick or not feeling well, he taps into a hidden reservoir of affection, doling out careful, measured touches.

Thomas Hewitt.

At first, Thomas was terrified to share a bed with you. You scared him more than a loaded gun pointed at his face. He knows how to handle weapons, not delicate girls, he might have a crush in his sleep.

If there had been any books about human relationships in the house, he would’ve devoured them in a couple of nights. But the shelves only held trashy romance novels, basic crime thrillers, and not a single piece of classic literature.

He usually naps in the basement, but at night he comes upstairs to guard your sleep from the other housemates. You picked Cerberus and turned him into a house-trained puppy who melts under your care.

Some nights, the fear of his own strength fades, like when you have nightmares and he rocks you gently in his arms, stroking your hair before lying down next to you.

To help you feel safe, he even moves the bed so one side touches the wall. That way, your body is nestled between the bricks and its broad back.

And of course, he installs a bolt on the door from the inside.

Art the Clown.

It’s hard to say if he even needs to sleep, but Art is more than happy to pull out a black-and-white striped pajama set and make the bed like he’s playing house.

His bedtime routine plays out like the start of a bad joke — pulling knives, axes, a bloody costume, and a lonely shoe from under the bed. Then, seeing your horrified expression, he sheepishly shoves it all back in place.

He prefers to sleep with his head on your chest like it’s the softest pillow in the world or curled up on your stomach, perfectly content.

He suffers from what you call "bedtime hyperactivity", he can’t settle down, pokes your side to check if you're asleep, readjusts his pillow, changes position every few seconds.

Eventually, you give up and let him do whatever he wants, if he lets you sleep. At first, he finds ways to keep himself occupied… but that doesn’t last long. One night, your eyes adjust to the darkness, and you spot him standing in the doorway like a guilty child, pillow in one hand, the other gesturing desperately to let him back under the covers.

Pennywise.

This clown has a habit of falling asleep next to you in different shapes, which pretty much sums up your bizarre relationship.

No matter how many times you ask him to just stick with his human form (or at least the clown — just don’t look at him at night), Pennywise always listens… and does the exact opposite.

“Since when you have a ginger cat?”, your friend asks as she turns to leave. You glance at the stairs and spot a smug feline face watching from above. He swishes his fluffy tail dramatically as he struts past, and you’re forced to spin some tale about feeding stray animals and how this one just won’t leave.

He only falls asleep with you, the moment your breathing evens out, he vanishes into the shadows. It would be a waste not to use such a perfect opportunity to snack.

But mornings are reserved for human form, he senses the gentle warmth radiating from your sleepy self and doesn’t want to scare you… well, maybe just a little.

Expect naked strutting and elaborate breakfast trays in bed. Pennywise is still adjusting to being “one of you,” so give him free rein to try all the weird things he’s seen on TV. Maybe a few of them will even grow on you.

[scoutswritingcorner]

Omf how about a fix where asthmas antlers fall off and reader collects it and puts it on the cat version of him for shits and giggles

An Angry Deer and New Horns

Cursed Cat Alastor 

FT. Alastor x GN!Reader

TW: Alastor being angry, Antlers shedding.

Alastor growled and groaned as you helped get the velvet off of his old horns, jacket thrown on his armchair and his shirt unbuttoned as sweat had stuck to his skin. Placing the tools down on your lap, you grabbed the rag from the small bowl of cold water that was seated next to Alastor on the ground. Ringing the extra water out of the rag before carefully wiping his head and neck. Before small tip taps made its presence known causing Alastor to growl, “..how did the cat get in here?” He whispered out leaning his head back into you. You hummed feeling as the cat climbed up on the chair staring at you before Alastor letting out an audible laugh from a laugh track. One that seemed like it had come from his cane, Alastor snarled, going to stand up shakily, a loud static echoing around the room.

You carefully grabbed his hands guiding him to sit back down, “Relax Al, he just wants to get under your skin.” You whispered, allowing him to get comfortable once more before you leaned down and kissed his head. He let out a grunt, as you grabbed the tools once more. “Just pay attention to me, Dear.” He closed his eyes, holding onto your leg once more. The laughter became louder before stopping as a soft hiss was heard, a small paw tapping your shoulder. You glanced towards the cat who tapped your shoulder more letting a louder hiss, “Hold on..let me help Alastor with his horns” Finishing with his velvet you carefully grabbed the rag to wash away the blood that had dripped down his face. Alastor grunted out as he snapped his fingers, taking his shirt off completely as he leaned into your hands. “Just relax okay? It’s over.” You whispered out before focusing on the cat who had now made its way to lay half its body on your shoulder.

Your hand reached up to carefully pet its head as a static like purr had escaped its throat. As your other hand had scratched between his horns carefully, as his breathing had slowly evened out, his head lulling to the side as he slowly fell asleep against you. You sit back on the chair letting out a yawn but stay awake to keep an eye over Alastor to make sure nothing happens especially when he is in a vulnerable state. You turn your attention back to the cursed cat in your lap who was once again laying down loaf style.

As your hand scratched at Alastor’s head your fingers knocked up against one of his antlers, causing him to jump in his sleep and huffed before the antler had fallen off onto your lap which had landed on the poor cat. A soft hiss escaped the cat before it focused on the door staring off into space, you snickered and picked up the fallen antler before slowly putting it against the cat’s head, “Double the antlers~” you whispered out, causing the cat to look up at you. Giving you a look of ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ and a mixture of amusement.

