#. ･ﾟ not in danger ; I’m the danger . . . prompts .

[tristansfreezingtheirbrain]

Actually let me talk about this for a second because I have been doing a self prompted character study on Sherlock based on the fact I DO NOT FOR A SECOND BELIEVE HE IS A SOCIOPATH.

And I think the writers of the show know this. It wasn’t an accident on their part, I think it’s very intentional.

Sociopaths are described as having little to no care about other people or their lives, sometimes even not caring about their own, but I don’t think it’s true in Sherlock’s case.

Yes he is antisocial and doesn’t appear to care who lives or dies, but we all know he does care.

What he does, is intentionally dissociates to save peoples lives.

He is right, feelings do get in the way of investigations, the reason he’s so good at what he does, is he’s able to separate himself from what’s going on, which leads me to my point…

I am by no means an expert but I pride myself on my intense love of phycology, and it’s that love that started me on this tangent that currently has its own 3 page essay in a notebook on my shelf.

I think Sherlock Holmes has a kind of dissociative disorder. My evidence:

- mind palace. A thing some people do but, I should point out, is not often seen in neurotypical people, and is also not often seen in sociopaths. The ‘mind palace’ as the show calls it, is often a place someone goes to in their own head to escape situations in which they are stressed or feel in danger. This is not technically how Sherlock uses it, but I’ll explain the connection in a minute.

- when put in situations where he needs to be at the hight of his productiveness, he disconnects all feelings he may have about a case in order to be more efficient.

Both of these things lead me to believe that stress triggers a disassociative state in Holmes.

He also ( SPOILERS!!! MASSASIIIVVE SPOILERS IF YOU HAVENT SEEN THE LAST EPISODE )

Engaged in Confabulation, which is when someone’s brain changes memories in order to protect itself from further stress, which would have been caused by traumatic events.

This is another thing that you see often in people with a dissociative disorder.

I think he has a subset of depersonalization/derealization disorder, which is the closest real diagnosis to what he seems to have.

I’ve also entertained the notion of him being on the autism spectrum, but I’m always careful with that because I have autism and I have a tendency to project so that could just be me relating to him in some ways. And, it’s very well known that autism and dissociative disorders kind of go hand in hand, so sometimes it can be hard to tell if someone has autism, or just a symptom of it, which is what dissociative disorder falls under in that context.

But if I was to say he is on the spectrum, this is why.

-often considered sociopathic ( is not, as I just explained )

- often considered narcissistic ( is not, and if you think he is you seriously overestimate how much he cares about himself and what happens to him. He does care about other people, it’s just hard to focus on things he can’t see immediately in front of him. )

- lack of understanding of feelings

-under/over stimulation

-very in depth knowledge on some things, complete oblivion in others ( unless he deems them important ) ( aka, hyper fixation )

-unable to focus on things he doesn’t care about

-disconnects in stressful situations

-often makes decisions people deem childish ( ex: not helping Mycroft solve a case because of a sibling fued )

AGAIN I AM BY NOOOOO MEANS AN EXPERT- AND I AM NOT CLAIMING TO BE- I JUST FIND THINGS LIKE THESE REALLY INTERESTING!!!

Anyways.

Thanks for coming to my red talk 🙌

He doesn’t feel things that way… I don’t think.

[rose24207]

Mafia lando smut where reader was mad at him from an argument the other day, so she spends heaps of money on his bank account. He doesn’t find out till the bank calls to make sure it wasn’t fraud. And he punishes her

Stress Shopping

Summary: After a heated argument, you storm off on a stress-shopping spree with Lando's card, prompting a call from his bank, but the fight ends in heartfelt apologies and a reminder of his love for you.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: arguing, spending way too much money

A/N: loved the idea but I changed it a little! Hope you don’t mind! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the mansion, shaking the antique fixtures on the walls. You stomp into the grand foyer, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your anger palpable in the air. Lando's sharp voice follows you, his British accent more clipped than usual.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, love!" he barks, his footsteps quick behind yours.

You spin on your heel to face him, eyes blazing with fury. "What do you want me to do, Lando? Stand there and listen while you talk to me like I’m one of your employees? Like I’m beneath you?"

His jaw tightens, the muscles working as he clenches his teeth. He’s wearing that infuriatingly expensive suit you helped him pick out, and right now, you’d love nothing more than to rip it off him—not in the fun way. "I don’t treat you like my employees," he growls. "But I am in charge, and you seem to forget that sometimes."

You laugh bitterly, crossing your arms. "Oh, how could I forget? You love reminding me every chance you get."

Lando rakes a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up slightly. Normally, the sight would make your heart soften, but right now, it only fuels your fire. "You’re being unreasonable," he snaps. "We had an agreement—"

"No, you had an agreement!" you interrupt, your voice rising. "I never agreed to this ridiculous, controlling nonsense, Lando."

His amber eyes flash dangerously. "Watch it," he warns, his voice low now, like a storm about to break. "You’re pushing me, and you know I don’t like being pushed."

But you’re too far gone to care. "And I don’t like being treated like some trophy wife who needs to follow orders. I’m done with this conversation."

Without waiting for his response, you grab your purse from the console table and march toward the front door. His voice chases after you. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you snap. "Don’t wait up."

Before he can stop you, you’re out the door, the evening air cool against your flushed skin.

The mall is your sanctuary. Under the glow of bright lights and the hum of happy chatter, you lose yourself in racks of designer clothing, rows of shoes, and glass cases of sparkling jewelry. Lando's black card burns a comforting weight in your purse, and tonight, you intend to make full use of it.

You start at Chanel, swiping the card for a pair of heels and a matching bag without so much as glancing at the price tag. Next is Cartier, where a sleek watch catches your eye. After that, you make your way to Dior, where a silk gown feels like the perfect antidote to your frustration.

Each purchase soothes the ache in your chest, replacing anger with satisfaction. By the time you leave the mall, your arms are laden with bags, and the backseat of your car is filled to the brim with boxes and tissue paper.

But your phone buzzes just as you’re pulling out of the parking lot. You glance at the screen and see Lando’s name flashing. You don’t answer.

Back at the mansion, Lando is pacing his study, his phone pressed to his ear. The man on the other end clears his throat nervously before speaking. "Mr. Norris, this is Daniel from Barclays. We’ve noticed some unusual activity on your account and wanted to confirm if your card has been compromised."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "What kind of activity?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"A series of high-value transactions," Daniel replies. "Chanel, Cartier, Dior... altogether totaling a little over seventy thousand pounds. Should we freeze the card?"

Lando smirks despite himself, shaking his head. "No, Daniel," he says, his tone resigned. "It’s just my wife... throwing a tantrum."

There’s a brief silence on the other end. "Ah," Daniel says finally, clearly unsure how to respond. "Very well, sir. Shall we flag the transactions as authorized?"

"Yes," Lando says. "And don’t call again unless it’s life or death."

You return home hours later, your anger dulled by exhaustion and the satisfying sight of your new purchases. You push open the door to the mansion, your arms laden with bags, only to find Lando waiting for you in the foyer. He leans against the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp features unreadable.

"Have fun?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

You ignore him, stepping past him with your head held high. But before you can make it far, he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm but not painful, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Don’t ignore me," he says softly, dangerously.

You whirl around to face him, the fire in your eyes reigniting. "What do you want, Lando? To scold me for spending your money? Go ahead—I’m sure you’ve got plenty of lectures lined up."

He doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady on yours. "It’s not about the money," he says. "You know that."

"Then what is it about?" you demand. "Because I’m tired of fighting with you over every little thing."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he speaks. "It’s about us," he says. "About you running off every time we argue instead of dealing with it. You think throwing my money around is going to make things better?"

"It made me feel better," you snap, yanking your wrist out of his grip.

"Fine," he says, his voice cold now. "If that’s what you want—things, clothes, jewelry—then take it all. But don’t pretend it’s going to fix what’s wrong between us."

His words hit harder than you’d like to admit. You stare at him, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back tears. "Maybe if you treated me like your wife instead of your possession, we wouldn’t have these problems," you say quietly.

Something flickers in his eyes—guilt, maybe. But he doesn’t respond, and you don’t wait for him to. You turn on your heel and head upstairs, leaving him standing alone in the foyer.

Hours later, you’re sitting in the walk-in closet, surrounded by your purchases. The excitement you felt earlier has faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. You sigh, running your fingers over the soft fabric of the Dior gown, wondering if you went too far.

A knock at the door startles you, and before you can respond, Lando steps inside. He looks tired, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled. In his hands, he’s holding a small box tied with a black ribbon.

"I brought you something," he says, his voice soft.

You raise an eyebrow. "More things? Haven’t I spent enough of your money today?"

He ignores your sarcasm, setting the box down on the bench beside you. "Open it," he says.

Curious despite yourself, you untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a delicate necklace, a simple gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s nothing like the flashy pieces you bought earlier, but somehow, it feels more special.

"It’s not to bribe you," he says quickly, as if reading your mind. "I just... I wanted to remind you that I don’t care about the money or the fights. I care about you.“

You look up at him, your heart softening. "You have a funny way of showing it," you say, though your tone lacks its earlier bite.

He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. "I know," he admits. "I’m not perfect, and I don’t always know how to handle you when you’re upset. But I’m trying, love. I promise I’m trying."

For a long moment, you say nothing, letting his words sink in. Then, finally, you reach out and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his stubble. "I’m sorry too," you say. "I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. It wasn’t fair to either of us."

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. "So... we’re okay?" he asks, his voice tentative.

You smile softly. "We’re okay."

The next morning, you wake up to find Lando already dressed, his tie perfectly knotted and his usual confidence back in place. He leans over to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

"Breakfast is ready downstairs," he says. "And I told the bank not to call me again if you go on another shopping spree."

You laugh, pulling the covers over your head. "Good. Because I might need a few more things."

He chuckles, his hand brushing against your hair. "Just try not to spend the GDP of a small country next time, yeah?"

You peek out from under the covers, grinning. "No promises."

And for the first time in days, everything feels right again.

Thank you for reading!

[moonselune]

companions and drunk reader crying and cuddling with scratch + owlbear :33

I did this set at the reunion party because for some reason I thought that was part of the prompt but hey ho, some fluff to warm our souls and brighten us up during this darkside of the year <3

Karlach:

The reunion party was in full swing, the lively hum of conversation and laughter filling the air. Music played from a makeshift ensemble, and the scent of roasted meat and ale mingled with the crisp night breeze. You and Karlach had been inseparable for most of the evening, both of you reveling in the joy of being free from the hellish grasp of Avernus - even if it was a brief respite. Friends surrounded you, their faces lit with genuine smiles—a rare luxury in the trials you’d all endured together.

But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed freely, Karlach found herself chatting animatedly with Wyll and Gale about some shared escapades. It wasn’t until a lull in the conversation that she noticed your absence.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the crowd. Where had you gone? You’d been right beside her just moments ago. Her heart sank slightly as her mind played through the possibilities, but then she noticed a faint commotion near the far side of the camp, where the light of the bonfire barely reached.

