awkward-walking-potato

[awkward-walking-potato]

can you write for Zoro x bartender reader who he meets and is the best bartender around and Luffy ask for reader to join the crew

Whiskey and Words

Requests are open

The Straw Hats had barely stepped foot into your bar before they were causing a scene. Luffy was already trying to convince someone to give him free food, Sanji was flirting with anything that moved, and the green-haired swordsman—Roronoa Zoro—had slumped against the counter, already looking like he regretted coming inside.

You sighed, grabbing a glass and a bottle of whiskey, figuring you'd be dealing with their chaos for a while. “You ordering, or are you just gonna sit there looking miserable?”

Zoro barely glanced at you. “Whiskey. Neat.”

You poured the drink, sliding it over. Instead of a thanks, he muttered, “Took you long enough.”

Your brow twitched. “You wanna try that again, swordsman?”

He exhaled sharply, taking a sip. “What, you want a thank you for doing your job?”

You slammed a fresh glass down in front of him, making some of the whiskey slosh out of his. “No, but I’d like basic respect, unless you plan on paying extra to be an ass.”

Zoro finally looked up at you, scowling. “Tch. I don’t do ‘respect’ for people I just met.”

“Good thing I don’t do ‘patience’ for people who don’t tip,” you shot back. “Seems like we’re at an impasse.”

Zoro’s scowl deepened, but before he could fire back, Sanji cackled from across the bar. “Oi, marimo, getting put in your place already?”

You expected Zoro to snap back, but instead, his expression shifted—he looked… flustered? His face was turning bright red, though whether it was from frustration or something else, you couldn’t tell.

Luffy suddenly perked up from his plate of food, grinning wildly. “Hey, you should join our crew!”

You blinked. “What?”

“Yeah! You’re really good at keeping Zoro in line,” Luffy said through a mouthful of meat. “And we always need more booze!”

You scoffed, looking at Zoro, whose face was still red. He grumbled something under his breath and took another sip of whiskey, avoiding your gaze.

You smirked. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad offer after all.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Here I go again

Red haired shanks

Part 1 part 2 part 3

The sun hung low over the Red Force, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and gold. The crew was celebrating on deck, passing around drinks and trading stories, but their captain wasn’t with them.

Shanks sat alone in his quarters, a half-empty bottle of rum on his desk. In his hands, he held a photograph—one he had carried with him for years.

The edges were worn, the ink slightly faded, but the image was burned into his memory as if it had been taken yesterday.

You stood in front of him, your back against his chest, his arms wrapped lazily around your waist. He was leaning down, whispering something in your ear, and you were laughing—head tilted back, eyes sparkling with the kind of happiness that couldn’t be faked.

His fingers traced the outline of your smile.

He could still hear your laughter, the way it used to echo across the deck on windless nights. He could still remember the exact moment that photo was taken—Buggy, grumbling about “stupid lovebirds,” had snapped it without either of you noticing.

He had kept it ever since.

With a quiet sigh, Shanks leaned back in his chair, letting his thoughts drift further into the past.

Years Ago - Your First Day on the Ship

He hadn’t expected you to fit in so quickly.

Most newcomers took time to adjust to life at sea, but you? You had stepped aboard the Red Force like you were made for it.

He remembered the way your eyes had lit up the moment you saw the open ocean, how you had leaned over the railing, mesmerized by the waves.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you had whispered, watching the sun reflect off the water.

Shanks had grinned, standing beside you. “Get used to it, sweetheart. This is just the beginning.”

You had turned to him, excitement buzzing in your veins. “What do you think is out there? Beyond the horizon?”

He had chuckled. “Adventure. Freedom. Trouble, if you’re lucky.”

And then, with that damn smile of his, he had added, “Stick with me, and you’ll see for yourself.”

And you had.

Until the night everything nearly changed.

The storm had come without warning—violent winds, waves crashing against the ship, the deck slick with rain.

Shanks had been on the quarterdeck, shouting orders to his crew, when he heard someone scream your name.

He turned just in time to see you lose your footing, the force of the wind knocking you off balance.

One second, you were there. The next, you were gone.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

He dove forward, his hand snatching your wrist just before the ocean could swallow you whole. Rain pounded against his skin as he strained to pull you back over the railing, his grip tightening like a vice.

Your wide eyes met his, terrified, breathless.

“Hold on,” he had growled, using every ounce of strength he had to haul you back onto the deck.

When you finally collapsed against him, shaking, he wrapped his arms around you without hesitation.

“You okay?” he had murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

You had clung to him, your face buried against his chest. “You saved me.”

Shanks had only held you tighter. “Yeah. And I’ll do it again if I have to.”

And for a while, he had meant it.

Until the day he let you go.

Present Day

A knock at the door pulled Shanks from his thoughts.

Makino stood in the doorway, her soft smile warm as ever.

“There you are,” she said gently. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Shanks returned her smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll be out soon.”

She nodded, but before she left, her gaze flickered toward the photograph still resting in his hand.

Her expression didn’t change. She didn’t say a word.

But she didn’t have to.

Shanks waited until she was gone before tucking the photo back into the locked drawer of his desk.

Back on the Island

You watched your daughter from across the room, narrowing your eyes.

Something was off.

She was fidgeting, avoiding your gaze, and you knew her well enough to know when she was hiding something.

“Alright,” you said, crossing your arms. “Spill it.”

She jolted. “W-What?”

“You’re up to something.” You took a step closer. “What is it?”

Your daughter hesitated, gripping the diary at her side. But before you could press further, you glanced out the window and noticed the first signs of wedding guests arriving in the village.

You sighed, rubbing your temple.

“We need more fruit for the tables,” you said. “Head into town and grab some before everyone gets here.”

Your daughter nodded a little too quickly. “Got it! Be right back!”