You looked away for one moment and in that one movement you felt the antlers get ripped out of your hand, the little pitter patter of tiny paws running towards the closed and locked door. You cursed and hissed knowing if you moved to get up Alastor would wake up in a grumpy mood. Alastor’s shadow moved towards the door quickly stopping the cat in its tracks of trying to escape, moving it back towards the chair you were sitting on. You reached down and scooped the cat up, making it drop the antlers in return and holding it up into the air. “You’re in air jail now.” you whispered, causing it to growl and hiss out, swiping it’s paws at you in protest.

~~ 

It was a couple hours later when Alastor had woken up, shaking his head and grumbling at how his head started to feel more light- he reached up and noticed that he didn’t have horns. His eyes glanced over how you were slouched down in the armchair softly snoring away, he slowly got up to pick you up and move you into the bed that sat in your room. He stopped seeing how the cat was shaking and hissing in anger, static sounding from it. 

His smile grew thin as he let out an evil chuckle, seeing as his now fallen off horns were taped to this cat’s head. His neck snapped to the side as loud static echoed through the room. “...now what do we have here?” He growled out moving closer to the cat that stepped further into the corner drool dripping from its grin, “A thief are we? First you steal my darling doe’s affection and now you steal my antlers?"

He growled and looked back down at you before chuckling deeply, “I guess this is a punishment for being a thief,” He said picking you up and holding your sleeping body close as he moved you from the armchair to your bed easily. He snapped his fingers, his shirt back on his torso as he fixed the buttons on it, his gaze returning to the cat standing shaking in anger. He shook his head, his ears flickering as he moved towards the armchair he had silently claimed as his own. 

He grabbed his book and crossed his legs as he began reading, unaffected by the fact the cat was glaring at him from across the room.

[revelboo]

please any more perceptor crumbs 🙏🙏🙏 my underrated goat i love him

Sure!

Warm

Preceptor x Reader

• Reaching absently for a tool, his servos brush the empty countertop and he hears a slight rasp. Turning to stare as you slowly push the tool closer to his hand and offer him a little smile. Trying to help him and he’s not really sure what to make of it. Wonders if you want something as he nods his head at you in thanks and picks up the tool, resuming his work. Hesitating when you duck under his arm to get closer to what he’s working on. Curious? “I’d rather you didn’t do that,” he murmurs and you look up at him. “It’s dangerous.”

• “Right. Sorry,” you say, moving back some. But not too far. There’s nothing else to do in the lab except watch him work and you wonder if he realizes he makes faces while he’s sketching out ideas. That he taps a servo absently on his cheek when he’s thinking or that he moves faster, grabbing for things in a hurry when he’s excited because a thought’s just occurred to him. Caught up in his giant, alien version of zoomies and it’s adorable. You like watching him work, don’t mind the quiet.

• Jotting down a note on his datapad, he stiffens when you climb up to straddle his forearm and just stretch out on him. Knows you’re cold more often than not, but he made you a heater for a reason. And you still prefer him. Making everything much more difficult when he doesn’t like disturbing you when you’re being affectionate and clingy. Laying your cheek on an arm, watching him write with the other hand. Venting, he knows you’ll get bored and wonder off eventually. Even if the way you’re absently tracing spirals on his plating is very distracting. Almost intimate as silly as the thought is.

• You can feel him staring at you, but he’s not tipping his arm to slide you off of his warmth. Watching him doodle out his ideas, you’re lulled by the rasp of the stylus on the datapad and the faint thrumming you can feel wherever you touch him. Liking when it’s just him and you, when Brainstorm and his person aren’t here and arguing loudly. Because Perceptor is relaxing and calm. Something about the big bot feeling so safe.

• Glancing at you when you make a funny noise, he groans. You’re asleep, mouth open and snoring still lying on his arm in an inelegant sprawl. And he’s tempted to dump you off of him, but he can’t quite make himself do it. Listening to your snorts and grumbles as you sleep on him, a leg sliding on his arm. Even if the snoring sometimes startles him out of recharge, you’re kind of cute. A little spot of warmth that at this point, he’s used to having on him when he rests. Missing you the rare times you sleep by yourself in your pile of blankets because he’s too warm and you grumble when he always picks you up to put you back on his chassis. Where you belong.

[maybemaleksentmeasakindness]

Whittling

Summary - You and Liam have an arrangement of sorts. You patch him up and he makes sure you sleep. It's fine, right? Just two pals, helping each out.

A/N - There is cursing (this is your warning). As always, these characters and places don't belong to me. This is me making up for the lack of Liam Mairi fics in the world. 2k words.

Your POV

A soft light filtered through the curtains of your room. You had watched it since the moment you’d woken up, moving across the shelf where Liam’s carving sat and toward where your toes were tucked away at the edge of the bed. You had been up for a few hours and might’ve gotten out of bed if there wasn’t a beautiful blonde man lying in your bed beside you. Instead, you settled with sitting up against the headboard.

When you’d woken up Liam was dead asleep, one arm slung half-heartedly over your middle with not much space between your bodies, considering the bed was technically only made for one person. You pondered if whoever designed the rooms considered how much time some people spent in their peer’s bed, and if they perhaps did this to try and curb that habit. You chuckled quietly, considering how Liam might simply take it upon himself to take his skills with wood and a few tools to the next level and make a larger bed frame so you both could be comfortable. But that would mean admitting that you aren’t just extra good at healing his wounds, and he wasn’t extra good at noticing your exhaustion. That he just showed up at your room at night to clean him up. That he knew you weren’t getting sleep and insisted on staying the night. Just two peers, two friends, caring for each other because a larger bed frame made feelings real. Too real. 