Curiosity and concern prompted her to investigate.

As she approached, Karlach was met with a sight that was both hilarious and heartwarming. There you were, sprawled on the ground, your cheeks flushed from too much drink, nestled comfortably between Scratch, who was contentedly licking your face, and the owlbear cub—no longer a cub but still unmistakably affectionate. The owlbear had draped itself partially over your lap, its massive body radiating warmth, while you murmured incoherent endearments and occasionally giggled.

“You are such a good boy, Scratch,” you slurred, scratching behind the dog’s ears with one hand while your other patted the owlbear’s soft feathers. “And you—big ol’ fluff monster—you’re my second-best friend in the whole wide world. Don’t tell Scratch, though.”

The owlbear let out a low, rumbling coo, and Scratch wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Karlach leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, and just watched you for a moment, her expression softening. The firelight caught in her amber eyes, reflecting the warmth she felt in her chest. After everything you’d been through—fighting, surviving, struggling—it was moments like these that made it all worthwhile. Seeing you so carefree, surrounded by creatures who adored you, filled her with a quiet contentment.

“Well, well,” she drawled, stepping closer, her voice laced with affection. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’ve already gone and replaced me with fur and feathers.”

You looked up at her, blinking owlishly, and broke into a wide, dopey grin. “Karlach! Join us! There’s so much love here, it’s like… like a cuddle explosion!”

She chuckled, her heart melting a little more. “A cuddle explosion, huh? Sounds dangerous.”

“It’s the best kind of dangerous,” you declared, patting the ground beside you.

Karlach didn’t need much convincing. With a theatrical sigh, she dropped to the ground beside you, her warm body pressing against yours. Scratch immediately climbed into her lap, while the owlbear shuffled closer to include her in its feathery embrace.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and tender, “I think this might be the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“‘Cause I’m with you,” you mumbled, resting your head on her shoulder. “And Scratch. And Big Fluffy. It’s perfect.”

Karlach wrapped an arm around you, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

“You’re perfect, babe” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Minthara:

The reunion party was a raucous affair, the camp alive with laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional outburst of song. Minthara had joined reluctantly at your insistence, her usual composed demeanor barely hiding the faint amusement she felt as she observed the chaos.

The Drow paladin rarely indulged in such frivolity, the two of you had an Underdark to conquor afterall, but tonight she allowed herself to linger, even engaging in a deep conversation with Astarion, who had recently returned to the Underdark to settle down.

As the two shared dry wit and sharp banter, Minthara’s keen eyes darted across the camp, instinctively searching for you. When she realized you were nowhere in sight, she narrowed her eyes.

"Where has that fool wandered off to now?" she muttered under her breath, much to Astarion’s amusement.

“Ah, love,” Astarion quipped, a sly smirk on his lips. “It makes us chase after them even when we’d rather not.”

Minthara rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. She excused herself, muttering something about responsibility, and began to search for you. It didn’t take long—muffled giggles and low, rumbling noises led her toward the outskirts of the gathering. There, illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight, she found you sprawled on the ground.

You were nestled between Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it had long since outgrown the 'cub' moniker—and were clearly the drunkest she had ever seen you. Your face was flushed, your hair mussed, and your arms were wrapped tightly around the two creatures as if they were your most precious treasures.

“Listen,” you whispered conspiratorially to the owlbear, though your volume defeated the purpose. “We’re gonna take over the Underdark. Me, you, Scratch, and Minthara. She’s so scary and smart. We’ll rule everything. But don’t tell her—it’s a secret plan.”

Minthara crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she approached.

"A secret plan, is it?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock disdain. “Taking over the Underdark with a dog and an owlbear? Truly, you’re a visionary.”

You looked up at her with wide, bleary eyes, your face breaking into a sloppy grin.

“Minthara! You found me!” you exclaimed, holding out a hand. “Join us! It’s a cuddle coup.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, though there was a flicker of amusement in her crimson eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, turning to walk away.

But before she could take a step, you staggered to your feet with surprising agility for someone so far gone. With a triumphant shout, you lunged at her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her down to the ground.

Minthara yelped in surprise, glaring daggers at you as she landed unceremoniously on the grass.

“Have you lost your mind?” she snapped, but her anger quickly gave way to resignation as Scratch and the owlbear cub immediately joined in, nuzzling against her.

She froze, her normally stern expression softening as Scratch licked her cheek and the owlbear rumbled contentedly. She didn’t push them away, though she grumbled, “You’ve turned me into a damned pillow.”

You beamed at her, your face close to hers as you slurred, “You’re the best pillow ever. And the best everything else. I adore you, Minthara. You, Scratch, Owlie—you're all my favorite.”

Her cheeks darkened with a faint blush, though she refused to acknowledge it.

“You’re drunk,” she said curtly, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

“And in love,” you replied with drunken sincerity, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, but Minthara didn’t pull away. She sighed, her hand coming to rest on your cheek for just a moment before she let it fall.

“I'm going to kill you,” she muttered, though her tone was more affectionate than irritated.

You grinned, nuzzling against her like a contented cat. “I can't wait.”

Minthara rolled her eyes, though a small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of her mouth. As Scratch and the owlbear settled around you both, she resigned herself to her fate, lying back against the grass and letting the warmth of the moment wash over her.

Perhaps you were impossible. But you were hers.

Lae'zel:

The reunion party was in full swing, the air buzzing with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs. You’d coaxed Lae’zel into attending, promising her that Xan, your precious hatchling, would be fine under the watchful eyes of Voss and the rebels - who were surprisingly more than happy to look after him. Though she had reluctantly agreed, you noticed her gaze drifting toward the camp’s perimeter now and then, her brows furrowed with that familiar Githyanki intensity.

“Relax, Lae’zel,” you teased, nudging her gently. “Xan is fine. Tonight is about us.”

Lae’zel gave you a skeptical glance but said nothing, her hand brushing against yours briefly—a rare public display of affection from her that made your heart swell. For a while, the two of you enjoyed the festivities, sharing drinks and banter with your companions. But as the evening wore on and the wine flowed more freely, you became… well, significantly more inebriated.

At some point, Lae’zel turned to speak with Wyll, who was recounting one of his latest exploits. When she turned back, you were gone.

Her jaw clenched as she scanned the crowd, her warrior instincts kicking in despite the harmless nature of the gathering. She stomped through the camp, muttering curses under her breath as she searched for you.

“You couldn’t stay in one place, could you?” she growled.

It wasn’t long before she heard familiar, albeit slurred, murmuring. Following the sound, she found you sprawled on the ground near the campfire, flanked by Scratch and the now nearly full-grown owlbear cub. Tears streamed down your face as you hugged the animals close, stroking their fur and feathers.

“I love her so much,” you sobbed into Scratch’s neck. “And Xan. Xan is perfect. Perfect little hatchling.”

Lae’zel froze, her expression caught between exasperation and disbelief. She crossed her arms and glared down at you. “What are you doing, fool?”

You looked up at her, your face lighting up with drunken joy.

“Lae’zel!” you cried, holding out your arms. “You’re here! You’re so amazing, and strong, and—hic—beautiful. I love you.”

Lae’zel pinched the bridge of her nose, her shoulders heaving with a deep sigh.

“You are worse than Xan when he is hungry,” she muttered. Turning her attention to the animals, she pointed toward the river. “Drag this mess into the water. Perhaps it will sober them up.”

Scratch tilted his head, his tail wagging, while the owlbear let out a soft, rumbling croon. They looked at her, clearly uninterested in complying.

You giggled, stroking the owlbear’s feathers. “They like you, Lae’zel. They know you’re the best. Everyone knows you’re the best.”

Lae’zel’s irritation flickered, her lips pressing into a tight line as she fought to suppress the small smile threatening to emerge.

“You’re insufferable,” she declared, but there was no venom in her tone.

At her words, you burst into fresh tears. “Xan is so lucky to have you as a mom. I’m so lucky! How did I get so lucky?”

Lae’zel knelt beside you, her movements stiff but deliberate as she pulled you upright and into her arms.

“You’re drunk and ridiculous,” she said, her voice low but steady.

You wrapped your arms around her, clinging tightly. “But I love you,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

Lae’zel let out a small, exasperated sigh, but she didn’t push you away. Instead, she adjusted her grip, holding you firmly against her.

Her fingers brushed against your hair as she murmured, “You are fortunate I have patience tonight.”

You snuggled into her embrace, your tears finally subsiding as warmth and exhaustion took over. Though her expression remained stoic, a faint, hidden smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She did love you, she loved Xan, and the feathered and furred beasts weren't too bad either.

Shadowheart:

The reunion party was a vibrant celebration, a gathering of friends, companions, and allies, each reveling in the hard-won peace after so many battles. You and Shadowheart stood together, hand in hand, sharing a quiet joy amid the merriment. The news that the owlbear cub—now a formidable but still affectionate creature—would be coming back to your farm had filled you both with delight. The prospect of a peaceful life on your little slice of the countryside, surrounded by Scratch, the owlbear, your other small army of animals and each other, was everything you’d dreamed of.

You’d both mingled, laughed, and shared drinks, but at some point, Shadowheart turned to grab another bottle of wine, only to find you had disappeared. Her brow furrowed, though she didn’t panic. You weren’t exactly subtle when you were drunk, and it wasn’t hard to follow the sound of your voice, rising in animated, tearful elation.

When she finally found you, Shadowheart couldn’t help but pause, her arms crossing as she observed the scene before her. You were seated on the grass near the campfire, Scratch pressed against your side, his tail wagging lazily, while the owlbear nestled on the other side, its feathers ruffled as you gently stroked its beak.

“And you’re gonna love the farm,” you slurred, gesturing wildly with the bottle in your hand. “There’s fields to run in, and soft places to sleep, and you two—” you sniffed, your voice breaking slightly as you turned to the animals— “are gonna be so happy. So loved.”

The owlbear let out a deep, contented rumble, and Scratch licked your cheek, which only made your drunken tears flow harder. Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small smile.

“You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?” she said, stepping into the firelight.

Your head snapped up, your face lighting up as if you’d seen the sun itself.

“Shadowheart!” you cried, scrambling to your feet only to stumble and flop back onto the grass. “You’re here! Come here, come here—cuddle pile!”

Shadowheart sighed but couldn’t suppress her amused grin as you reached out for her.

“You’re hopeless,” she muttered, though there was no real bite to her words. She approached and allowed herself to be pulled down into the pile of fur and feathers, the owlbear shifting to make room for her as Scratch barked happily.

“This is the best night ever,” you declared, wrapping your arms around her and pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m so happy, Shadowheart. We’re gonna have the best life. You, me, Scratch, and this big feathery baby.”

She shook her head, laughing softly as she snatched the bottle from your hand.

“You’ve had enough,” she said, taking a swig herself. The wine burned pleasantly as it went down, and she let out a contented sigh. “Though I suppose I can’t argue with your enthusiasm.”