You watched her rush out the door, the feeling of unease still lingering.

You weren’t wrong.

Because as soon as she reached the village, she stopped by the small post station, slipping three carefully sealed letters into the hands of a messenger.

“Deliver these,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “Urgently.”

The man looked at the names scrawled across the envelopes.

Shanks.

Ace.

Zoro.

Your daughter swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest.

She had to know the truth.

And if her mother wouldn’t tell her, she’d bring the answers to her instead.

[awkward-walking-potato]

A Voice Worth Hearing

My requests are open

You hadn’t asked for this life. Working under Doflamingo was more a matter of survival than loyalty, but he trusted you—enough to put you in charge of watching over the kid. Trafalgar Law was sharp, angry, and hurting, and keeping him in line was no easy task.

Still, you did what you could. You weren’t cruel to him, and maybe that was why he tolerated you more than most.

But the real secret, the one that could get you killed, was the man in the feathered coat.

Donquixote Rosinante. Doflamingo’s own brother. You knew he wasn’t like the rest of the family, knew there was something different in the way he carried himself. And you also knew that Law had latched onto him in a way that made your job infinitely harder.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself stuck in the middle of whatever was going on between them.

One night, Law had fallen asleep curled up in a chair in the dimly lit hideout, and you turned to Rosinante, arms crossed. “You shouldn’t be here. If Doflamingo finds out—”

He waved a hand as if to brush off your concern, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. You sighed, leaning against the wall. “Why do you care so much about the kid?”

Rosinante froze.

You raised an eyebrow. “That much is obvious, y’know. But Doflamingo doesn’t know, does he?”

There was a long silence before he did something unexpected.

He spoke.

His voice was low, rough from disuse, but gentle. “He deserves better.”

Your breath hitched.

No one had ever heard his voice before. At least, not in years.

He must have seen the look on your face because he flinched, as if bracing for laughter or mockery. But instead, you smiled, something warm settling in your chest.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

Rosinante’s eyes widened. He parted his lips as if to say something, but no words came.

You just shook your head, a soft chuckle escaping. “You don’t have to hide it from me.”

For the first time, he smiled at you—really smiled.

Maybe you were trapped in this life. Maybe there were things you couldn’t change. But in that moment, with the sound of his voice lingering between you, you realized something.

Not everything here was ugly. Some things—some people —were worth holding onto.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Here I go again

Mamma Mia inspired

Red haired shanks - 3

Part 1, part 2

The island was more alive than usual, buzzing with wedding preparations. The town square was filled with chatter and the scent of fresh flowers, but inside your home, the energy was even louder.

“I can’t believe your little girl is getting married,” Nami teased, dropping a heavy bag onto the table. “I still remember when she was small enough to fit in one of my treasure chests.”

Robin chuckled, setting down a neatly wrapped package. “Time flies.” She turned to you with a knowing smile. “Are you ready for all of this?”

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. “Ready? No. But I’m trying to focus on the good parts.”

Like the fact that your two best friends were finally here.

Nami and Robin had been a part of your life for years—your sisters in all but blood. When they’d heard about the wedding, they’d insisted on coming to help, which, knowing them, meant both lending a hand and making your life slightly more chaotic in the process.

Unbeknownst to the three of you, just upstairs, your daughter was flipping to the next entry in your diary, fingers tightening around the pages as she continued unraveling the past.

---

Diary Entry - The Night It Changed

I should’ve known it would happen eventually.

I don’t know if it was the rum, or the way the lanterns flickered just right, or the way his laughter curled around my ribs like a hook that wouldn’t let go. But that night… everything changed.

Shanks and I had fallen into a rhythm—him showing up at the bar every night, talking to me for hours, walking me home under the moonlight. I had told myself a thousand times that it was nothing. That it couldn’t be anything.

But then, last night, he walked me home like always, only this time, he didn’t say goodnight right away.

He looked at me—really looked at me—and I felt it before it even happened.

His hand brushed my cheek, his fingers calloused but gentle, and then his lips were on mine.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way I tasted. And maybe he did, because once it started, neither of us wanted to stop.

I don’t remember how we ended up inside, or when his coat hit the floor, or when my hands tangled in his hair. I just remember the heat of his body, the way his arms felt around me, the sound of his voice whispering my name like a secret only he was meant to know.

And after, when dawn crept in through the window, he was still there, arm draped over my waist, holding me like he had no plans of leaving.

That was the moment I knew.

I was his. And whether I liked it or not, he was mine.

---

Your daughter’s breath hitched.

She sat back against the pillows, heart pounding.

You loved him.

And yet, you had never spoken of him, never told her who he was.

She turned the page.

---

Diary Entry - A Few Days Later

Shanks hasn’t left my side since that night.

Wherever I go, he’s there—laughing, teasing, stealing sips from my drinks. His crew has started calling me “Captain’s Shadow,” and I can’t even pretend to be annoyed.

Because I like it. I like the way he pulls me into his world, the way he listens when I speak, the way he looks at me like I’m something rare and precious.

But today, he asked me something that shook me.

“Come with me.”

At first, I thought he was joking. But he wasn’t.

“I want you on my ship,” he said, voice soft but sure. “Come with me.”

I didn’t answer. I don’t know the answer.

Because the moment I say yes, my whole life changes.

And I don’t know if I’m brave enough for that.

---

Your daughter slammed the book shut, her heart racing.

Did you say yes? Did you leave everything behind for him?

Or did you stay, choosing the life that eventually led to her?

She had to know.

And she was running out of time.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Here I go again

Mamma Mia inspired

Red haired shanks - 2

On a quiet island far from the chaos of the Grand Line, you’ve built a peaceful life raising your daughter. But as her wedding approaches, she realizes there’s one thing missing—her father. Determined to find out who he is, she secretly reads your old diary, only to uncover a shocking truth: there are three possible candidates.