A soft snore pulled you from your thoughts as you tugged Liam’s still sleeping form against your body, letting your fingers trace the rebellion relic around his wrist. A low groan left Liam, barely aware of the touch. Your finger traced up the mark, over his arm. It didn’t feel fair to make children suffer for their parents' choices. Liam shifted slightly, but you didn’t stop, fingers tracing higher. Liam tucked himself closer to you with another groan. Your body shook slightly with laughter. 

“Good morning, Mr. Mairi,” you teased.

“You should be sleeping right now,” Liam mumbled back, eyes still closed. “And don’t call me that.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Not that you could sleep much these days. Just because you had a decent chance with a dragon and blade didn’t mean you were free of the terrors that came with it. 

Liam responded by tugging you down beside him, pressing a kiss to your hairline. 

A tension you didn’t know you were holding in your body seemed to ease up slightly in response before you tucked yourself closer to him, tangling your legs under the sheets. The skin of your face tingled as you felt Liam’s breath fan over it. It was warm and inviting, while giving an odd sensation. A pause, Liam’s eyes still hadn’t opened. “We could get an early breakfast,” you suggested, cutting through the silence.

“I told you I was going to help you get more sleep, and that’s what I’m doing.” Liam responded. He opened his eyes for a moment, examining you carefully. 

You smiled before placing yourself closer to Liam. You wanted to say something, to fill the pause. It’s not that you completely disliked the silence but it was more time to run around in circles and for you to do something stupid like kiss him. Ask him what exactly all of this was. “Liam?” 

“Mmm?” Liam hummed out in response, eyes still closed, both arms around your middle. 

You chuckled slightly realizing you had nothing more to say. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to say your name.”

“Sleep,” was Liam’s only response.

It wasn’t that easy, but you would try. If not for yourself, for him. Liam was aware of the whittling he was doing with his carvings, just not the whittling he was doing to your heart. Carving out a Liam-spaced home. 

Liam’s POV

Liam often wondered if there was ever a day he didn’t need something patched up if he would still show up at your door, if you would even let him in. But they were Riders in training, there would always be something to patch up. That always seemed to occupy Liam’s mind. Walking to your room at night. Sitting as you patched him up. Falling asleep next to you. Waking up next to you. 

It was nearly his first thought when he woke up as you pulled him tighter against you. He groaned slightly, not feeling ready to be up, and wanting you to be asleep. Liam, too tired to actually say anything, decided just to let out a low groan. A graon meant to represent the earliness and his displeasure with you being awake. Liam felt your fingers glide up from his wrist, up his arm in intricate patterns. For just a moment he thought you were drawing a picture when he realized it wasn’t any sort of free form. You were tracing his rebellion relic again. He wondered for a few moments what it would be like to wake up in his own bed, no fingers tracing up the marking on his skin. Liam had grown so accustomed to waking up beside you. He just needed an excuse to come call on your meticulous healing skills every night. What would happen if one day he made it out without some injury to be taken care of? What then? Would he still be invited into your room, your bed? The first night you’d ever spent sharing a bed was the best night of sleep in Liam’s life. 

Liam groaned at the thought of losing this opportunity to share a bed with you, preferring your warmth. He curled his body against your’s slightly, as if doing that wouldn’t let you escape, or perhaps his warmth would convince you back to sleep—–which would let him fall back asleep. 

“Good morning, Mr. Mairi,” you said, a clear teasing in your voice. He hated when you called him that, like he was your superior. “And don’t call me that.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he heard you respond. 

Liam let out a faint grunt before selecting that asking you nicely was going to get you to try and sleep. He pulled you down so you weren’t sitting up anymore, his body pressed to yours. Liam gently pressed his lips just under your hairline, half expecting you to complain that you didn’t need sleep and you weren’t a baby, but it didn’t come. Instead a soft silence. Liam could feel you curl up against him, tangling your legs underneath the sheets. And for a split second Liam wondered what it might be like to fall asleep, legs tangled every night with you, no need for your healing skills beforehand. Just two people needing each other to sleep. Some part of that was scary, that he had to admit that he needed you as much as you needed him. That he needed you more than just for the night, he needed you all the time––alive and kicking ass. 

Your voice came echoing through Liam’s thoughts. “We could get an early breakfast.”

Liam would’ve shaken his head if you both weren’t tucked together perfectly like two puzzle pieces that would fall apart if one of them moved. “I told you I was going to help you get more sleep, and that’s what I’m doing,” he said with a huff. From a sliver of vision he could see you looking wide awake, but it was clear you needed to rest longer. He felt some relief as you smiled and managed to wiggle ever closer against him. 

If there was even an ounce of alcohol in his system Liam might’ve just kissed you right then and there, but something was stopping him. What if one day you didn’t need this? What if one day Liam would be turned away after you’d patched him up? What then? What if these feelings he felt for you weren’t mutual? 

“Liam?” There was your stupid, beautiful voice again, pulling him from his thoughts. 

He screwed his eyes shut, knowing if he opened them he’d just stare straight at those gorgeous lips of yours. Liam needed you to both shut up and get out of his sight and to always be talking, always be in his line of sight. You were maddening.  Stupidly so. Liam restrained a groan before letting out a soft, hum. He was convinced if he tried to do anything more a long trail of words would escape his mouth before it was too late. 