As the night wore on, Shadowheart found herself caught up in your infectious joy. She joined in on your rambling talks of the future—of gardens you’d plant, adventures you’d take, and all the little moments of happiness waiting for you both.

“You know,” she said, her voice soft as she leaned her head against your shoulder, “I think you’re right. This is going to be a good life.”

Your only response was a drunken hum of agreement, your arms tightening around her as the warmth of the fire, the animals, and each other enveloped you both. In that moment, everything felt perfect. Everything was perfect. Everything was going to be perfect.

Jaheira:

The reunion party was in full swing, laughter and music filling the air as friends and allies celebrated the peace you had all fought so hard to achieve. You and Jaheira stood together for much of the evening, your hand occasionally brushing against hers in a quiet intimacy. She was radiant in her element, speaking with old friends, trading stories of past battles, and offering wisdom to those who sought it.

At some point, she became engrossed in a conversation with Halsin, the two of them naturally drawn together by their shared love for nature and nurturing. Their talk turned to the orphans Halsin had come to care for, and Jaheira, with her ever-compassionate heart, shared tales of her own tendency to adopt and guide wayward children.

“I suppose I can’t help myself,” she admitted with a soft chuckle. “Perhaps it’s the druid in me, or perhaps just the mother.”

Halsin nodded with a knowing smile. “It’s a noble trait, Jaheira. The world is better for it.”

But as Jaheira began to share another story, she realized something: you were no longer at her side. She scanned the crowd, her brow furrowing in mild irritation.

“Speaking of wayward children,” she muttered under her breath, excusing herself from Halsin with a polite nod. “Now where have you wandered off to?”

It wasn’t hard to track you down; she simply followed the faint sound of sniffling and tearful rambling. What she found made her stop in her tracks, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh.

There you were, sprawled on the grass near the fire, clutching Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it was hardly a cub anymore. The owlbear sat with a dignified sort of calm, its feathers ruffled from your clumsy affection, while Scratch lay happily across your lap, his tail wagging lazily.

“And you guys,” you sniffled, gesturing to the animals with the bottle still clutched in one hand, “you’re the best. I love you so much. You’re good boys. The best boys.”

Jaheira approached, shaking her head as she took in the sight of you, your face red from tears and wine.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, though her voice held a note of amusement. You looked up, your tear-streaked face lighting up at the sight of her.

“Jaheira!” you cried, holding your arms out dramatically. “You’re here! Come cuddle with us!”

“Cuddle?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Darling, you’re drunk.”

“I’m emotional,” you corrected, your voice wobbling as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “And you have to cuddle with us, or—or I’ll never forgive you! Ever!”

Jaheira sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead as though trying to muster the patience of a saint.

“You are worse than Halsin's orphans,” she teased, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her tone. “And that’s saying something.”

Your lip wobbled, and you clutched Scratch tighter.

“Please,” you whimpered, the plea so earnest and pitiful that Jaheira couldn’t help but laugh.

“All right, all right,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “If it means that much to you.”

She knelt beside you, allowing you to pull her into the chaotic cuddle pile. The owlbear gave a soft hoot, adjusting its position to include her, while Scratch wagged his tail even harder at her presence.

“See?” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her as you leaned heavily against her shoulder. “This is nice. Isn’t it nice?”

Jaheira let out a long-suffering sigh, though a smile tugged at her lips as she rested her head against yours.

“You’re ridiculously impossible,” she said softly. “But yes, this is… nice.”

For a while, the two of you sat there, surrounded by warmth and fur and feathers. Jaheira found herself relaxing despite the absurdity of the situation, her arm slipping around your waist as she pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she murmured. You hummed happily, nuzzling into her shoulder.

“I know,” you slurred, the wine making your voice thick. “And I love you, too. So, so much.”

Jaheira chuckled, shaking her head as she tightened her hold on you.

“You’ll be the death of me,” she said fondly. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Gale:

The reunion party buzzed with energy, laughter and conversation flowing freely among friends old and new - thanks to Minsc's addition. You and Gale were nestled in a quieter corner of the celebration, a glass of wine in your hand and Gale gesturing animatedly with his own as he launched into an impassioned tale about his latest trials as a professor at Blackstaff Academy.

“…and would you believe it? One of the students thought it prudent to attempt wild magic on their first evocation test! I spent half the afternoon dispelling chaos and putting out fires—literal fires—and the other half explaining why summoning imps in a classroom was hardly conducive to learning.”

You nodded along, smiling as you watched the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of his work. His passion was endearing, and yet… a mischievous thought crept into your mind as you caught sight of Scratch wagging his tail nearby, the owlbear cub—no longer quite a cub—lounging lazily beside him.

When Gale paused to take a sip of his wine, you saw your chance.

“Fascinating,” you said quickly, standing and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Be right back, love.”

He blinked, caught off guard but easily reassured by the peck. “Oh, certainly. Don’t wander too far.”

You didn’t answer, instead making a beeline for the animals. A few moments later, you were leading Scratch and the owlbear cub away from the main gathering, giggling to yourself as you went. An hour later, Gale finally noticed your absence and set off to find you.

He tracked you down by the sound of your voice, soft and teasing as you lounged in a quiet grove just beyond the party. There you were, sprawled on the grass with Scratch snuggled into one side and the owlbear cub resting its heavy head on your lap. Your cheeks were flushed with drink, your eyes glassy with a mix of affection and mischief.

“And Gale,” you slurred, stroking the owlbear’s feathers as if imparting some great wisdom, “wanted to be a god. A god! Can you believe it? Silly Gale. He doesn’t need to be a god. He’s already… already my god. My love, my life…” Your voice dropped conspiratorially, and you hiccupped. “But he would’ve been a prick as a god. Don’t you think?”

“Do you think so?” Gale’s amused voice cut in, and you turned your head to see him standing there, arms crossed but a fond smile tugging at his lips. You gasped dramatically.

“Gale!” You grinned at him, patting the grass beside you. “Come here! Join us! Cuddle!”

“I think not,” he said, though the smile on his face betrayed him. “Someone has to ensure you don’t declare my divine candidacy to the owlbear.”

Your grin wavered, and you pouted, your bottom lip trembling as your eyes filled with exaggerated tears.

“You won’t cuddle with me?” you sniffled, your voice wobbling. “You don’t love me anymore?”

Gale’s resolve crumbled instantly. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I can’t say no to that face.”

With a dramatic flourish, you opened your arms wide. “Then get over here, Professor Dekarios!”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the laughter bubbling in his chest as he lowered himself to the grass beside you. Scratch immediately wriggled over to press against his side, while the owlbear gave a satisfied huff and shifted to accommodate him. You threw your arms around him, nuzzling into his chest as if he were the most comfortable pillow in the world.

“See?” you murmured, your voice soft and content. “This is perfect. My god. My Gale.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I suppose there are worse fates than being your god. Though next time, perhaps less wine and more water.”

You hummed in agreement, already half-asleep against him. Gale shook his head, his heart full as he tightened his arms around you and let the peaceful moment wash over him.

Astarion:

The reunion party was in full swing, with the warm glow of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. You and Astarion had arrived arm-in-arm, though the two of you quickly found yourselves mingling with different groups. Astarion had gravitated toward Minthara, the two of them caught in an animated conversation about how you and he had adjusted to life in the Underdark—a topic Astarion spoke of with a surprising fondness.

You, however, had been immediately distracted by Scratch, whose wagging tail and joyful demeanor were too much to resist. You’d spent some time tossing a stick for him before finding the owlbear cub—now fully grown—lounging nearby. One thing led to another, and soon enough, you’d wandered off, leaving Astarion none the wiser.

When he finally noticed your absence, it was only because Minthara raised an eyebrow mid-conversation. “It seems your partner has… disappeared.”

Astarion sighed, his eyes scanning the crowd. “They do tend to wander, don’t they? One moment they’re here, the next, they’ve likely befriended every stray within a ten-mile radius.”

It didn’t take him long to find you. The sound of your drunken sniffles and delighted murmurs led him to a quiet corner of the grove, where you were sprawled on the grass, your arms wrapped around Scratch and the owlbear cub. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glassy, and you were mid-sentence in what appeared to be an earnest declaration.

“You’re just… so cute,” you hiccupped, scratching the owlbear behind its feathered ears. “Both of you. The cutest. I don’t deserve you. Nobody does.”

Astarion stepped closer, his lips curling into a smirk as he crossed his arms.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “The drunkest I’ve ever seen you, cuddling animals and crying over their cuteness. Truly, a sight to behold.”

You looked up at him, your expression a mix of delight and indignation.

“It’s not my fault!” you exclaimed, sitting up—though the effort made you wobble. “Scratch… Scratch has been fetching me wine!”

Astarion raised a skeptical brow, his smirk widening. “Scratch has been fetching you wine? Darling, I taught you to lie better than that.”

You gasped, clutching Scratch protectively. “Are you calling me a liar? Scratch would never let me lie. He’s too good, too pure!”

The dog wagged his tail innocently, clearly pleased with the attention. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he moved to sit beside you.

“Yes, yes, Scratch is the pinnacle of virtue. Now, move over before you collapse completely.” He pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist. You immediately snuggled into him, still hiccuping slightly as you continued to pet the animals.

Just as Astarion was starting to feel truly settled, Scratch suddenly trotted off.

“And where are you going, you furry little enabler?” he called after the dog. Moments later, Scratch returned, tail wagging proudly as he carried a bottle of blood in his jaws. Astarion’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise, and then he laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Well, I’ll be damned. He really is a very good boy.”

He took the bottle from Scratch, patting the dog’s head affectionately.

“My apologies, my love. It seems you weren’t lying. Who would have thought Shadowheart’s greatest contribution to our journey all those months ago was teaching this beast to fetch drinks?”

You giggled, leaning up to press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Told you so. Scratch is a genius. The cutest genius in the whole wide world.”

"And what about me, am I not cute?" Astarion asked in mock offence as he brushed a rogue strand of hair out of your face.

"Not as cute as Scratch and Owlbear but you try -hey give me back my wine!" You whined as Astarion took your bottle from you, brows raised, suggesting you try again. You huffed and rested your head on his shoulder looking up at him with big wet doe eyes. "You are not as cute, because you are twice as beautiful."

"I don't know if that makes sense, but I'll take it." He said, giving you back your wine with a small smile. He would have taken it off you, you really were the drunkest he had ever seen but your so-called 'wine' was actually water, Scratch really was a genius.

Wyll:

The reunion party was in full swing, a mix of old friends, laughter, and the clinking of glasses raised high in celebration. The air buzzed with the joy of shared victories and the promise of futures finally free of hardship. You and Wyll had spent much of the evening together, arm in arm, swapping stories and indulging in the abundant wine. It was a rare, beautiful moment to simply be—no battles to fight, no worlds to save.

For Wyll, the sight of you laughing and glowing with life was a reward all its own. But as the hours ticked by and the wine loosened tongues and inhibitions alike, you had somehow slipped away.