Part 1, part 3

Your daughter sat cross-legged on her bed, the old diary heavy in her hands. She had read the first few pages already, flipping through memories she had never known existed. But this—this was different.

The name Shanks stood out on the worn page, bold and impossible. Red-Haired Shanks, one of the most infamous pirates in the world.

Her hands trembled as she turned the page, diving deeper into your past.

Diary Entry - Year Unknown

I never expected a pirate to walk into my life and make me laugh like that.

The first time I saw him, I knew exactly what he was—how could I not? He carried himself like someone who had seen the world and made it his playground. He had the kind of confidence that could start a war or talk his way out of one just as easily. And those men who followed him? They weren’t just a crew. They were his family.

He came into the bar that night with a swagger, a grin, and a thirst for rum. His men were loud, full of stories and laughter, but he was different. He watched. He listened. And when he spoke, he made it feel like the whole conversation belonged to just the two of us.

At first, I thought he was just another pirate looking for trouble. But then he came back the next night.

And the next.

And the next.

Every night, without fail, Red-Haired Shanks sat at my bar with that damn smile and a bottle of rum, talking to me like I was the most interesting person in the world.

Your daughter’s breath caught in her throat.

He came back for her?

She turned the page, hungry for more.

Diary Entry - A Few Weeks Later

I think I might be in trouble.

Shanks has a way of making you forget the rest of the world. When he’s around, the tavern feels different—warmer, lighter, like it belongs in some adventure story instead of this quiet, forgotten island.

I keep telling myself it doesn’t mean anything. He’s a pirate, after all. Pirates don’t settle down. Pirates don’t stay. But every night, he walks through that door like clockwork, orders his drink, and spends hours talking to me like I’m the only person who matters.

And damn him, he makes me laugh.

Your daughter let out a shaky breath. She could picture it—the dimly lit tavern, the clinking of glasses, and you, leaning across the bar with that rogue of a pirate smiling at you like you hung the stars.

Was he your great love? Or just another name in the past?

She didn’t know yet.

But she was going to find out.

With a deep breath, she turned the page.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Here I go again

Mamma Mia inspired

I hope you enjoy this, I’m hoping to write it as a pick your own so they’ll each have their own individual stories so you can pick who you want the father to be.

On a quiet island far from the chaos of the Grand Line, you’ve built a peaceful life raising your daughter. But as her wedding approaches, she realizes there’s one thing missing—her father. Determined to find out who he is, she secretly reads your old diary, only to uncover a shocking truth: there are three possible candidates.

Shanks - part 2 part 3

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden light over the small island you called home. Waves lapped gently against the shore as laughter rang from the bustling town square, where preparations for the wedding of the year were well underway. Your daughter, a whirlwind of excitement, had spent the morning running between vendors, making sure every detail was perfect. But now, hidden away in her bedroom, she sat cross-legged on her bed, an old, leather-bound diary resting in her lap.

Your diary.

With hesitant fingers, she traced the worn edges of the cover, feeling a strange mix of nerves and anticipation. She wasn’t proud of snooping, but she had no other choice. Ever since she was little, it had just been the two of you—no father in sight. And now, with her wedding just days away, she wanted to know the truth.

She took a deep breath and flipped to the first page.

Entry 1

It still feels unreal being out on the sea. The first real adventure of my life, and I don’t know whether to laugh or throw up over the side of the ship. This crew is crazy, but in the best way. I’ve never felt more alive. And him… well, he’s trouble. The kind that makes your heart race in ways it shouldn’t.

Entry 7

I shouldn’t like him this much. But when he smiles, it’s like the whole damn ocean stops to listen. The way he carries himself, all confidence and mischief, like nothing can touch him… It’s impossible not to get caught up in the whirlwind that is Shanks.

---

Your daughter’s eyes widened. Shanks? As in Red-Haired Shanks?The legendary pirate? She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. That couldn’t be right. Could it?

She turned the page.

---

Entry 15

I knew he was reckless, but I didn’t think he’d drag me into it, too. We barely made it out of that fight in one piece. I should be furious at him. I should never speak to him again. But when he looks at me with that cocky grin and those burning eyes, all I can think is—Ace, you absolute idiot, you’re going to be the death of me.

---

She covered her mouth, heart pounding. Portgas D. Ace? Fire Fist Ace? The stories about him were legendary. Was he her father?

Her hands trembled as she turned the page again.

---

Entry 23

He doesn’t talk much. At least, not in the way most people do. But I’ve learned to understand him in other ways. The way he nods when he listens. The way he lingers just a little longer when we say goodbye. The way he fights like the whole world is depending on him. He’s rough around the edges, but there’s something in his eyes—something I can’t walk away from. Zoro might be the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, but when he holds me, it’s the only time I’ve ever felt truly safe.

---

Your daughter gasped, staring at the name. Roronoa Zoro?! The Pirate Hunter turned right-hand man of the future Pirate King?

She shut the diary, hands shaking. Three names. Three impossible names. And no answers.

Her heart pounded as realization set in.

She needed to find them.

And she needed to do it before the wedding.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hey so how do you think Kurt wagner would deal with being with his s/o and s/o admits that they don’t feel any jealousy whenever he interacts with other people. They trust him 100%? Like if asked “do you think he’s cheating on you?” S/o with confidence is like “of course not. You’re insulting him by suggesting such a thing”. Meanwhile, s/o has stated they tried hookup culture once, it just isn’t for them cuz it made them super exhausted having to manage that many people. Like they’re a one romantic relationship at a time type deal?

Faith Unshaken

Kurt had been nervous to bring it up. He'd heard it before—people questioning how his partner could be so calm, so unbothered by his affectionate nature. He was a social creature by design, and he knew that his habit of hugging, laughing, and engaging deeply with people could be misinterpreted.