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to say your name.”

LIam chose to quickly mumble out, “sleep.” He paused a moment before cracking one eye open to see you had closed yours. His gaze fell to a few of the carvings he had mde for you a while ago. All of them scattered around your room. Your dragon, a small bunny placed beside each other. Liam felt you shift slightly, face tucking into his neck. His fingers tensed against your back for a split second before relaxing. He could do this. He just needed to clear his head. 

“Liam?”

He looked at you before he realized he was gripping your back tighter than he meant. His eyes followed your face as you lifted your head slightly. “Oh, sorry.”

You only shook your head slightly. 

Liam scanned your eyes then your lips. Your stupid, perfect, gorgeous lips. Liam swore your face got a few inches closer to his. Shit.

Suddenly a knock came at the door and Liam sat up quickly.

“I know you’d never forget about me,” Ridoc calls from the other side of the door.

Liam tenses, eyes scanning to you as you mutter a litany of curses, jumping out of your bed. Liam’s very aware of his hand resting on your lower back as long as it physically could before you were running around your room. 

“Sorry! Give me a minute!” You shouted from the door before glancing at Liam. “Told Ridoc I’d study with him.”

Liam nodded before realizing he ought to get out of your bed and leave, though he knew exactly what that would look like. He watched and waited as you dressed as quickly as you could before swinging the door open.

Ridoc stood there with a shit-eating grin before trying to stop it. “Good morning, Liam. Didn’t expect to see you,” an unnecessary pause as he scanned the both of you, “here.”

You stepped out of your room, smacking Ridoc’s arm in response. He winced, acting like a wounded puppy as you pulled at his arm giving Liam the space to leave. He quickly made his way to the door, unsure how to say goodbye to you. Normally he’d happily walk out into the hallway with his arm around someone’s shoulder. But not today, not this time. You were different. He had too much emotional attachment here. Before Liam could make any more decisions you pulled him into a hug. As you both pulled away from each other he felt that tension from earlier, the moment just before Ridoc was knocking on your door. Before he could think or act on it, Ridoc was half pulling you down the hallway towards someone else’s room. Liam didn’t stand around waiting to find out who, he just briskly walked towards his own room, hearing your laughter just as the door was shut behind him. 

He could still feel your warmth, see your proximity to him, feel how close he was to getting a taste of those lips. Liam shook his head. He needed to clear it. 

Liam spent an hour doing that, trying to do anything and everything to get you out of his head; push-ups, bathing, studying. Nothing worked. He finally gave up, sitting down with a small piece of wood and a tool, and began to whittle away. Whittling your face from memory.

[arreat]

more Poolverine shit cause the hyperfixation is not fading

Logan has issues with abandonment and being alone, anyone who knows anything about his past could probably guess this. So when Wade W Wilson barrels into his life to drag the sad alcoholic out of his miserable world, invites him to live together, and gives him what is essentially a new lease on life, it’s a little bit of an understatement to say Logan got a little attached to Wade.

Now this would all be fine and dandy if Logan didn’t have a shitload of trauma and all, but hey I wouldn’t be writing this if things went smoothly would I?

While with Wade, Logan has gotten irreversibly attached to him. The banter, the domesticity, and the feeling of being accepted by someone is something Logan hadn’t felt in a while. He can’t ever get fully drunk due to his dealing factor, but god, Wade’s kindness and adoration makes him feel like he’s pretty fucking close. But as the two spend more time together, Logan is always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to do something that will disappoint Wade and damage their relationship. What if Wade kicks him out, or even worse, slowly realize the Wolverine isn’t actually worth helping? Logan can’t help but think that one day Wade will stop being impressed by him since he’s no longer useful, just a sad, washed-up, alcoholic tool that’s only occasionally handy for timeline saving.

So, Logan makes himself useful. Cooking for the two, cleaning the living space, trying to find a job to cover rent, taking care of the dog, Logan does it all in a desperate attempt to stay in his perception of Wade’s good graces. Wade certainly doesn’t complain about it, offering to help on occasions but being refused by a grumpy Wolverine.

What brings the status quo all crashing down one day is a simple comment from Wade before they’re about to head to bed,

“Hey peanut, you consider ever moving out?” Of course to Wade, it was just a harmless question, giving Logan an out in case he preferred living without a chatty ADHD cancer tumor and a blind woman in a cramped area. So when Logan suddenly tenses aggressively as his breaths become more laboured, Wade is confused. Suddenly, all of the possible things Logan has done “wrong” flashed through his head. Was it because he accidentally stabbed Wade while sleeping? Was he too harsh on the merc, telling him to shut up? Did he snore too loud, or did Wade just get sick of the close proximity? For all the joking Wade did, Logan couldn’t get a proper read on what he actually meant. The Wolverine slowly stood up and faced Wade, voice barely audible and breathing harshly.

“Wade. Are you telling me to move out?”

“You doing ok there peanut? Feel your water break or something?” Wade joked weakly, surprised by the sudden change in Logan’s demeanour, failing to lighten the mood. In fact , the deflection made Logan’s expression even worse, as he thought Wade was just being nice and not explicitly stating he wanted him out of here. At this moment, Logan realizes he is not above begging to stay with the merc. He can’t bear to look at Wade as he stammers,

“Please don’t make me leave, I promise I’ll be useful to you, tell me what you need me to be. Please.” Logan rasped, slowly staggering towards the merc, hands desperately grabbing at Wade’s arms. The merc tries to speak, but gets interrupted.