It wasn’t unusual. You had a penchant for wandering when the drink took hold of you, curiosity leading you to wherever your heart fancied. Wyll, ever patient and knowing, only chuckled to himself when he realized you were gone. After excusing himself from a lively conversation with Halsin and Minsc, who were subtley trying to out-brag the other (nothing had changed there) he set out to find you, his long strides carrying him through the grove as he kept an ear out for your familiar voice.

It didn’t take long. He followed the soft sound of sniffling to a secluded patch of grass where the moonlight spilled down like a spotlight. There, nestled between Scratch and the owlbear—no longer a cub but still affectionately devoted—you sat, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you buried your face in the owlbear’s feathers.

“They’re just… so cute,” you murmured, your voice thick with drunken emotion. Scratch’s tail thumped happily against the ground, clearly basking in your attention, while the owlbear tilted its head in quiet curiosity.

Wyll stopped, the sight making him blink in surprise. His hand rose to cover the grin tugging at his lips.

“Oh, my love,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both amusement and affection. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and the moment your eyes met his, a fresh wave of tears spilled over.

“Wyll!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking as though his very presence was a miracle. “You’re here! And you’re so… so cute!”

Wyll blinked, momentarily startled, before laughter rumbled low in his chest.

“I’m cute, am I?” he asked, kneeling beside you. His grin widened as he took in the wine bottle lying haphazardly nearby and the glassy, adoring look in your eyes.

“Yes!” you wailed, throwing your arms out dramatically. “Your smile is cute, and your horns are cute, and your eyes are cute, and your hair is cute!” You punctuated each word with a hiccupping sob, your hand waving wildly as if to emphasize your point.

Wyll’s brows lifted in amusement, though his gaze softened with love.

“I see the wine has been particularly generous with you tonight,” he teased, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry for being so… unbearably adorable. Shall I tone it down?”

“No!” you exclaimed, clutching his hand as though the idea was unthinkable. “Don’t stop being cute! It’s the best thing about you—no, wait.” You gasped as though struck by a revelation. “Everything about you is the best thing!”

Wyll let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “You are truly something else,” he said, his voice warm as he reached out to steady you. “Even when drunk, you’re determined to flatter me into blushing.”

Your lip wobbled, and you suddenly looked utterly distraught.

“Even your boots are cute,” you whispered, as though it was the most profound truth you had ever spoken.

That was enough to undo Wyll completely. He laughed, full and unguarded, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“Alright, alright,” he said gently. “I’ll take responsibility for being impossibly charming.”

You sniffled, your tears slowing as the exhaustion of the evening began to creep up on you. With a soft hiccup, you slumped forward, burying your face in his chest. Wyll’s arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you close as he stroked your back.

“You’re a handful, you know that?” he murmured, though his tone held no irritation—only affection. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The owlbear gave a low croon and leaned in, its head nuzzling against Wyll’s shoulder as though to share in the moment. Scratch let out a soft bark of agreement, his tail thumping against the ground. Wyll chuckled, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“You’ve managed to rally quite the crowd,” he said softly, glancing down at your peaceful face. But when you didn’t respond, he realized you had fallen asleep, your breath even and steady against his chest.

“Oh, my heart,” he said, shaking his head with a fond smile. “What am I to do with you?”

Carefully, he adjusted his hold and scooped you into his arms. The owlbear and Scratch followed as he carried you back toward the firelight of the party. Wyll’s steps were steady, his gaze warm as he looked down at you. Even in your drunken, tearful mess, you were his mess.

And he wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Halsin:

The reunion party was nothing short of spectacular. Lanterns hung from the ancient trees, casting soft, golden light over the gathering. Music and laughter mingled with the sounds of the old faithful camp at night, a serene backdrop to the revelry. You had started the evening with Halsin, both of you basking in the joy of seeing friends and allies together again. It was a rare chance to relax, to celebrate the life you had built after the chaos.

Halsin was soon drawn into a conversation about the orphans you and he had taken in. A circle of the more compassionate companions had gathered around him, captivated as he spoke about the children’s growth, their joy, and the home you were creating. His deep voice carried over the crowd, filled with pride and hope. You stood beside him for a time, sipping wine and listening, but your attention was eventually caught by a familiar sight—Scratch wagging his tail and the owlbear, now fully grown, ambling nearby.

"Look at them," you murmured, already swaying slightly as the wine took hold. "Two perfect, fluffy creatures, and they need my attention."

With a mischievous smile, you slipped away, weaving your way through the crowd, wineglass in hand. By the time Halsin realized you were gone, you had already disappeared into a quieter part of the grove. He smiled to himself, fondly amused, and excused himself from the conversation.

“She’s probably plotting something,” he said with a chuckle, following the faint sound of your voice.

It didn’t take long to find you. Beneath a sprawling oak, you were sprawled on the grass, cuddling Scratch and the owlbear. You had an almost-empty bottle of wine in one hand, your other arm draped dramatically over the owlbear’s shoulders. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a bit disheveled, and your voice carried through the night as you spoke with exaggerated fervor.

"Listen here, Scratch," you said, poking his nose gently with your finger. "And you, too," you added, pointing to the owlbear, who blinked at you with wide, curious eyes. "You’re coming home with me. No arguments. It’s decided. We’re a family now."

Scratch barked happily, his tail thumping against the ground. The owlbear hooted softly, tilting its head as if contemplating your declaration.

You nodded solemnly, taking another swig of wine.

"Halsin might say no, but don’t you worry." You leaned in close, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that was anything but quiet. "I have my ways of convincing him. Very persuasive ways." You wiggled your eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, giggling at your own implication.

Then, as if struck by the sheer emotional gravity of the moment, your voice wavered, and tears welled up in your eyes.

"But if that doesn’t work," you said, your words thick with feeling, "I’ll just cry! Like this!" You dramatically buried your face into Scratch’s fur, letting out a loud, theatrical sob.

From the shadows, Halsin watched, arms crossed, a bemused smile playing on his lips. Finally, he stepped forward, his voice warm and steady. “Tears, my heart, will not be necessary.”

You froze, your head snapping up to look at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Halsin!" you exclaimed, scrambling to sit up and almost tipping over in the process. "When did you get here?"

"Not long ago," he replied, crouching down beside you. "Long enough to hear your… strategy."

You waved the bottle in his direction, sloshing a bit of wine onto the grass.

"It’s a good strategy," you insisted, pointing at him with exaggerated authority. "Very effective."

Halsin chuckled, his large hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I’m sure it is," he said indulgently. "But I assure you, no convincing is necessary."

“What about the other thing?” you asked, your voice dropping into a clumsy attempt at sultriness that only made Halsin laugh more.

“When you’re sober,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You turned back to Scratch and the owlbear, lowering your voice to a loud whisper. “See? I told you it would work. He may be Daddy Halsin, but we all know who the real daddy is.”

Halsin’s brows shot up, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest. “Do we now?” he asked, scooping you into his arms with practiced ease.

You clung to him, your head resting against his broad chest as you continued to mumble incoherently about your master plan.

"Fluffy family forever," you declared, nuzzling into his tunic.

Scratch barked again, wagging his tail enthusiastically, while the owlbear lumbered after you both. Halsin shook his head fondly, his smile softening as he looked down at you.

“You are a marvel,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As he carried you back toward the heart of the party, you sighed contentedly, your arms tightening around his neck.

“You’re the best, Halsin,” you murmured, your words slurring but full of affection. “The absolute best.”

“And you,” he replied, his voice low and full of warmth, “are an utter wonder.”

I hope you guys enjoyed this, I worked quite hard on it and it was quite a good distraction. Love you all - Seluney xox

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

[theclowningbusiness]

A New Kind of Thunder

THIS IS MY FIRST FANFIC, A LITTLE GENTLENESS WOULD BE NICE also it was NOT beta'd

Hughtober Prompt: Thunderstorm (yes I wrote this in October, sue me)

Pairing: Worst (Best) Logan Howlett x Reader

Tropes: Cuddling in a thunderstorm

Warnings: Wade, he deserves his own warning, reader had a traumatic experience during a storm, so thunderstorms give her flashbacks <3 (had to give it some spice)

Other tags: Logan lowkey being happy and a big softie, making Logan watch a musical

Background: Usually when a thunderstorm hits, you seek out comfort in the form of watching movies or some other activity with your best friend, Wade. You knew that a thunderstorm presented no real danger to you, but it still creeped you out to be alone.

Description: When a thunderstorm hits, you walk across the hall to Wade’s, ready to invite him over so the two of you could have a movie marathon and wait it out until the storm died down and you’d be able to sleep. You didn’t expect Wade not to be home, and you’re shocked when his roommate, Logan, answers the door instead of him.

You sighed, hearing the first crack of thunder. You knew that a storm was coming. But you hoped you’d be asleep by the time it came through. Unfortunately, the knowledge of the coming storm seemed to be enough to keep you from going to sleep. Looks like you’d be spending another night watching movies with Wade on your couch.

    Getting up from your bed, you slipped on some comfy pajama pants and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders like a cape. You also slid on some socks, not wanting your feet to be cold against the floor. You walked through your apartment, walking out and across the hall to Wade’s. 

    You lifted your hand and knocked on Wade’s door before rubbing a hand over your face. You hated needing company during a thunderstorm, but in the wise words of Wade, ‘You can’t help what you’re scared of, sugar bear’.

    Hearing footsteps on the other side of the door, you thanked whatever deity was out there that he seemed to have been awake already. 

    When the door opened, you were met with a man who certainly wasn’t Wade. It was Logan, Wade’s new roommate. The two of you didn’t talk much, and you never hung out one on one. Not that you didn’t want to, you were just nervous that he would grow annoyed by your company. So, you took what you could get and settled for only spending time with him when Wade wanted to.

    You’d certainly never seen him like this. He wore a white tank that was tight across his chest along with a pair of pajama pants that were plaid. It was truly infuriating how good he looked sometimes, especially right now. It’s just pajamas and a tank, and he looks like a goddamn model. You did your best to keep yourself from drooling when you spoke.

    “Hi,” you spoke softly, not wanting to disturb any neighbors. The walls were fairly thin after all. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry, I was looking for Wade.”

    “I was already awake,” Logan assured, his voice matching yours in volume. “Wade isn’t here, he’s at Vanessa’s,” he explained.

    “Oh,” you sighed softly. “In that case, sorry to bother you,” you gave him an apologetic smile, feeling a little bad for disturbing his night. You started to turn back around and head back to your apartment when Logan spoke again.

    “What did you need?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Is everything alright?”

    You turned back around to face Logan. Part of you was embarrassed to tell him the truth, but if you ever wanted to be real friends with him, opening up was going to be part of that.

    “Well,” you started, “I get freaked out by thunderstorms, it’s a long story,” you answered. “Usually when there’s a storm, Wade comes over and watches movies with me so I forget about the storm.”

    Logan stayed silent for a moment, observing you in the moonlight that came through the window at the end of the hall. You were convinced he’d never hang out with you now, not with the way he looked at you. When he went to speak, however, you would’ve sworn he almost looked nervous.