But you? You never batted an eye.

So, one night, as you lounged together, his tail idly wrapped around your wrist, he finally asked, “Do you ever… feel jealous?”

You glanced up from your book, eyebrow raised. “Of what?”

“Of me,” he said, almost sheepishly. “With others.”

For a moment, you just stared at him before laughing softly, shaking your head. “Kurt, do you think I’d be with you if I thought you’d betray me?”

He blinked, surprised by how easily you turned the question around.

“Let me make one thing clear,” you continued, voice steady. “If someone asked me, ‘Do you think Kurt is cheating on you?’ I would immediately tell them off for insulting your character.”

His golden eyes widened. “You would?”

“Of course. I know you. I know your heart.” You squeezed his hand. “I trust you completely.”

He stared at you, tail flicking in thought before he pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Mein Herz… you honor me.”

You chuckled. “It’s just the truth.”

There was a pause before you added, “Besides, I tried hookup culture once. Exhausting.Juggling multiple people? Keeping track of who likes what? I’d rather put my time into someone who matters.”

Kurt chuckled, kissing your cheek. “Then I am doubly blessed.”

And that was the end of it—no doubts, no need for further reassurance. Just trust, unwavering and unshaken.

[awkward-walking-potato]

(If you're still doing requests) magneto with a reader who can transform any physical object into another physical object (like an apple into a dove or into a brick. As long as its the same mass. They could even turn someone entirely into wood or metal)

Reader shares most ideals with magneto in that mutants should inherit the world as the next step in evolution. But cares little for his hypocrisy or "more extreme" takes they personally would find to be harmful even to some mutants. But despite it all they love him deeply?

Shaping the Future

The war for mutantkind was not a battle of strength alone—it was a battle of philosophy, of will, of what the world should become. You and Erik had always agreed on that.

You stood beside him as he addressed a gathering of mutants, his voice filled with righteous fury, his conviction as unshakable as the metal he bent to his will. You admired him for it. Loved him for it. But you did not worship him.

Later, in the quiet of his chambers, you leaned against the balcony, watching the moonlight glint off the metal structures he had pulled from the earth. He came to stand beside you, ever the commanding figure, and yet softer in these moments.

"You were silent today," he observed, his voice smooth but probing.

You turned a small coin over in your fingers before changing it into a rose, twirling the petals absentmindedly. "I listen when I agree, Erik. I speak when I don't."

He hummed, watching you carefully. "And what would you have said?"

You met his gaze, unwavering. "That some mutants would suffer under your vision. That the strong may inherit the earth, but the reckless will burn it down before we have a chance to build anything worth keeping."

His expression darkened, but there was something like amusement in his eyes. "You think me reckless?"

"I think you selective." You let the rose shift back into a coin, then into a small bird that fluttered from your palm. "You rage against the hypocrisy of humanity, yet you make exceptions when it suits you. A necessary alliance here, an expendable soul there."

"You would rather we do nothing?"

"I would rather we do better."

There was a long silence between you, filled only by the distant hum of metal shifting under his subconscious control. And then, Erik reached out, tilting your chin up with gloved fingers.

"You challenge me more than my enemies do," he mused, a quiet reverence in his voice.

You smirked. "Because I love you more than they do."

A rare chuckle escaped him, low and genuine. "Then tell me, my heart—if not my way, then what?"

You stepped closer, pressing a palm against his chest. "We shape the world, Erik. We do not crush it under our heel. We make it into something undeniable. Something even they cannot help but want to follow."

He studied you for a long moment before finally inclining his head. "Then show me how."

You smiled. The future was still unwritten, but if nothing else, you would ensure it was crafted—not destroyed.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request again? If okay- if so, I wanted to ask if I could get Remy adopting a kid fic/headcannon? I love how you write dad remy so much, it lives rent free in my head every day.

- daddy issues anon ✨️

Little Joker in the Deck

Remy LeBeau never thought he'd be the responsible type. He was a gambler, a charmer, a thief with a heart of gold—but a dad? That was a role he'd never bet on.

And yet, here he was, standing in his small New Orleans apartment, watching as a scrappy kid—his kid now—dug through the kitchen cabinets like they were casing a joint.

“Y’lookin’ for somethin’ in particular, mon petit?” Remy asked, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

The kid glanced up, eyes sharp and mischievous, too much like his own. “Yeah, food. Ain’t much in here but hot sauce and bad decisions.”

Remy let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Bad decisions? Chère, dat’s just Cajun seasoning.”

The kid snorted but didn’t stop rummaging. Remy had found them on the streets a few weeks back—alone, hungry, and too proud to ask for help. Sounded familiar. Too familiar. He hadn’t even hesitated when he’d told them they could crash at his place. Maybe it was reckless, but he knew what it was like to be young and lost in a city that never played fair.

“Y’know,” Remy started, rubbing his chin in mock thought, “I used to be ‘bout your age when I first got into trouble.”

The kid arched an eyebrow. “First? How many times we talkin’?”

Remy grinned. “Let’s jus’ say I spent more time runnin’ from trouble than sittin’ in it.”

They finally settled on a questionable-looking granola bar, unwrapping it with a skeptical glance. “So, you were a menace?”

Remy placed a hand over his heart. “A menace? Moi? Chère, I was a misunderstood entrepreneur.”

The kid rolled their eyes, but there was a smile there too. “Right. An entrepreneur who got caught stealin’ pastries from the market?”

Remy snapped his fingers. “Hey now, dat’s called redistribution of delicious wealth.”

He expected another eye roll, but instead, the kid just looked at him for a long moment before asking, “Why’d you take me in?”