“I can be useful Wade, you need help taking hits? Is it something physical you want with me? You’re always joking about my abs and “tits” and shit, you want that?” Logan pleads in an increasingly maniacal tone. Wade, horrified at Logan’s statement interrupts.

“No what- what are you taking about? I’m not forcing you to move out, Logan, it was just a suggestion!”

Logan still can’t bring himself to face Wade, suddenly ashamed at his words. He attempts to turn and leave, but is stopped by Wade as the merc continues.

“Pookie look at me, yes I know difficult task, but I need you to know I’m being serious when I say you don’t owe me anything.” Wade says.

“I don’t know what perception you have of me, but I would never coerce you to do something that you weren’t into because you felt the need to repay me for god knows what reasons. Consent is mandatory AND very sexy. In fact, I’m very happy to have you living with me, I just asked to make sure YOU wanted to live with ME.”

Wade rambles on while reassuring Logan, but at this point poor wolvie is overwhelmed with the idea that Wade actually wants him here? It’s a novel concept that someone would want Logan just for being Logan. It was never about who he was as a person, only the role he could fill. Bad guy, good guy, the Wolverine, a weapon, all his life he tried to live up to labels and expectations, thrown away if he didn’t meet them. He always needed to impress, to be useful to get people to stay.

Tears gently rolled down his face as Wade brushed them away softly, guiding the two to bed. “Shhh it’s alright honey badger, we can talk more about this in the morning. You’re tired, let’s get you to bed first” the merc whispers as he walks.

The two eventually go to bed, Logan falling asleep tucked against Wade while listening to his heartbeat Both had their arms wrapped tight around each other, Logan finally feeling safe in someone’s embrace for once.

(They then had a healthy conversation about stuff and yeah this post is getting too long and the author doesn’t want to write more dialogue rn 👍)

[feyascorner]

Astarion is such a girl dad nobody can tell me otherwise.

Would he be a responsible parent? Maybe. It depends on which act we’re looking at. He’d give her a doll and then a pretty knife for her birthday. But gods if he doesn’t absolutely wreak havoc with a little version of himself…

You would walk in on him having a tea party with his daughter, makeup messily smeared on his face and parts of his hair tied with pink rubber bands. He looks ridiculous crouched on a tiny chair, but he takes this tea party very seriously. Your daughter does too, it seems, as they chat about some imaginary society of stuffed animals and gossip about which stuffy was rude to another.

He’d also let her play dentist on his fangs, lying on the sofa while feigning a toothache so his daughter can “treat” him with random tools around the house. If you weren’t terrified she might accidentally cut herself on how sharp his teeth are, you’d think it’s adorable.

And when I say this man dresses her, I am not over exaggerating. He teaches her early on how to do basic sewing and adjustments to her clothes, but he’s also loves to buy her little frilly bows and such that he knows she’ll like. Dresses, scarves, gloves, you name it. He loves putting on a show, so why should his own daughter walk around in dreadfully boring clothing?

On one of the occasions you join in on their tea parties, he steps out of the room for a few minutes to grab something. When he returns, your daughter is fast sleep in your lap, and you smile down softly at her. The sight makes his chest swell.

“I think she has your nose, darling,” he says as he sits down beside you.

“Has your sass, though. I caught her staring at herself in the mirror the other day too.”

He snorts and you finally lift your head to look at him. His eyes flit back and forth between you and your daughter, his features gentle. “Do you blame her? Who wouldn’t want to take after all this?”

You stifle a laugh, careful to keep from waking her. Brushing the hair out of your face, he plants his lips to your forehead while soft snores come from down at your lap.

“I fear I’ll mess up with her,” he whispers against your cheek.

You shake your head, leaning it against his shoulder. “You won’t.”

Somehow, he feels himself trusting your words. He’s always found it easy to do so when it came to you.

[imsorrythatimweird101-blog]

HOW SHIFT USING THE GATEWAY TAPES (UPDATED)

Hey, I want start off to apologize. I'm so sorry for bringing awareness to the tapes and then not clarifying on what to do or how to start. I did try to answer every question I can. I did post a guide a while back but Im still remastering it

IMPORTANT VOCAB

F10- body asleep and mind awake

F12- having your consciousness in the universe and expanded

HOW TO START:

So first off you need click on drive. Once you open the drive you will see tapes.

Before staring the tapes you NEED read a MANUAL. So if you look at your bottom left corner. You will see a PDF and it will have a picture of a old man. He's name is Bob. The creator of the tapes. I love Bob.

Once you click on the tape. You scroll down and you see titles. These titles are the titles of the tape in the folders that your going to use. At the bottom of the titles, there going be a discription. These discription tell you what the tapes do but also how they work and what you need to do during those tapes. Once your done your ready to go

STEPS

Step 1: open the drive and you will see the folders of tapes. ‼️DO NOT USE ANY OTHER AUDIO EXPECTED THE DRIVE. YOUTUBE COMPRESS THEM AND MAKE THEM NOT WORK‼️

[GATEWAY TAPES DRIVE ](https://drive.google.com/drive/u/0/mobile/folders/1vZJg5oJvfYVwWryJh05pfkZTV0cnd026)

Step 2: click the bottom far left corner. It's a Manuel and has a picture of a old guy smiling (bob)

Step 3: find the title of the tape your going to use. Read it carefully and know what's going happened and what to do

Step 4: go to discovery and play the first tape. Don't fall asleep! Be awake during the tapes!