    “I could come watch movies with you,” he offered. “I’m not as talkative as Wade, but we could turn the tv up, and you wouldn’t be alone.”

    “Really?” You smiled, unable to stop it. “I don’t wanna keep you up or anything,” you hummed, you really wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience.

    “I don’t sleep much anyways,” he shrugged. “At the least, it gives me something to do since I can’t sleep.”

    “Then you’re more than welcome to join me,” you nodded, “You can pick the first movie,” you added as you turned and walked back into your apartment.

    Logan made sure he had his own apartment keys before he shut the door and followed into your place. 

    Once Logan was in your apartment, you shut the door and headed for the living room. You grabbed your remote and plopped down on one end of the couch as you turned it on. The only light was the tv and the moon coming in through the windows. 

    Logan got settled on the other end of the couch, seeming to get comfortable.

    “What do you wanna watch?” You asked, looking over at Logan. You smiled softly at the sight of him getting comfy on your couch. He didn’t seem out of place at all, it seemed natural to have him there.

    Now is not the time to be ogling Logan, but it was hard not to when he was so handsome, and the fact that he was here because he wanted to help you out made him all the more attractive.

    “You can pick,” he shrugged. “I’m not that picky when it comes to movies.”

    “Musical it is,” you snickered, wanting to see if Logan would protest.

    Logan just shrugged again, seeming to really not mind what you wanted to watch.

    You flipped through some movies, finding one of your favorite musical movies. The Greatest Showman. You just loved the story, and you had to admit the main actor was very good looking. Nothing better to distract from a thunderstorm than some singing eye candy. Thinking about it, he kinda looked like Logan.

    You pressed play, putting the remote down and curling up a little as the opening credits began.

    “What’s it about?” Logan questioned, looking over at you.

    “It’s about a ringleader forming a circus,” you hummed. “He brings it up from nothing. It’s set in the 1800s, so you’d fit right in,” you joked.

    “Don’t tell me you’re gonna be worse than Wade tonight,” he shook his head, a barely there smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

    “Guess we’ll find out,” you snickered, giving him a playful shrug.

================

    You were about halfway through the movie, and the two of you were both invested. You were laying down now, your head near the armrest and your legs curled up on the couch next to Logan. He still sat in the seat he’d started in, but he seemed to relax into the couch a little more, one arm over the back of it.

    The storm hadn’t been bothering you too much so far, but it seemed as if that was ending now.

    A loud crack of thunder boomed, and it felt like it shook the windows of your apartment. You sat up, looking out the window. 

    “Hey,” Logan spoke, trying to get your attention away from the rain pouring against your window.

    You turned to look at the man, shifting your attention to him instead of the rain.

    “You alright?” He asked, surprised by your reaction to the thunder. 

    “Yeah, it just caught me off guard,” you answered. Before he could reply, a lightning strike lit up your living room, followed by another, louder, roll of thunder. You jumped again before sighing. You could feel your chest getting tighter.

    Logan scooted a little closer after you jumped this time, placing a hand on your shoulder.

    “It’s okay,” he spoke. He was never the best at comforting, much less so when he used his words instead of actions.

    You nodded, taking a breath. You leaned into the couch, trying to relax again. It was short lived, however, when another lightning flash filled the room, the thunder following.

    Before you could even think about reacting, Logan was pulling you closer, his arms holding your shoulders protectively.

    “It’s only a noise,” he hummed, his voice quiet. “Not gonna hurt you,” he added.

    You laid your head against his shoulder as he held you. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the sound of him breathing evenly rather than the rain pounding outside. Slowly, you let your breath sync to his, the slow breaths helping you to relax.

    “There you go,” he said, still keeping his voice low.

    His voice almost reminded you of the thunder rolling outside. You could feel the rumble of his words in his chest when he spoke. But this thunder wasn’t frightening. It was soft and comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket straight from the dryer. 

    Logan pulled away after a moment, and you tried not to seem too disappointed. He picked up on it anyway, and was quick to reassure you.

    “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, a small smile on his face. “Just thought there were more comfortable ways than me hunching over to hold you and you bending your neck to lay your head down,” he explained. You were sure that was the most words he’d ever said to you     consecutively.

    He laid back on the couch, patting his chest and opening up his arms, inviting you to lay against him. You hesitated for a moment, and he seemed to gather what was worrying you.

    “I’m a mutant with a metal coated skeleton,” he let out an amused breath, “I’ll be fine if you lay on me.”

    You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the way he put it. You pulled the blanket over you both as you laid across him, your face tucking against his neck.

    “Comfy?” Logan mumbled, wrapping an arm around your middle. 

    “Mhm,” you hummed out. After a moment, you spoke again. “Can you keep talking?” You asked, hoping he wouldn’t find it too odd.

    “Why?” He asked in return, but his voice was more curious than any sort of upset.

    “Your voice distracts me from the thunder,” you replied, closing your eyes.

    “Oh,” he hummed, his chest rumbling as he did. “What do you want me to talk about?”

    “Whatever you want,” you answered. He could be reading the dictionary, and you’d listen to every word. “I’m sure you have plenty of stories to tell.”

    Logan thought for a moment before starting to speak, telling you a story about a time that he’d worked as a lumberjack in the late 70s. He went on, telling you that he’d been living in a cabin in the Canadian Rockies. 

    You listened intently as he spoke, committing every word to memory. It sounded like a rather nice place to live. The life he described was simple and filled with much less trouble than the life of a hero.

    As he spoke, you felt yourself growing sleepier and sleepier. He’d started rubbing your back about halfway through the story, and it was definitely helping you keep your mind off the storm.

    “‘M getting tired,” you mumbled out, your cheek squished into Logan’s chest.

    “Go to sleep,” he replied, “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he added, “Hopefully the storm will be over by then.”

    “Can you keep talking’ til I’m asleep?” You asked softly.

    Without agreeing or denying, he just picked up his story where he left off, making you smile.

    It wasn’t long before you were passed out on top of Logan, breathing evenly as you slept. Logan looked down at you, smiling softly at the sight. Maybe tonight, he’d finally get a good rest too. With that thought on his mind, he closed his eyes and let himself doze off, his arms wrapped around you protectively.

================

    Logan woke up later than he typically did the next morning, but it wasn’t like he had anywhere to be anyway. He let out a sleepy hum as he blinked open his eyes to look down at you in his arms. A small smile made its way to his face as he saw you were still fast asleep on his chest.

    As if the universe wanted to say ‘fuck you’ to Logan, Wade walked over and into Logan’s view. 

    Logan blinked a few times, almost like he was trying to will Wade out of the room.

    “Well good morning, sleeping beauty,” Wade spoke, too chipper for Logan, as usual. He was munching on a muffin that he’d clearly stolen from your kitchen.

    “The fuck are you doing here?” Logan huffed, but kept his voice down, wanting to let you rest after being up the previous night.

    “Stealing food, clearly,” Wade lifted up the muffin to emphasize his point. “My turn. What are you doing here, peanut?” He hummed, sitting down on the small coffee table that was in front of the couch. He placed one elbow on one of his knees and propped his now tilted head on his hand. “You never hang out with each other, and now I come over and catch her napping on your chest like you’re a big pillow. Totally jealous, by the way, I’d pay to lay on those thick tits of yours.”

    Logan rolled his eyes. Somehow Wade never seemed to run out of things to say that would annoy him.

    “I’m here because you weren’t,” Logan replied. “It was storming last night and she came over looking for you. When I answered the door and asked what she wanted, she told me and I offered to watch movies with her.”

    “That’s cute and all,” Wade nodded, “But that doesn’t explain why she’s cuddling up to you like she’s done it a hundred times before.”

    “Do you ever stop asking questions?” Logan complained.

    “Nope, now spill or I’ll wake her up and make her tell me instead,” Wade whined petulantly.

    “Okay, fine,” Logan sighed. “There were a couple big booms of thunder and she got scared, so I was holding her. She seemed to calm down so we just moved to get more comfortable instead of sitting up. We fell asleep like that, then I woke up and my absolute worst nightmare was here,” he jabbed at Wade, deadpanning.

    “Oh you so have it bad for her,” Wade teased with a grin.

    “I do not have it bad,” Logan argued.

    “You don’t?” Wade raised one brow. “Tell me then, would you cuddle me because I was scared?” He questioned.

    Logan stayed silent, unsure how he was supposed to answer that without flat out lying, which he knew would end in Wade insisting he gets cuddles at some point.

    “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought,” Wade snickered softly. “You should just ask her out,” he hummed before taking a bite of his muffin.

    “Not happening,” Logan shook his head. “There are too many reasons why I shouldn’t do that.”

    “Oh come on,” Wade complained with his mouth full before swallowing and speaking again. “Why not?”

    “It would just put her in danger,” he reasoned. “Nothing ends well for anyone I care about,” he added, sighing softly. “That’s the last thing I’d want to happen to her.”

    “You care about me, and I’m fine,” Wade grinned.

    “You also can’t fucking die,” Logan deadpanned. “I’m serious, I don’t want to be the reason she’s in danger.”

    “You say that like we wouldn’t both murder someone who tried anything,” Wade hummed. “Nobody hurts my best friend, and I’m positive that nobody would end up alive after trying something on Wolverine’s girlfriend.”

    Logan stayed quiet, looking down at you on his chest. 

    “Fine, I’ll think about it,” he decided. “But don’t you dare say anything to her about how I may or may not feel.”

    “May or may not my ass,” Wade rolled his eyes, standing up. “I’m going back to my place, if you two fuck, try not to let the whole complex hear you,” he joked as he headed towards the door.

    “Fuck off, Wade,” Logan grumbled out, but he seemed to relax again when he heard the door close behind Wade. 

    As much as he hated it, he had to admit that Wade may be right.

================

    Ever since the night of the storm, you and Logan had gotten closer. You hadn’t been too close, like hugging or cuddling again, but you hung out more. He’d come over and have dinner and then watch whatever movie you decided to put on. Occasionally, you dragged him out to go see a movie you wanted to watch in theaters or get ice cream when you felt a craving for it.

    You’d certainly grown to fall for the man. Before, you knew he was handsome and just all around attractive, but now that you knew him even better, you were well and truly fucked. Even if you did have feelings, you’d never mention it, not wanting to end up back at square one and without him as a friend.

    The most interesting change was the pet names he seemed to add to the end of every other sentence. It came out as if it was second nature when he spoke to you. Honey, babe, sugar, sweetheart. Each time he used one, your stomach fluttered.

================

    It was about four months after the initial storm and Logan was sleeping, unaware of the raging storm outside. It was even more intense than the last.

    He woke up when he heard a loud crash. He sat up straight, worried that some sort of danger was near. He sighed when he realized it was just thunder, laying back down.

    “Stupid fuckin’ storm,” he grumbled to himself, closing his eyes to go back to sleep. It seemed to hit him only when he said the word out loud. It was storming outside and you were probably in your apartment, terrified.

    He got up quickly, going to check first if Wade was still in the apartment. He found Wade fast asleep, curled up with a stuffed unicorn. He felt a little bad about being happy that he’d be the one to go help you.