The question knocked the wind out of him more than any punch ever had. He could’ve given a hundred answers, but only one mattered.

“‘Cause someone once did it for me,” he said honestly. “An’ ‘cause I see a whole lotta me in you.”

The kid stared at him, their expression unreadable. Then, in a quiet voice, they asked, “So… you gonna teach me all your tricks?”

Remy smirked, ruffling their hair. “First lesson—never let ‘em see you sweat. Second lesson? Always have an escape plan.”

The kid huffed a laugh. “And the third?”

Remy grinned, throwing an arm around their shoulders as he led them toward the fridge. “Third lesson? A full stomach makes for a happy thief. Let’s go get some real food, mon petit.”

As they walked out into the warm New Orleans night, Remy felt something settle in his chest—something solid, something real. He might not have planned for this, but maybe, just maybe, he’d won the best hand of his life.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Flames and scissors

It’s another busy afternoon at your salon when Johnny Storm struts in, sunglasses perched on his nose, his trademark grin flashing as he makes his way toward your station. He always seemed to come in on the busiest days, somehow slipping past appointments and giving you that mischievous look that says he knows exactly what he's doing.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he greets, settling into the chair. “You ready to make me look like a million bucks?”

You laugh, grabbing a comb and running it through his hair. “What happened to your last haircut? Couldn’t you just… I don’t know, light it on fire?”

He gives a mock gasp, placing a hand over his chest. “Are you kidding? That’s like asking Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel by throwing a can of paint at it. There’s only one artist I trust with this masterpiece.”

“Always with the lines,” you tease, but you can feel the warmth creeping into your cheeks. Somehow, despite being the Human Torch, Johnny had a way of making you feel like you were the one blushing all the time.

As you start trimming, he keeps his gaze on you, a smile playing at his lips. “I’m serious, though. I don't trust anyone else with my hair. You’re… different. And you actually laugh at my jokes.”

“Laughing at your jokes doesn’t make me different; it makes me generous.”

He chuckles, but there's something softer in his expression. “You know I mean it, right? I come here to see you.” He’s quiet for a moment, which feels almost more surprising than anything else. “Besides, I’d rather spend my time here with you than in front of a mirror, trying to impress people I don’t care about.”

You pause, feeling his words sink in. There’s something genuine in his voice, something you’re not used to hearing from him. “Johnny…”

He smirks, the glint returning to his eyes. “Plus, I’d hate to deprive you of all this charm.” He winks, and just like that, the familiar, flirtatious Johnny is back. But you notice his hand shift subtly to yours as you finish up, just a gentle brush of his fingers—a promise, maybe, that there’s more to come.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hi potato

This is my first request so I’m sorry if it’s all over the place. But could I request a gambit x afab mutant reader. Where her power is manipulate plants like poison ivy. But can feel hurt when the plants are as well.

I hope you have a good morning,afternoon,or night when you get this 😊😊

It was supposed to be a simple mission: slip in, secure the data, and slip out. But nothing was ever simple with the X-Men. Alarms blared through the dimly lit corridor as you and Remy—codename Gambit—fought your way toward the exit.

Vines coiled out from beneath your fingertips, tangling around your attackers and wrapping them in nature’s unbreakable embrace. Your powers felt like an extension of yourself, flowing effortlessly with each step. The only downside? You felt everything the plants did, from the crush of boots stomping on sprouting vines to the slashes of blades tearing through your green allies.

Remy had noticed, of course. He always noticed, though he rarely said anything. But today, he was keeping an extra close eye on you, especially after you’d winced when someone had stomped through a patch of ivy you’d sent ahead to scout.

“Hold tight, chérie,” he called, glancing over his shoulder with that familiar grin of his, though you could see the worry in his eyes. “Jus’ a few more to go.”

You managed a small smile, though your chest was tightening as you summoned another wave of thorns to block the corridor. The enemy mutants were advancing faster now, slashing through the plants and triggering jolts of pain that felt like small cuts along your own skin.

Remy reached out, catching you just as you stumbled, and his arms were steady around you. “Mon dieu, you’re hurtin’ too, aren’t ya?” he murmured, his accent thick with concern. His eyes flicked to where the vines were unraveling at your feet, hacked and broken.

“It’s… fine,” you whispered, though your voice trembled. You tried to brush it off, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Non, it ain’t fine,” he replied, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “You’re takin’ their pain as your own.” He tightened his grip, almost as if he could shield you from the plants’ distress by sheer will alone.

A flare of desperation hit you as the men advanced, but Remy was already there. With a flash of kinetic energy, his signature card flew past you, igniting the corridor in pink light and sending the enemies scattering.

“Got ya covered,” he murmured, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist. “Now, you rest.”

You tried to argue, but he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you through the corridors with surprising gentleness. “If you ain’t gonna look after yourself, then I will,” he whispered, and there was no teasing in his tone, only the kind of warmth you’d only ever felt from him.

Once you were back at the Blackbird, he settled you down on the seats and wrapped his trench coat around your shoulders. “Better?” he asked softly, brushing a stray leaf from your hair.

A grateful smile tugged at your lips as you let yourself relax. You could feel the plants' pain easing, each of them finally finding peace. And with Remy by your side, the weight of that pain felt lighter, his steady presence an anchor that kept you grounded.

“Thanks, Remy,” you murmured, closing your eyes as he squeezed your hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your skin.

“Ain’t nothin’, chérie,” he replied, leaning close. “Any time you’re hurtin’, you know where t’ find me. Always.”

With his words echoing softly in your mind, you felt the last of the pain drift away, knowing you were safe, both from the mission—and in his arms.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can you do a kurt x reader where reader is like jealous of kurt bc everyone seems to like him and overtime realises they can't keep disliking him for something he has no control over so they became friends and eventually turns romantic? Sorry if this is confusing!