Great! Keep doing these tapes for each tape. Each tape you must do it 3 times or more. So you can get familiar with it. BUT MOST IMPORTANT IF YOUR NOT READY TO MOVE ON OR YOU FEEL LIKE YOU NEED KEEP DOING. THAT'S OKAY, SHIFTING IS ALWAYS GOING BE HERE SO DONT RUSH

‼️PAY ATTENTION TO THIS PART‼️

Once you reach Tape 3- advanced F10. There's a trigger that YOU MUST MASTER. The whole point of discovery is to train your brain to be awake and body asleep.

Now continues the normal steps like the other but this time. You need keep doing it until your able do It without the tapes. This is very important because when your trying reach F12(the goal). You need to be in F10 first and master It already

After that, you NEED to do the other tapes like the normal steps. Because the 4 tape is to have fear go away and if you blockages. The 5 is for awareness while you sleep and 6- free flow- is to freestyle

‼️Make sure to let go any expectations of these tapes because this will hold you back! Put your expectations and your needs in the energy box!‼️

But you can go to F12 tape.

F12 tape is next to discovery. Know as Wave 2. A lot of people ask why only that tape and not the others. Well! If you do F12 tape and in beginning bobs explains that after F12 tape. Those tapes are TOOLS. Those tools involved with manefisting, remote viewing, answering questions etc (I recommend you to check it out)

So the thing you need to do is master F12 and then shift!

Tips and questions

Q: what are gateway tapes?

A: here's some recourses that explains it way more better then I ever could

[gateway tapes ](https://youtu.be/46E_FX-KxZ8?si=yV8dqgoBdcNJXclD)

[Gateway tapes CIA EXPLAINED ](https://youtu.be/HOFq3ruef7I?si=JbwpcgnZ9rrbGyyz)

Q: can I shift at F10?

A: yes you can. It's possible but it's not really meant for that. Its more of SATS approach if that's what you're looking for because F10 is mind awake and body asleep

Q: how many times do I listen to it

A: as many times you feel like. I personally listen to it 3-4 times a day but only because I'm in summer break. Whatever works in your schedule

Q: how do I know I'm in F10?

A: your body is heavy and your limbs are numb. Your body is supposed to be asleep. Many people reported that the hear themselves snore. Me personally, my breath is non-existent and my chest is numb in away. Or like barely there. Trust me you will know. Ofc this doesn't mean you can't move you body at all. You can move your body in F10 but need the WILL to move your body. It can be different from everyone

Q: I tried it couple of days, why is it working?

A: first off, you need patience. This is practice. It's like a baseball player wanting to be the best pitcher in the world but they throw the ball couple of times and then when it's not right. They run and cry in there room. You need take the tapes seriously not half ass it and be PATIENT. Don't rush things. That's the worse thing you can do because you will miss important cues and it's going be all bad.

Q: I keep falling asleep why is that

A: your brain and body is not used to it. Your brain isn't normal active. Its active but it's going through your sleep cycles. So having your brain be in vibration state of being awake and your body being sleep cycle. It's going get confused because it's not used to it. That's why the tapes train it.

Q: do I need earphones or headphones when listening to tape

A: yes, you need ones that aren't noise cancelling and make sure that you hear bob in your right ear. Only because there certain sounds that play in both your ears for your brain to sync.

Q: are these tapes actually going make me shift

A: yes, I believe it will. The only reason why I personally believe that anyone can 1000 percent shift because these gateway tapes were run by scientist and actually doctor in fields to perfect it. Not only that CIA agents use these and it's approved by the CIA. There actually evidence and research done. It isn't like some random teenagers made a method up in there room. These tapes are designed to open the human mind and Bob himself even talked to alter version of himself with these tapes.

‼️MOST IMPORTANT TAKE‼️

Now, you gotta have open mind and believe it too. You cant go in the tapes with a negative mindset and expect a beautiful outcome. This is in every method you used..not only the gateway tapes. If you believe it won't work because whatever the case then obviously it won't work because your mind is going block everything and not letting it's self In general. This is life In general.

[pearly-necklace]

laios desprate humping reader ?? turns full sex ???

Surprise surprise!! I finished cooking it up!

This is a Laios x Gn!Reader(so far),Makeout, Dry humping.

It is more of a part one. I don't have a beta reader so this is pretty much raw besides spell check on word. I appreciate any feedback or critiques (pls be respectful). I am especially curious about my paragraph formatting let me know!

Btw cross posted on AO3

Enjoy!

You have been adventuring with the Touden party for a few weeks now, not even asking twice when what seemed like an angel descending from heaven asked you to help him find his sister. He had found you in a tavern in the town outside the dungeon sipping away your sorrows from being left by your previous party. What you did not know was how quickly you would get hired by another one. The Touden party was certainly unlike any party you had been a part of until then, a tall-man same as yourself, an elf, and a halfling. Eventually you also meet a Dwarf, Senshi, who also joins the group. Cooking monsters was certainly never an option you undertook but you were not a fussy eater, and Senshi was a good cook. Beyond the first few meals at which you hesitated, you simply grew used to them.  

Many floors deep, your boots tapped and echoed against the paved dungeon floors and walls as you walked with your group. A cacophony of soft noises from steps to the blunt noise of Marcille’s stick hitting the ground, to the various pans and trinkets hanging off your bags clunking to one another. The day had been long despite not being able to see the sun and it was about time to call a break and allow everyone to sleep and rest. Laios, who found himself often leading the group, stopped at a closed door where you found a safe spot to rest for the night. You filled your water pouch as did you party members before settling down for mealtime. Everyone pitched in to prep, and for dinner you had Basilisk egg and mandrake root omelets served with a side of leftover mandrake leaves, they were much better than you had expected.  