    Rushing out of the apartment, he made his way across the hall and knocked on your door. When he got no reply, he grew more worried. He hurried to go back to Wade’s and grab the spare key to yours he now knew that Wade kept on the table near the door. Once he grabbed the key, he was back to your door, unlocking it and pushing it open.

    He called out your name softly, not wanting to wake you if you were already asleep. He assumed that you must be until he heard a small sob coming from down the hall. He’d never been so thankful for his advanced hearing.

    Walking quickly, he made it to your bedroom, the door already open. There was a lump on your bed under your blankets and he assumed it was you. He walked in, sitting down on the edge of your bed. 

    “Hey, it’s me,” Logan’s voice was soft, “I’m here.”

    Slowly, you poked your head out from the blanket and looked at Logan. It was like seeing him flipped a switch. You flung the blanket off of yourself and nearly tackled Logan with a hug. If it weren’t for how strong he was, you would’ve both probably tumbled off the bed.

    “Woah, woah,” Logan kept his voice quiet as he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. “You’re alright, it’s alright.” He lifted one hand to run through your hair.

    There it was again. His voice like a sweet version of the thunder that rolled just outside your window.

    You cried softly against his shoulder for a few minutes, slowly calming down now that Logan had arrived. Just like last time, you focused on his even breathing and mirrored it. Eventually, the tears stopped and you just sniffled quietly.

    “You could’ve come over to get me if you were this scared, honey,” Logan said as he rubbed your back in slow circles.

    “I wanted to,” you said softly. “But the thunder was so loud and the rain was pelting the window. I just got so overwhelmed, it felt like I couldn’t move.”

    “Alright,” Logan nodded in understanding. He knew what it felt like to freeze up. “I’m here now,” he added, laying his head against yours. “I won’t go anywhere until you feel better.”

    “Will you stay again?” You asked softly, shyly.

    “Of course,” he nodded, letting go of you so you could get comfortable.

    You slipped under the blanket of your bed, then held up the blanket for Logan to join you.

    He did as you wished, getting under the blanket and laying down next to you. Gently, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to his side. 

    Your arm rested on his shoulder while one leg tangled with his. You were convinced that this was the safest you’d ever feel. 

    “I never asked,” Logan started. “Is there a reason thunderstorms scare you? I asked Wade, and he told me I should ask you instead.”

    You stayed quiet, and for a moment, he was worried that he’d overstepped with his question. He was about to try and backpedal, but you spoke.

    “The worst day of my life,” you started, “It was during a huge storm. Now when it storms, and the thunder cracks, it’s like I’m back there again. I have to relive the hardest day of my entire life.”

    If anyone knew what that was like, it was Logan. Half the time when he slept, he was reliving the day he lost everything. Now it made sense in a way he could understand.

    “I didn’t realize,” Logan sighed. “‘M sorry,” he added, feeling a little bad for making you talk about it.

    “Don’t be,” you shook your head. “I wanted to tell you anyway, I just didn’t know how,” you admitted. “I’m glad you asked me.”

    Logan didn’t say anything else, just wrapping his arm around you a little tighter.

    “You came without me asking,” you said quietly, tilting your head to look up at Logan.

    “I woke up and it was storming,” Logan spoke, looking down at you. “Wade was still home, so I figured you were here alone and wanted to come check on you. I know you don’t like being alone, so I came over. I’m glad I did.”

    “I’m glad you did too,” you agreed with a small smile. You were sure your eyes were still puffy from crying, most likely a little red, too. Part of you was embarrassed that Logan was seeing you like this, even when it was mostly dark, but the other part of you knew that Logan probably didn’t even think twice about it.

    Logan gave you a small smile in return. You were so happy that he’d started showing himself to you a little more, you loved seeing his smile and hearing his laugh.

    “Thank you,” you added, realizing you hadn’t said it until just now. “For coming over because you knew I’d be scared.”

    “Don’t have to thank me,” he shook his head. “It would’ve been shitty if I’d have just gone back to bed when I knew you needed someone.”

    He sounded so sincere that it felt like your heart was being squeezed. Without another thought, you leaned up to place a small kiss on his cheek, a small show of your gratitude. When you pulled away, you laid your head back down against him.

    “What was that for?” Logan chuckled, one side of his mouth turning up.

    “For being here,” you shrugged, “Since you won’t take my thank you, I thought I’d give you that in its place.”

    Logan rolled over onto his side so he was facing you. He then pulled you up so the two of you would be eye to eye. He looked at you as if he was trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. It made your cheeks grow warm.

    “Can I talk to you about something?” He asked, his voice serious, but not so serious that you grew worried about what he had to say.

    “Always,” you nodded. 

    “The first time I came over, when Wade wasn’t home, I didn’t know what I’d be getting into,” he admitted with a small smile. “The next morning, when I woke up, you were still asleep and Wade came waltzing into the living room and he and I talked.”

    “Oh god,” you interrupted. “Tell me he didn’t say anything embarrassing,” you joked.

    “No, nothing embarrassing,” he assured, resting a hand on your hip. “He actually told me to do something, and at first, I told him I never would, because I was scared of hurting someone,” he sighed. “But he convinced me to think about it, and I’ve been dwelling on it every day since.”

    Logan went quiet, and you thought that he almost seemed…. Nervous.

    “What did he tell you to do?” You spoke softly, wanting to give him a nudge and let him know he could open up to you. “Who did you not want to hurt, Lo?”

    “You,” he finally got out. “I didn’t want to hurt you. He told me to just ask you out already, and I said no because the people I care about usually end up getting hurt. But I kept fucking thinking about it, and I know that I’d do everything I can to keep you from getting hurt.”

    You weren’t sure what to say. The very last thing you had expected him to say was that he wanted to ask you out.

    “I’m obviously not good with words,” he huffed out a breath. “I just need to say it. Do you wanna go out with me, sweetheart?”

    You swore you could feel the palpitations as the words finally left his lips.

    “Yes,” you grinned, lifting a hand to hold a side of his face. “I’d love to go out with you, Logan,” you leaned up to press a gentle kiss on the end of his nose, which he scrunched up in response.

    “I promise I’m not going to let you get hurt,” he assured as he leaned in, resting his forehead on yours. “I’ll keep you safe. From thunderstorms, or from anything else.”

    “I know you will,” you replied, “I feel safe, right here in your arms,” you smiled, cuddling into him a little more as if you were trying to prove your point.

    “I’ll hold you whenever you want, honey,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose. “Anything to make you feel safe.”

    “Doesn’t just make me feel safe,” you grinned. “Makes me feel happy, too.”

    “Oh yeah?” He asked, his voice just on this side of teasing. “Good thing I’d do anything to make you happy too.”

    “Anything to make me happy?” You questioned, sliding your hand down from his face to his chest, “I think a kiss would really make me happy.”

    “I did say anything,” he chuckled, leaning in until your lips brushed. “Absolutely anything for my girl,” he added before pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss that you both sighed into.

    When he pulled away, it was just enough to breathe, close enough that your lips still touched when you spoke. 

    “Your girl?” You spoke, barely above a whisper. “I think I could get used to that. That would make you my guy, huh?”

    “Yeah, I’ll be your guy, babe,” he chuckled quietly. “Any day of the week.”

    “Just in the days?” You joked, acting as if you were offended.

    “Christ, you and Wade are going to kill me,” he huffed playfully. “I’ll be your guy any time you’ll have me.”

    “That’s more like it,” you laughed quietly, pecking his lips.

    The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, when you realized something.

    “It’s not storming anymore,” you smiled. “Guess you distracted me from the storm.”

    “Told you I’d keep you safe,” he grinned.

    “I think I know why it works so well when you talk,” you said shyly.

    “And why’s that?” He asked.

    “Your voice, it’s low and I can feel it in your chest when you talk,” you began. “Reminds me of the thunder, but it’s gentle and even instead of overwhelming. So when you talk, it’s like a whole new kind of storm that I can focus on.”

    “I’d be glad to distract you anytime,” he teased, pecking your lips.

    “You know, you should come stay the night sometime when I’m not having a panic attack,” you joked.

    “I think I’d like that,” he agreed. “Wade’s never gonna let me leave without interrogating me though.”

    “I’ll come over when you’re about to leave, I can try and get him off topic,” you chuckled. “All I’ve really gotta do is mention Vanessa.”

    “What if I don’t mind people knowing where I’ll be?” He asked.

    “I’d say that it’s very sweet and that I don’t mind either,” you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth.

    “Kiss me like you mean it, none of the corner of the mouth shit,” he complained, but based on the smile on his face, he was only teasing you. 

    Opting not to reply, you leaned in, pressing your lips on his. You hadn’t expected his lips to be as soft as they were, but you supposed it made sense when his skin healed itself.

    You pulled away slowly, letting out a content breath and scooting down so you could press your face against his neck.

    “You smell good,” you commented casually as you closed your eyes.

    “Glad you like it,” he chuckled, tucking one arm under his head while the other kept you against his chest.

    The two of you continued to steal soft kisses and trade laughs until eventually you were being pulled under into a nice sleep.

================

    Logan took a deep breath as he woke up. In the night, you’d managed to turn over, so he was now the big spoon. He grinned, pulling you closer back against him. 

    Without warning, Wade’s head popped up over your side of the bed, a smile on his face. 

    “Why the fuck are you always here when I wake up?” Logan complained, letting a sigh out of his nose.

    “Because you’re always here when I come to check in after a storm,” Wade answered, standing up and revealing that he was wearing a tie dye onesie. 

    “Well she’s fine, you don’t have to check up on her anymore,” Logan assured. “Now get out so I can go back to sleep,” he huffed.

    Wade completely ignored Logan. Typical.

    “So did you two finally do it last night?” He asked, already heading to the door, praying Logan wouldn’t get up to beat the shit out of him.

    Logan didn’t get up. Instead he leaned over and grabbed the alarm clock on your bedside table and threw it towards Wade.

    Wade dodged it, grinning like an idiot as he ran out and through your apartment so he could exit the front door.

   “What the fuck was that?” You groaned out sleepily.

    “Nothin’,” Logan answered, wrapping his arm back around you. “Just your alarm clock breaking against the wall.”

    “Do I want to ask why you threw it or not?” You questioned, turning around and pressing your face to his chest.

    “Wade,” he answered simply.

    “Got it,” you nodded, “No need to explain.”

    Logan chuckled and leaned down, pressing his lips to your forehead.

    “Wanna go back to sleep?” He hummed out.

    “Now that I’m awake, I was thinking maybe we could go get something for breakfast,” you shrugged, looking up at Logan with a lazy grin.

    “I could go for breakfast,” he nodded. “Let me hold you for a little longer first,” he added, squeezing you even closer to him.

    “I could go for that,” you copied his words, laying your head back down.