In Spite of Everything

When you first arrived at Xavier’s, Kurt was everywhere, a blur of blue fur and a flash of teeth in every hallway. Everyone loved him—students, teachers, even visitors. He was charming, genuine, and his kindness was effortless. And for some reason, that kindness irritated you. You couldn’t place why, but something about his endless optimism and everyone’s adoration felt like a shadow over your own place here. It didn’t help that he seemed completely oblivious to how easy he had it.

But one day, after a mission training session, Kurt caught up to you in the locker room. “(Y/N), vould you like to join us for a movie tonight?” he asked, with that hopeful grin of his. His question threw you off, and as you hesitated, he noticed the hesitation and his smile faltered. “You don’t…like me much, do you?”

Seeing the flash of doubt in his eyes, something softened in you. You hadn’t realized he could feel that—that he noticed. And that’s when it hit you. Kurt wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just being himself, and everyone’s admiration was beyond his control.

Over the next few weeks, you tried harder to see the person behind everyone’s idol. And bit by bit, you found yourself laughing at his jokes, letting him rope you into outings, and even catching yourself looking for him in the crowded halls. Kurt was gentle in all the ways you didn’t expect, and by the time you knew what was happening, you were already smitten.

One quiet evening, as you watched the stars together from the mansion’s rooftop, he took your hand, surprising you with his boldness. “I’m glad you stayed,” he whispered, a rare note of shyness in his voice. You smiled, realizing just how glad you were, too.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hi! If its ok .

What if erik met someone dangerous and unpredictable . They ended up as a couple even when erik went his own way reader was with him . Scary part of her mutation She can control blood / any parts regarding fire .

Thank you and take care^^

Veins of Iron

From the moment Erik met you, there was a tension in the air that he couldn’t quite place. Dangerous, unpredictable, you carried an aura that kept most at arm’s length, yet something about your presence drew him in. Maybe it was the way your power—dark, raw, and unsettling—seemed to echo his own. You had the uncanny ability to control blood, a mutation that both fascinated and unnerved him. But rather than shy away from it, Erik was drawn to the power and control it embodied, mirroring the fury and defiance within him.

In the early days, Charles had warned him against you. “She’s… volatile, Erik. Unpredictable.” But to Erik, that was exactly the allure. He knew you understood his rage and the scars left from years of persecution.

When he finally left Charles and the others to forge his own path, you were there, unwavering. You didn’t flinch at the dangers he courted, nor did you second-guess his decisions, no matter how dark they became. In the shadows, as Erik fought his battles, you were his silent storm, always close. People began to whisper about the powerful, dangerous couple—Magneto and his blood-bending partner.

The moments of peace were rare, stolen in fragments between missions. But during those quiet times, he saw the softer side of you—steady, unyielding, but softer, reserved just for him. He’d brush his fingers over your hand, feeling the hum of energy beneath your skin, knowing it was both a comfort and a weapon.

In a world that had tried to break him, Erik had found someone as fierce and unyielding as he was. And together, you were unstoppable.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Mayhaps I request a Remy x stoic-like!reader whos secretly good at playing cards, so when both the reader and Remy decide to play cards, maybe poker(?), he doesn’t expect them to be THAT good at playing cards nor that they win immediately after.

Poker face

Remy LeBeau was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, shuffling a deck of cards with ease as he sat across from you. You’d agreed to a game of poker—a suggestion that brought out a flash of mischief in his red-on-black eyes. He probably thought he’d be schooling you in a game he’d long mastered. But you, with your usual calm, didn’t give any hint of what was to come.

He dealt the cards, his movements smooth and practiced, and you observed each flick of his wrist without a word. To him, you looked the same as you always did—stoic, unreadable, as though the world itself couldn't faze you.

Remy leaned back, flashing that trademark grin. “Hope you don’t mind losin’, chere. I can take it easy on ya.”

You raised a brow, keeping your voice level. “You don’t have to go easy on me.”

That seemed to intrigue him. He chuckled as he glanced at his hand, confident as ever. “Well, well… we’ll see about dat.” He tossed a few chips into the pile to start, looking at you over the top of his cards with a spark of challenge in his gaze.

It wasn’t long before the game picked up, with you matching every one of his moves, meeting his raises without a flinch. Round after round, he tried new tricks, little bluffs, small tests to feel out what kind of player you were. But you didn’t rise to any of them. Your face stayed perfectly composed, your gaze steady, giving nothing away.

By the final hand, Remy looked less sure of himself, but he threw down his cards, certain he had the winning set.

“Full house,” he announced with a smirk, glancing up at you, that confidence still hanging on. “Think dat’s enough to win, non?”

You merely blinked, then, with a calm smile, laid down your own hand. “Straight flush.”

The silence that followed was golden. Remy stared, eyes widening, his usual cockiness dropping like a stone. He hadn’t expected that.

“Well, damn,” he finally muttered, leaning in closer, his grin breaking through his shock. “Where you been hidin’ dat talent, cher? You play better den me.”

You shrugged, your face showing only a hint of satisfaction. “Guess I’ve had some practice.”

“Guess so.” Remy laughed, still staring at your cards, clearly impressed. “Y’know, not many people can keep a straight face against ol’ Gambit. You’re somethin’ else, I’ll give ya dat.”

You felt a flicker of warmth in his praise but kept your response cool. “Does this mean I won?”

He looked up, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Ain’t sayin’ you didn’t… but maybe I’d like a rematch sometime.”

“Fine by me,” you replied, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Remy’s grin widened as he gathered the cards, looking at you with a new glint of admiration. He didn’t mind losing—for once—if it meant he got to spend another night like this with you.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hello if your taking requests could we get a Remy LeBeau x mutant!reader were he gets jealous because morph keeps flirting with reader?