The group had developed a habit of doing guard rotations for more security, so after the meal and clean up, you and Laios, as per the rotation, hung back from the group preparing to fall asleep. Marcille was doing up her hair in a protective style, while Senshi cleaned his tools, and Chilchuck fixed up his pallet. You hung back the door leaned against the wall across from Laios who was already on sat, looking up at you. He was such a cryptic, if not the most cryptic individual in this party, he always seemed to share too much, talk too much, seem a bit too upfront to you. It would have been normal for you to not be spoken to very much at the beginning since you were an outsider, but he was quick to get close to you, with almost always a new monster or dungeon fact every time you saw a new specimen existing about. Asking you how you were doing, asking for your thoughts on the food, including you in all conversations. You appreciated it, being a newbie was not always easy, but he made the process smoother for you.  

But Laios had his moments too, and you caught him one too many times staring at you, sometimes with a hand on his sword, sometimes with such deep intent in his eyes, it ran a shiver down your spine but you were not sure if you should feel as turned on as you had. It was getting distracting. Of course, upon getting caught he would always look away and a pink tinge would color his ears. This did not stop friendly chatter between you too if you avoided mentioning it and ignored how he always kept his legs suspiciously closer, as if self-conscious. You tried not thinking about it for the sake of the party.  

This night was no different, you talked for a while about the day, reflecting on your experiences and noting what new creatures you may have seen while the other prepared for bed but as soon as Marcille’s soft snores reached your ears your whispers slowed down to comfortable silence feeling as exhaustion weighed down on your shoulders. You sat perpendicular to how he did against the door with only the light of a small torch keeping the left side of Laios’ face visible. In the quiet night you could not take your eyes off him either. This pale skin almost glowing under the fire, slight eye bags and discoloration under his eyes indicative of the circulation running beneath and his sleep deprived state, his slightly chapped lips which he did not seem able to stop chewing at, his slightly rosy cheeks, his hazel-colored eyes staring back at yours, glinting slightly. Startled, you looked away, down to his body. Having discarded his armor, you saw the rise and fall of his chest, his slightly opened shirt allowed for his collarbone to show through and beneath the top of his pectorals. Your eyes slid down further his body, he gulped and recoiled slightly but you felt it was payback for how he had been acting towards you. It was not like the view was anything to shrug at anyway. Although when you reached his groin, you felt the heat grow to your cheeks and you looked away back up to his face to find him mirroring your surprised and embarrassed expression. He was hard, painfully so.  

Much to your surprise, instead of staying put and waiting for the tension to awkwardly go away he crawled closer towards you. His expression twisting, with his eyebrows shooting up and his lips forming into a slight pout. “Laios” You whispered in surprise he echoed your name “Do you want to…?” he whispered a hint of desperation in his voice.  

After a brief silence to internalize his request, a small smirk stretched on your lips as you replied smugly “want what?” to which he sighed deeply as he looked away, his cheeks and ears blushing clearly. You chuckled softly before cradling his face with one hand, noting the warmth of his hand in contrast to your cold one that had been resting against the smooth paved floor. You brought him closer, and he had no trouble following along. The puzzle pieces all fell into place as your lips crashed. His lips slotted perfectly against yours like he had been practicing for it. Barely a few pecks in that he felt he should lick against your lower lip with a soft hum. You gave him access but just as you felt his hands start to roam your upper body you stopped him pushing him away firmly by the shoulders.  

“w-wha..” I mumbled as he looked at you with surprised eyes wondering if he had done something wrong barely a few minutes in. “Let’s go elsewhere” you whisper with your thumb running across his lower lip, hyper aware of your fellow party-mates and Chilchucks's sharp senses. Without hesitation he got up and opened the door and led you to the room next door which luckily sat empty as well with a few torches keeping it bright. He shut the door and pressed you against the wall, his presence suddenly more imposing as he looked down at you, his thumb and forefinger holding your chin in place as he resumed your make out just where you left it.  

His kisses grew needier and sloppier. You pushed against him to get more comfortable on the floor, understanding where this was leading. When he pulled his lips away from yours it was only to come back against your jaw, following the shape of your bone he kissed softly, attentively to your huffs. He nibbles softly at your ear lobe which did not fail to draw a whine from your lips. Similarly, he did not seem immune to your noises, his hips rutting against yours slightly. Your hands that fell against his clothed back triggered him further pushing himself with more strength, allowing himself to groan between kisses, his hot breath turning you on further.  

Eventually he stopped kissing you as his eyes shut tightly, one of his hands gripped your hip, albeit slightly painful to hit the angles he was looking for. You winced at the feeling but not enough to pull him away. You muttered his name close to his ear before he simply begged “Please…please…just a little more…just a little...” He trailed off. At every other stroke we should say, he hit against your core, teasing you before missing repeatedly. You were certainly attracted to this and allowed him to keep going, curious to see him finish against you.  

 His whines grew more desperate as he rolled his hips faster and harder, making you ache for his teasing touch more and more. You kissed up his neck, kissing and nibbling while your tongue shot out leaving little spots that sent shivers down his spine as the saliva grew cold in the cold air. Your hands found the hem of his shirt and you let your hands trail up his back, feeling against the strong muscles that carried his huge backpack on top of his suit of armor every day. Against every bump, ridge, and valley you slid your hand softly, while your other hand carded through his hair. You felt his breath hitch and what he liked best encouraging him to go on. 