    Logan grinned, just looking at you laying your head on his chest. Yeah, he could get used to being a new kind of thunder for you.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being an Avenger with botanical powers

Avengers x reader

warnings:

a/n: i broke this request in 2 just cuz i couldn’t find a relevant way to incorporate the powers into the request for tonys bday!! hope it is okie!!!! its also short 😔

prompt: @groovy-lady: “May I please request a cute fic of sweet Mutant!fem!wife!Reader (who has botanical manipulation powers) and the Avengers celebrating Reader’s husband’s (Tony Stark) birthday?”

you were a very versatile fighter with a bit of love in you as well!

like yeah you could help the avengers keep their plants alive but you could also trap an enemy in a vine of thorns

“y/n, my flowers are wilting” -wanda

“well, that will happen when they’re removed from the ground and their roots are cut from their stems” -you

“vision picked them himself…” -wanda

you were pretty good at apprehending foes and locking people in

“do you do anything other than vines, y/n?” -clint

“sure” -you, growing a flower from the ground and handing it over

“aw, thanks” -clint

the plant puns never ended

“you’ll never be-leaf this” -tony

“LAMEEEE” -you

“oh, i’m lame? you grow flowers!” -tony

*cue you imprisoning him in a cage of vines*

“apologize” -you

“sorry for disturbing the ‘peas’” -tony

“you should kill him!” -nat, egging you on

“yeah, kill him!” -clint

“y/n, don’t kill him!” -steve

you put a tiny…thorn in his side

“wow, that’s a pun on it’s own. you poked me in the side with a thorn?” -tony

“better than your nonsense” -wanda

you had a small garden in the avengers compound

steve often pitched in, it calmed him down

“i guess i’ve got a green thumb after all” -steve

“you’re a natural!” -you, secretly taking care of his plants

honestly, you’d pondered the idea of poisonous plants/dangerous plants (like temporary paralysis stuff nothing CRAZY), you collected some samples and kept them to yourself

SHIELD used to request your expertise to create weapons, but you preferred the raw deal of vines as weapons

you’d either wear a set of vines to help you climb and fight and travel short distances, or you’d get really creative and just launch yourself up in the air and surprise attack foes with a vine shooting from the ground. really depended on the mood and mission

you needed the right conditions to grow, or you’d have to take plants with you

“do you name them?” -wanda

“yeah, this one’s nat, that’s steve, clint, tony, bruce, wanda…” -you

“you name them after us?!” -wanda

“yeah, i think it’s funny” -you

“yeah, y/n gives the pep talks, too” -nat

“leave me alone!” -you

“i think you mean leaf me alone!” -tony

it never got old for him

but in the end you were a powerhouse and a great gardener, having fresh produce was always a plus

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @sk1bidi-n1k0-e4ts-people // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[strawberry-daiquiris]

trying to recover from the jondo + 26 that took me out at the knees and greedy as I am, if that's anything, a jondo + 24 would probably be the last nail in the coffin 🙏🏼

a top reader, a top prompt 💕 this could either be seen as a continuation of edging jon and lando ooooor, just another version of them where jon gives lando what he needs because it's safer than letting him try to find someone else who might not be so trustworthy

jondo | oral fixation/mouth play | warning for gagging, choking, being a bit dangerous with plastic objects

for the kink generator ask game

****

It’s boring, when they have to wait around for the rain to clear. Lando’s hit over a hundred in a row playing keepy-uppy against the wall with his padel racket and one of Andrea’s stress balls.

Boring. Like Oscar when he refuses to rise to the bait of Lando’s challenge to try and beat him, retreating to his driver’s room to call his girlfriend, or something shit like that.

For the last five minutes, Lando’s been trying to get his mouth around the plastic of one of his water bottles.

He’s just about made it past the spout, the hard rim of black popping through the straining red sides of his lips. It stings, but in a good way, his eyes starting to water as he feels the smoother plastic start to slide in, the bit you suck on with your mouth poking at his uvula. He must be past the markings now, slipping down the 1000ml to the 900ml. He got to about 850 before, once, but the bottle was smaller. Thinner.

When Jon wanders in, right on time for his scheduled lunch, he doesn’t look as shocked as Lando wanted him to. Just rolls his eyes, chucking a plate of chicken wrap and badly cut vegetables onto the table.

“Lunch. Looks like that might hurt,” he comments. He cranes his neck, looking for Lando’s crotch. “Ah, maybe not.”

Lando smiles, or tries to anyway, the plastic suddenly feeling too hot in his mouth. He tries to tell Jon to fuck off, stop staring at his willy if he’s not going to do anything about it, but the only sound he makes is muffled, like he’s getting choked.

That’s when the panic starts to set in, a bit. He tries to pull at the bottle, but it’s not coming.

It’s stuck, he mumbles, but it just sounds like a hum.

“You bloody idiot,” Jon snorts, leaning close to Lando’s face, peering through his stupid big glasses. “Can you not get it out now?”

Lando tries to plead with his eyes, blinking out tears. Jon leaves it just long enough that he’s starting to feel his heart beat painfully against the shell of his chest before he gently puts a hand behind Lando’s head.

“You’ll have to relax,” Jon tells him. “Or it’s going nowhere.”

Lando tries, he really does, but it’s no use. He can feel himself going a bit faint, forgetting he can breathe through his nose.

He’s going to die with a big fuck off plastic bottle plugging his mouth. The photos of the crime scene will be all over the internet. Someone will leak them.

“I have to do everything around here,” Jon grumbles, as he steadies Lando’s head a bit firmer and hooks his finger in next to the plastic. “Stop moving.”

Lando grabs at his hand, because it fucking hurts, and the whole point is that his mouth is splitting open, so why is Jon sticking more in?

“Stop. Wriggling,” Jon says, teeth gritted, and his fingernails are digging into Lando’s scalp now. He can feel the bits of dandruff flaking off him. “I’m trying to help you, you muppet.”

The air Jon lets out through the corner when he pulls his finger out is enough to break the seal, and the bottle comes free. Lando breathes in deeply, coughing and retching as Jon pulls it out, the plastic covered in spit, bubbling in some of the deeper grooves on the lid.

“What was that about?” Jon asks, wiping the bottle on the expensive jacket Lando wore into the paddock that morning before he chucks it onto the pile to go to the hospitality dishwashers. “If I hadn’t been here you’d have had it, you idiot.”

“Knew you were coming, didn’t I?” Lando counters, picking up one of his crudités and sticking it in his mouth. It feels impossibly small after the bottle, and he clashes his teeth when he bites down too hard. The carrot chops in half, hitting against the swollen mess he’s made of the roof of his mouth before he can swallow it. “Wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

Jon puts two of his fingers back in Lando’s mouth, but gentler this time. He feels around the bits that are red, pink, in danger of bleeding or already well past that point. Lando can taste the metallic twang when he smacks his lips together, like when you pick at a spot on your lip, or have a nosebleed.

“You have to be more careful,” Jon says quietly, soothing his fingers along the inside of Lando’s cheek. It tickles, sensitive, and if he was hard before, he’s harder now. “It’s one thing wanting this-“

Jon flips his wrist over, and slides the rest of the fingers from one hand in until the bent part of his thumb bumps against Lando’s lips. It takes him by surprise, even though it’s what he set all this up for, eyelids fluttering at the intrusion.

“And another doing whatever that was.”

He jerks his head at the bottle, and Lando tries to make sure his eyes look understanding, sorry.

When he pulls his fingers out, Lando rasps it out too, to really hit home.

“Sorry Jon, I didn’t think it woul-”

“Fuck off,” Jon snorts, plugging his thumb into Lando’s mouth and waiting with it resting on his tongue until Lando accepts the peace offering, closing his mouth and sucking on the digit. It tastes a bit like peri-peri, like Jon’s already had his lunch. “You absolutely fucking did, you weirdo.”

Lando feels his cheeks go a bit pink, and there’s actually a bit of shame that creeps in. Wanting weird stuff comes naturally to him, but acting on it takes a bit of confidence. It’s the same in racing - he knows he’s good, he knows he can take it.

He just needs it to go well to kick him off.

Jon sighs, using his free thumb to swipe the tear on Lando’s cheek, and then he leans in.

“Since you got started, d’you want to finish off before you eat?”

Lando nods, so eagerly he moves Jon’s hand. It’s like they’re shaking on it.

“Idiot,” Jon says, but not unkindly, ruffling Lando’s curls. He pulls his thumb out with a pop. “Go on then, trousers off.”

They always do this before Lando eats, if they can, just in case. He’s never, not really, but he’s gagged a few times when it’s been too soon after a meal, or he’s downed a big glass of water.

Jon gets him to sit on the side of the bed, legs hanging off. They swing about, miles off touching the floor. Lando works himself up a bit, first, spitting on his hand and sliding it along his dick until a bit of pre starts to collect on his tip.

“Eager,” Jon comments, as he comes up beside him. “Open up then.”

They do two things in this position. Sometimes, Jon adjusts his neck, gently pressing it from side to side to work out a knot, relax a muscle.

And sometimes, he loops an arm around Lando’s head, holds it to his shoulder and sticks his full fist in his mouth, until Lando chokes, feeling fingernails brush the sensitive parts inside.

“That’s it,” he says, as he uses his free hand to slap Lando’s own off his dick, taking hold of it himself. “Good boy.”

Lando wishes he could see what he looks like, his dick red and leaking and Jon’s arm disappearing into his mouth at the wrist. The metal of the band for his whoop keeps bumping cold against the tip of Lando’s nose, so he knows he must be that deep. There’s a mirror on the wall, but it’s just a bit too far away.

Still, Lando points at it, even as his eyes roll back in his head, breathing as heavily as he can out of his nose. Unlike the bottle, he trusts Jon not to hurt him, not to push too far.

“Hmm?” Jon asks, following Lando’s finger, and then laughing. “Jesus, really? Fine, just… careful when you jump down.”

Between them, they manoeuvre him off the table, his legs shaking as Jon helps him across the room, still working over his dick. Lando closes his eyes, not wanting to see the full picture too soon, like not paying attention to the start of a reel and seeing the punchline before you get the set up.

“Look,” Jon commands, when they get in front of the mirror. “Come on, you wanted to see, didn’t you? So fucking look.”

Lando opens his eyes.

“What do you think?” Jon asks. “Do you like it?”

Lando nods, slurping around Jon’s hand. His mouth is full of saliva, bubbling out the corners like an overflowing bath.

Jon squeezes his dick, and spreads his fingers at the same time, and Lando loses it, coming into Jon’s hand, lightly splattering the mirror at the same time.

”Oh fuck,” Jon says, with a cheeky smile playing on his lips, the one he uses on the engineers when he’s doing the whole isn’t this one annoying thing like he doesn’t like shit just as weird as Lando does. “How fucking messy are you, mate?”

Jon steadies Lando’s head as he pulls his hand out, positioned over the sink to let him dribble and spit whatever he needs out into the ceramic, tap running to wash it away. He splashes Lando’s face with water, washing away the crusty bits at the sides of his mouth, and the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Outside, the rain has stopped.

“Let’s see you,” Jon’s voice is kind as he tilts Lando’s head up, using his phone torch to check the back of his mouth, like some kind of fucked up dentist. When he’s done, he leans in and kisses Lando. Just a peck. That’s all he ever does. “I think you’ll live.”