Flames of Jealousy

Remy LeBeau leaned against the wall in the rec room, his eyes fixed on you as you laughed at something Morph said. The shapeshifter had taken his usual place at your side, cracking jokes and throwing playful winks your way. Normally, Remy would’ve brushed it off—it was just Morph being his usual flirty self—but today, something about the way Morph leaned in a little too close made Remy’s blood simmer.

You didn’t notice the tension building in the room, too caught up in Morph’s antics, but Remy’s jaw tightened with each passing second. His fingers twitched, the urge to charge one of his cards bubbling up inside him. He hated this feeling—jealousy. It wasn’t something he was used to, but watching Morph flirt so openly with you made it impossible to ignore.

Remy pushed off the wall, deciding he’d had enough. He crossed the room with his usual confident swagger, though his eyes held a sharpness that wasn’t there before. "Y’know, cher, dere’s a lot better company ‘round here than a joker like Morph," he said smoothly, placing himself between you and the shapeshifter.

You blinked, looking up at Remy in surprise. "Oh, hey, Remy. We were just talking about—"

"Yeah, I heard," Remy cut in, his tone a bit sharper than usual. His gaze shifted to Morph, who raised his hands in mock surrender, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting out of Remy.

"Easy there, Gumbo," Morph teased, shifting into a copy of Remy with an exaggerated smirk. "No need to get all territorial."

Remy’s eyes narrowed, not appreciating the mockery. "Ain’t nothin’ territorial ‘bout it. Just lookin’ out for mon cher, is all."

You furrowed your brow, sensing the tension between the two. "What’s going on?"

Remy ignored the question, his gaze fixed on Morph. "You got somewhere else to be, Morph? Maybe a mirror you can go admire yourself in?"

Morph chuckled, clearly unbothered, but he stood up anyway, giving you a playful wink before sauntering off. "Alright, alright. I’ll leave you lovebirds alone."

As Morph left, you turned to Remy, confusion written all over your face. "What was that about?"

Remy ran a hand through his hair, the sharp edge to his demeanor softening as he looked at you. "Nothin’. Just didn’t like de way he was hoverin’ ‘round you, cher."

You raised an eyebrow. "He was just joking around, Remy. You know how Morph is."

Remy sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he stepped closer to you. "I know, but... I don’t like anyone else flirtin’ wit’ you." He met your eyes, his voice lower now, more vulnerable. "Not when you’re mine."

Your eyes widened slightly, the realization of what had been bothering him sinking in. "Remy, are you... jealous?"

He huffed, looking off to the side as if embarrassed by the admission. "Maybe a little." Then, quieter, "A lot."

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the idea of the smooth-talking Gambit being jealous both surprising and endearing. "You don’t have to be jealous," you said softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. "I only have eyes for you."

Remy’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, the tension melting away. "I know, cher," he murmured, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. "Guess I just don’t like sharin’ de spotlight when it comes to you."

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin. "You’ll always be center stage, Remy. No competition."

A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face. "Glad to hear it, mon amour." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the earlier jealousy replaced by the warmth of your affection.

As he pulled back, he gave you that trademark smirk. "Now, how ‘bout we get outta here before Morph comes back? Don’t need dat fool interruptin’ us again."

You laughed, taking his hand. "Lead the way, Cajun."

And with that, Remy’s earlier jealousy faded, knowing full well that your heart belonged to him and only him.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Okay, I loved the ask about the OC x Character fic, I didn’t know you wrote ocs either, so I would like to go next :o

Okay, so, this is another Logan x new recruit thing, but I think I’d leave it platonic. My OC, she was experimented for a few years (more likely 12 years) her appearance has wolf shaped ears (she has human ears, but those don’t work anymore) a wolf tail, and wings, somewhat of a similarity to a Phoenix bird (but they’re usually never used and are seen closed). She has a bandaged covering her right eye, with hair covering said bandage (she covers an eye that strictly hides a darker persona that she holds because of the experimentation, but she doesn’t mention that and brushes it off) she’s a bit quiet and slightly pessimistic, with a touch of stoicism, but if she’s training she gets on her determination highly.

Her name is Phoenix, that’s not her real name, but she calls herself that because that’s the name everyone called her when she was experimented on back then, and forgot her original name.

Hopefully this isn’t much potato, but I think I might’ve taken it a bit too far :,3. Take your time on it though, no rush ^^!

Phoenix Rising

The first time Logan saw her, he wasn’t sure what to make of her. She was standing off to the side of the training grounds, her large wings folded tight against her back, a wolf-like tail curled around her leg. With wolf-shaped ears replacing her human ones, and a bandaged right eye hidden beneath strands of hair, she looked every bit the mystery.

Her name was Phoenix. That wasn’t her real name, but it was all she had left after years of experimentation. Logan had been around long enough to recognize that haunted look in her good eye—the look of someone who had been through hell and barely survived it. It was a look he understood all too well.

She was quiet, keeping to herself most of the time, but there was a fire underneath that stoic surface. He noticed it whenever she trained, her determination burning through the layer of guarded indifference she showed the rest of the world. She was strong, focused, and there was something about the way she pushed herself that reminded Logan of his own battles. She never complained, even when the sessions were grueling, her face set in a grim line of perseverance.

But despite her strength, there was something else—a darkness she kept hidden. Logan saw it in the way she covered her right eye, the way she always deflected questions about her past. He knew there was something deeper going on, something she wasn’t ready to talk about. He didn’t push. If there was one thing Logan understood, it was the need to carry your own burdens until you were ready to share them.

One afternoon, after an especially intense training session, Phoenix stayed behind as the others left. Logan watched her from a distance as she silently paced, wings twitching restlessly. He could see the tension in her body, the battle she was fighting inside her own mind.