 The few same words spilled out of his mouth as he got closer to his peak. “I’m almost there, just a little…a little…” he gasped out against you and in an already foggy mind you did not even think to push him away. With a sharp intake of air and controlled moan he came against you, in his pants, and despite the euphoric state he found himself in he felt the cold spot in his pants. After a few moments, in which he laid limp against you to recover, you felt equal parts gob smacked at what had just transpired in so little time, and terribly horny. 

“Laios, you sly devil” you whispered as you turned to kiss the shell of his ear. The night was nowhere near over for you both.  

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Part 2?

[pileofboneswrites]

LOVER BOY.

dating eddie munson headcanons

SUMMARY — relationship eddie headcanons

A/N — i just wanna say a quick thank you to everyone who liked my other eddie headcanons post, i wasn't expecting all the love, but i appreciate it immensely :))

MASTERLIST | STRANGER THINGS | BACK

when he likes someone, he thinks he's being really subtle, but he's not

him, a stuttering, nervous wreck; "uh hey, cool shirt"

you, deadpan; "it's your shirt, that you gave me to wear, because you thought i'd look cute in it"

always tries to impress you in silly ways

"wanna see how fast i can run?"

"bet i can jump and hit that sign without running"

"i caught you a squirrel because you said they were cute that one time"

is touch starved

as such, he will always be touching you in some capacity; hand on your knee while in class, hand on your thigh or fingers interlaced with yours while driving, he will sit on you if there's nowhere for him.

when you hug him, kiss him, or cuddle with him he will hold on and refuse to let you go until you're late, like really late, you'd have to leave ten minutes ago late.

is big on pet names when you're alone, but mostly calls you by your last name or a shortened version of your name when in public

he's big on baby, sweetheart, dollface.

angel and prince/princess are reserved for when he's fucked up royally, or you're sad or sleepy.

will touch everything you own

perfume/cologne sitting on your dresser? sprayed himself in the face with it the first time he picked it up, but really liked how it smelled so he puts a spitz on every time you leave him alone in your room. just spent the day at the pool and he needs to shower at yours? he will use your shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion and even your deodorant "do you want me to stink? :(". every time he comes in he finds something new to play with. old stuffie under your bed? he's carrying it around/hugging it/holding it until he leaves. trinkets on the top of your bed frame? he'll make them talk to each other when he's bored.

has a hard time sleeping when you're not close

he and sleep have rarely ever been on the same page, so he finds things to do to occupy his time, so when he's in a relationship that usually means he's dragging you along with him; be it going for a swim at 2am at lovers lake, a quick trip to the gas for snacks, or just straight up falling ungracefully through your window and crawling into bed with you to try and grab a couple hours of sleep (while simultaneously scaring the shit out of you because you were already sleeping).

because of the above, he will constantly nap around you while you're hanging out

you're his safe space, he spends most of his time in your presence passed out; laying on his back on the floor with his legs tossed over the side of your bed with his feet tucked under your thigh while you study, arms crossed over his chest while you're head's in his lap as you read out loud to him – he swears he's awake but every so often he lets out a soft snore, sitting on the couch watching a romcom with his head on your shoulder as he struggles to keep his eyes open, literally any time you touch his head/hair he's out like a light.

100% is glued to your side and tells everyone you're his best friend as well as his gf/bf

he goes on errands with you and spends 99% of his free time with you, he drags you along to band practice — which you usually use as an opportunity to feed baked goods to his bandmates (who absolutely adore you for it), when he's working you usually sit around with him passing him tools as he needs them — "uh need 9/16 wrench–" and it's already in your hand like you read his mind.

when you're not around, brags about you to anyone who will listen to him, and carries a picture (that he switches out for newer ones he takes) of you in his wallet that he shows off constantly — "look how cute they are" "my girlfriend/boyfriend is hotter".

writes songs about you

sometimes he'll write them just for himself, or for your ears only recording them on a tape just for you to have a reminder of how much he loves you.

you better believe that wayne loves you for being a good influence on him

you make him eat all breakfast, lunch & dinner — before you he would forget to eat and usually pumped himself full of caffeine only, you get him a reuseable water bottle (which you bribe him to carry it around and actually drink from it) — to his credit he now drinks at least one full bottle, you make him wear sunscreen & a hat on sunny days, waterproof footwear and jacket on rainy/snowy days (he's shocked when he doesn't get sick as often).

at first wayne was wary of you, unsure of whether your intentions were genuine or if you were going to pull one over on eddie — which disappeared the first time he came home from work and saw you too cuddled up on the couch watching one of eddie's favourite movies (it was the way you were staring at him as he shared his favourite parts or something he read about it, or a fact about the filming/production — wayne tells this story at your wedding all teary eyed about his eddie being all grown up and so very obviously loved).

takes photos of you all the time

cutesy date night photos, spicy half-naked photos (or just straight up naked naked), you sleeping, you making an ugly face, you mid-sneeze, you smiling, he has it all caught on film and he loves each and every photo so much.

total softie for you and you alone

you've gotten him to do things he's straight up refused to do for his friends, and even wayne

does literally anything you ask, and even sometimes you don't have to ask, he just does it because he knows it'll make you happy and that's all he strives for, you being happy.