He looks to the window, a high rectangle angled so you can’t see through it, and smiles. The sun is starting to reflect on the bright white of the walls, making the room lighter, like a new dawn.

Over the walkie talkie in the corner, Andrea’s voice carries.

“Session will start in twenty-two minutes, everyone back to their places, please.”

Jon grins, nodding his head over the mirror, the drops congealing against the glass.

“Guess you’ll need to clean that up later, won’t you, mate?”

[magical-reid]

All That Matters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: 24: “I don’t care what others say, I want to be with you and that’s all that matters to me.” 

Word Count: 800

Setting: Post-Hydra recovery at the Avengers Compound

Summary: In the quiet of the Avengers Compound, you struggle with feelings of doubt and isolation, haunted by your past as a Hydra agent. But Bucky who understands the weight of being judged for things beyond your control, offers you a rare kind of comfort, proving that, despite the past, you truly belong—and he’s not going anywhere.

The Avengers Compound was quieter at night. Most of the team had retired to their rooms, the buzz of missions and meetings reduced to the occasional hum of distant machinery or the rustle of a breeze through the tall windows. You liked it that way—still, calm, with no one looking at you like you didn’t belong.

You were seated in the kitchen, the sharp metallic scent of dish soap filling the air as you meticulously wiped down the already-clean counters. It wasn’t about cleaning, not really—it was about control. About keeping your hands busy so your mind wouldn’t wander back to those memories you worked so hard to bury.

You heard the sound of boots behind you, heavy and deliberate. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. You knew the rhythm of his steps by heart.

“Bucky,” you said softly, stilling your hands on the cloth.

He didn’t say anything at first, just moved to lean against the counter beside you, his metal hand tapping idly on the surface. You could feel his eyes on you—blue, sharp, and all too perceptive.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” you asked, risking a glance at him.

“Could say the same for you,” he countered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. But it faded quickly, replaced by something softer, more cautious. “You okay?”

You hesitated. Bucky was one of the few people who could ask you that question without it sounding shallow. He understood what it was like to carry the weight of your past, to feel the judgment of others every time you walked into a room. You didn’t have to explain it to him.

“Everyone thinks I don’t belong here,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “That I’m… dangerous. Damaged.”

Bucky’s brows knitted together, his jaw tightening. He didn’t like hearing you talk about yourself like that, but he also knew you weren’t wrong. The Avengers had been civil to you—for the most part. But you’d caught the side glances, the whispered conversations that stopped abruptly when you entered the room.

You folded the cloth in your hands with precision, lining up the edges perfectly before placing it on the counter. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t deserve to be here. Or to—” You stopped yourself before the words could slip out, but Bucky’s gaze sharpened.

“Don’t do that,” he said firmly.

“Do what?”

“Doubt yourself. Question if you deserve things like this—like us.” He stepped closer, his warm hand brushing against your wrist. “Because you do. More than anyone else in this damn place.”

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “They’ll never see me as anything other than what I was. A Hydra agent. A liability.”

“I don’t care what others say,” Bucky interrupted, his voice low but steady. He turned you to face him fully, his hands resting gently on your arms. “I want to be with you, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words, the conviction in his tone—it was overwhelming.

“Bucky, you can’t just—”

“Yes, I can,” he said, cutting you off again. There was a fire in his eyes now, the same stubborn determination that had kept him alive through decades of hell. “I know what it’s like to be judged for something you had no control over. To have people look at you like you’re a monster. And I know it doesn’t matter what they think. What matters is what I see.”

He reached up, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “And I see someone who’s kind, and smart, and stronger than she’ll ever admit. Someone I care about. So stop pushing me away.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill. “Bucky, I… I don’t want to hurt you. Or anyone else.”

“You won’t,” he said simply. “You’re not who you were back then. And I trust you.”

The words were like a balm to your soul, soothing wounds you hadn’t even realized were still open.

“Okay,” you whispered finally, your voice trembling. “Okay.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, relieved smile. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours in a gesture that was as intimate as it was grounding.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[maxinemaxmayfield]

Twelve Days of Stranger-mas (10/12)

I'm using the twelve days of Christmas prompts from the @strangerthingswritersguild to create an ongoing fic with a short chapter for each day! steddie | teen&up | temporary character death

A/N: This chapter contains an audio clip, however a written version of the message has also been included, so it can be read without listening to the audio.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT | PART NINE

Day 10 Prompt: Ten Secret Codes

Eddie – or whoever he is now – doesn’t fight them. He goes willingly, back through the forest, back through the trailer park, fortunately now void of bats, and back through the gate.

He looks awful. His hair hangs limply around his gaunt and sunken face, eyes staring blankly. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t seem to hear them either.

They take him to Steve’s, wrap him in blankets to try and warm his strangely cold, pale skin. They manage to get some water down his throat, past his parched, cracked lips. They’re all lost on what to do. Expected he might come back wrong, might be dangerous or have lost his memory. But this… shell? They don’t even know if Eddie’s still in there. 

There doesn’t seem to be anything else to do but wait. Steve insists the kids get home, rest and check in with their parents so they don’t panic. Begrudgingly, they agree, but promise to be back at sunrise the next morning. 

Eddie continues to sit on the sofa, wrapped up and staring straight ahead. Steve can’t take the silence, turning on the radio before he drops down into the armchair. The Police croon about watching him, and Steve closes his eyes, the exhaustion hitting him all at once. 

Every single day, every word you say–

The radio turns to static for a moment, then tunes into a different station. And then another, snippets of songs for no more than a few seconds. Steve’s eyes fly open, head whipping around to look at Eddie, but he’s still unmoving as the radio plays.

Help me if you can, I’m– lo-o-ost– Don’t run away, it’s only me– I’ve been waitin’ for so long– last thing I remember, I was runnin’– I lost my power in this world– Help me– escape–

“Eddie?” Steve asks aloud. 

The radio crackles once more, before landing on Lionel Richie’s voice – Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?

“Holy shit. Okay, uh… hang on – El! El uses the static, maybe… shit, okay, Eddie, c’mon,” Steve decides, guiding Eddie out to the Beemer under the cover of darkness. He’s only sure of one thing – Eddie’s alive. Eddie’s still Eddie, he’s just… trapped.

PART ELEVEN

[noxcheshire]

A one sided crack ship I suddenly got in my delirious hungry state, and need to throw it up so here you go

Joker x Danny

But its JOKER whose one sided feelings for Danny who is really trying his best to ignore this weird clown mf

I was thinking that it could either be actual ‘oh no I have a crush on this guy’ OR Joker being liminal enough and ghostly enough to sense the otherworldliness of Danny Fenton. An otherness that Joker just wants. Like a hungry, starved beast that had finally found a proper meal instead of the bone scraps he’s been trying to scrap off of Batman.

He doesn’t even realize what it is he wants either, only that he wants to pull Danny’s skin back and nestle inside.

Danny on the other hand knows, he’s gone through a few ghostly sessions to understand that Joker is starved, and empty, and already half mad from hunger that he is willing to try and grab a fully loaded half ghost that could still kick his ass.

I just like the idea of everyone’s horror pov of the Joker trying to attract this one civilian guy and Danny just being annoyed by this one scraggly alley cat trying to gnaw on his arm.

[the-witchhunter]

You know, I’m just imagining Danny hanging around John Constantine trying to scare/haunt him and how poorly that would go

1) Danny canonically sucks at scaring people. He resorted to stealing Fright Knight’s sword because he knew he wasn’t beating Dash making a haunted house. I repeat, the ghost could not compete with a human when it came to making a haunted house

2) Danny Phantom is rated TV-Y7, Hellblazer was printed under DC’s vertigo publishing house, meaning it 18+, John has seen some seriously messed up shit. He’s dealt with serial killers, demons, the Newcastle incident(iykyk) been to hell multiple times, has seen a lot of people die, was homeless in New York during the AIDS crisis

Danny could not traumatize that man but boy is he going to get accidentally traumatized if he hangs around John

It’s not even a power level thing, genuinely messed up things happen around John that Danny is not prepared for

[stars-obsession-pit]

Decimation

Some members of one of the GIW’s top-secret research facilities have made an earth-shattering discovery.

They’ve found a way to make half-ghosts.

The failure rate is high. For every subject they successfully convert, many more are left burnt-out corpses—or worse, as rabid undead that must be put down with force.

It didn’t matter. The test subjects were cheap, worthless. Their countless deaths were an acceptable sacrifice in the name of progress.

Their operative’ deaths when they begin the full plan… those will matter more. Their warped agents may be more dangerous than normal humans in combat, but legions of foot soldiers still have their place. It would be foolish to leave themself solely in the hands of ectoplasmic entities, even if they’re allies and still partially human. Recruiting and training enough replacements to recover the losses would take time.

But it will all be worth it.

Finally, they will have control of a strong enough army to bring their goals to fruition. Those inhuman wraiths will be eradicated, ensuring the safety of the real, living humans and opening up a whole new dimension of untapped resources.

[kikker-oma]

HI FREN YOUR ART IS GORGEOUS! I’ve had an itchy idea and figured I’d give it to you if you were still taking art requests. I see all these fics where Time uses the Fierce Deity mask because it’s the only way but I’ve seen NO ART. The ANGST. The DRAMA. The POSSIBILITIES.

If you’re feeling up to it, maybe this with a concerned big bro Wars? I’m weak for that combination

Warning:Blood, Choking

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[piperslovebot]

I see Imogen’s coming out story in Jasper honestly.

It doesn’t seem like he ever really liked a girl, but moreso liked the idea of having a girlfriend and felt like he needed to have one to be 'cool'. Like Courtney, Padina, and the other girls could be literally anybody.

Whereas we see Jasper falling in love with Henry for Henry, and finding both Henry and Ray hot.

[snek-of-eden]

happy trektober everyone!!!

[orangedogsquad]

We got the dogs a toy each for Christmas and everyone has decided that Holly’s Hedgehog is The Best Toy

It’s been a daily battle making sure Koda and Maple in particular don’t thieve Hedgehog. Both have a fondness for de-limbing and eviscerating toys.

Tess is allowed Hedgehog access because she doesn’t destroy toys, and instead lovingly places them in Locations.

As a result we end up in the cycle of Tess placing Hedgehog somewhere and Maple or Koda trying to swipe it when they run past. Somehow Hedgehog has lost a foot in this.

Hedgehog always returns to Holly in the end, though!

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Laura attending the 84 tournament and witnessing everything that happens, she’s proud of her boy for trying his best but she doesn’t quiet approved of him going after his opponents leg like that.

When she makes it to the parking lot and sees Johnny and his teacher arguing she speeds up, intent to butt in and tell the man off for what he’s been teaching her kid.

Then he’s grabbing Johnny in a chokehold and she sees red. She’s running up to them and getting the man over the head with her hand bag, suddenly seeing all those times men had done something similar to her and she won’t stand for her baby experiencing it as well.