He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. "You did good today, kid," Logan said, his voice low and gruff.

Phoenix stopped, turning her head slightly to acknowledge him. "Thanks," she replied softly, though her tone was flat. She was always polite, but Logan could tell there was something weighing on her.

"You alright?" he asked, leaning against the wall beside her.

For a moment, she was silent, her good eye staring off into the distance. "I’m fine," she answered, but Logan could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"You don’t gotta talk if you don’t want to," Logan added, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But you’ve been through some rough stuff, haven’t you?"

Phoenix tensed, her hand instinctively reaching up to touch the bandage over her eye. "It’s nothing," she said quickly, brushing off the question as she always did.

Logan crossed his arms, watching her closely. "You don’t have to hide it, y’know. Not from me."

Phoenix hesitated again, her fingers gripping the edge of her sleeve. She looked down, her quiet voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want anyone to know... not about that part of me." There was an edge of fear in her voice, as if she was terrified of revealing the darker persona that lurked behind her covered eye.

Logan nodded, understanding all too well what it meant to keep a part of yourself hidden from the world. "You’re not alone, Phoenix. Whatever they did to you—it doesn’t define you."

She didn’t respond right away, but there was a flicker of emotion in her eye, a vulnerability she rarely showed. Logan could see it, even if she didn’t want to admit it. He let the silence hang between them for a moment, giving her space.

"I’m trying to move past it," she finally said, her voice steady but fragile. "But it’s hard when... when I don’t even remember who I used to be. Phoenix is all I have left."

Logan let out a small breath, his voice softening. "Names don’t mean much if you ask me. It’s who you are now that matters. And from what I’ve seen, you’re tougher than you think."

Phoenix met his gaze, her good eye filled with something like gratitude, though she remained quiet. Logan knew she wasn’t ready to open up fully yet, but that was okay. He’d be there when she was.

"Keep pushin'," Logan said, giving her a nod of approval. "You’re doin’ fine."

As he walked away, Logan couldn’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness toward her. Phoenix might have been through hell, but she was a fighter. And Logan? He’d make damn sure she knew she wasn’t alone in that fight anymore.

[awkward-walking-potato]

maybe deadpool x reader where they don’t have a very good friendship in their life and wade finds them crying over it one day.? hurt comfort my beloved …

Cry Buddy

You never imagined that Deadpool, of all people, would be the one to find you in such a vulnerable state. You thought you’d have been able to keep it together, but some days, the weight of loneliness and the lack of meaningful friendships got to be too much. Today was one of those days.

You sat alone, your back against a wall in a quiet corner, tears streaming down your face as you tried to hold back sobs. You were supposed to be strong—at least, that’s what everyone always told you. But today, it was too much. The feeling of isolation, of not really having anyone to turn to, was suffocating.

And then, just when you thought you were alone, you heard a familiar voice.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the chimichangas. Are those tears? In this economy?"

You looked up to see Wade standing there, tilting his head as he stared down at you. His usual comedic bravado was still present, but there was a softness in his gaze, something that made you realize he wasn’t going to just crack jokes and leave.

You quickly tried to wipe your face, embarrassed that he had found you like this. "I’m fine, Wade."

"Uh-huh, yeah, I know what ‘fine’ looks like, and this... this isn’t it," he replied, squatting down in front of you. "You wanna talk about it? Or should I just sit here and make awkward conversation until you eventually tell me what’s going on?"

You managed a weak chuckle through your tears, which only seemed to encourage him.

"There it is! A little smile!" Wade grinned widely under his mask, leaning back on his heels. "But seriously, what’s going on? You don’t just cry for no reason. Trust me, I know all about crying—especially when no one’s around to hear it."

You sighed, feeling the weight of everything still pressing down on you. "I just... I don’t really have anyone, Wade. No real friends. People act like they care, but they don’t. I feel like I’m always the one left out, or like I’m never good enough for anyone to really stick around."

Wade was quiet for a moment, uncharacteristically so. Then, he moved to sit next to you, leaning his head back against the wall. "You know, people suck. Most of them, anyway. And friendships? They can be like eating a bad taco. Looks good at first, but by the end, you’re regretting every bite. Trust me, I get it."

You glanced over at him, surprised by how genuine he sounded.

"But," Wade continued, "I also know that sometimes, you meet someone who’s not like the others. Someone who’ll stick around, even when you’re not your best. Someone like... I don’t know, me?"

You let out a small laugh, though the tears were still threatening to spill over. "You’re not exactly the first person that comes to mind when I think ‘reliable friend,’ Wade."

He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "I am shocked and appalled. I am a great friend! I may not always show up on time, or... ever... but when I do? Oh, I’m there for you, 100%."

There was a sincerity in his voice now, one that made your heart ache a little less. Wade wasn’t like everyone else, that much was clear. He was chaotic and unpredictable, but at the same time, you knew that he meant what he said.

"You know," he added, "if you ever feel like crying again, I can be your cry-buddy. We can cry together. I’ve got this beautiful monologue prepared for such occasions—guaranteed to make us both sob uncontrollably."

You wiped your eyes, smiling a little wider this time. "Thanks, Wade. I guess... I just didn’t expect you to care."

He shrugged, casually placing an arm around your shoulders. "Well, surprise! I do care. And if anyone else says you’re not good enough or leaves you hanging, I’ll just—" He mimed slicing with an imaginary sword. "Problem solved."

You leaned into him slightly, feeling some of the loneliness start to fade. "You don’t have to fight anyone for me, Wade."

"Who said anything about fighting? I’ll just give them a stern talking-to," he said with a wink. "But seriously, I’m here, okay? You’re not alone. And I’m not just saying that because you have great taste in chimichangas."

For the first time in a long time, you felt a little lighter, knowing that maybe—just maybe—you had found someone who truly cared.