#originally i was only going to talk about the beginning and end of stream and compare and contrast | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mcrdvcks · 8 months ago

Text

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1974 - ...but it was never meant to be

chapter summary: You and Logan have been living in the Canadian Rockies for almost 6 months, enjoying the peace and solitude that comes with it.

word count: 8.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is just fluff, at least until the end... but we're finally hitting the movies! and sorry for it being a bit shorter than the others, there are some ideas i'm saving for a future chapter :))

(p.s. the first sentence about the hotel in nyc is going to be very important to remember for a future chapter...)

warnings/tags: fluff, origins!logan, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, (beginning of) x-men origins, character death

series masterlist - chapter 5 → chapter 7

Leaving was easy once you got past the one incident. You and Logan had stopped that day at a hotel a bit out of New York City only to be found by your father’s men.

But what happened was almost like magic. Logan, your Logan, took them all out with claws. At first you were bewildered, shocked at what you just saw. But now, after 6 months of living in the Canadian Rockies, it was normal.

Normal.

Mornings would start with the soft light streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over your shared space as Logan brewed coffee and you stretched, enjoying the easy comfort of it all.

Logan had found work quickly enough as a lumberjack, something that kept him outside and busy, and it suited him. Meanwhile, you’d stumbled upon a small animal shelter in the nearby town. You’d started going once or twice a week, helping out with the dogs and occasionally picking up shifts to keep yourself busy and connected to some semblance of normal life.

The routines you fell into together were quiet, steady, and for the first time in a long while, you felt grounded. Though you missed New York sometimes, especially the volunteer work at the retirement home, the silence of the woods and the small town was a peaceful change.

Not only were things peaceful, but Logan had started opening up to you in the quiet of your cabin, usually in the early morning or after one of his nightmares. It started with little things—details about his mutation, his healing ability. Then, as the days blurred into weeks, he told you about his age and the wars he’d fought in, his voice quiet, words weighed down with old memories.

One chilly morning, you found him staring out the window, his gaze distant as he sipped his coffee. You moved up beside him, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Hey, you alright?”

He looked down at you, a flicker of a smile breaking through the shadows. “Yeah. Just… thinkin’,” he murmured, his voice rough but calm.

“Anything you want to talk about?” you offered, watching his face closely.

Logan considered this for a moment, then took a long breath. “I think… just realizin’ how long it’s been since I had somethin’ like this,” he finally admitted, a glint of honesty in his eyes. “It’s been a hell of a road, darlin’.”

You reached out, resting your hand on his forearm. “I don’t need to know everything, Logan. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He gave a short nod, letting his hand rest over yours, a simple gesture that spoke volumes. He didn’t say anything, but his fingers wrapped around yours, holding them a moment longer than necessary.

---

Life in the cabin wasn’t extravagant, but there was a certain charm in the simplicity. Nights spent by the fire, mornings with the scent of pine and fresh coffee, and the comforting weight of Logan’s arm draped over you as you both drifted into sleep. But there were also the little bumps—like the time you tried making him dinner.

It had been a stew recipe, something you thought would be foolproof. You’d stirred, added spices, tasted… but when you served it, the look on Logan’s face was priceless.

He took a spoonful, eyebrows lifting as he held back a chuckle. “This a new recipe?”

“Okay, I get it—it’s not great,” you sighed, laughing a little as you took a bite yourself. “Alright, yeah, maybe it’s terrible.”

Logan chuckled, setting his spoon down. “It’s not so bad. I mean… it’s got heart.”

You nudged him, rolling your eyes. “Heart doesn’t mean it’s edible, Logan.”

“Maybe not,” he smirked, “but I’ll still eat it.” He winked, lifting another spoonful as he pretended to struggle through the bowl, making you burst into laughter.

---

Late one night, Logan awoke from one of his nightmares. You knew, even before he’d fully come to, just by the way he stiffened beside you. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, and you reached out, fingers brushing his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whispered.

He looked down at you, the muscles in his jaw tight. But after a moment, he nodded. “It was a long time ago. Just old ghosts.” He paused, exhaling heavily. “There’s been a lot of violence. Stuff… I don’t ever want you to have to see.”

“I know you’ve seen a lot,” you murmured, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “But you don’t have to go through it alone, Logan. Not anymore.”

Logan’s hand covered yours, and he turned his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes soft but searching. “You’ve been more than I deserve, Y/N,” he said quietly.

Your heart twisted, and you reached up to cup his face. “Logan, I don’t care what you’ve done or where you’ve been. All that matters is who you are now.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. “Then I’m one lucky man,” he whispered, his voice low.

He held you close that night, your presence calming the echoes of a past that seemed finally willing to rest, if only for a while.

---

One day you were trying to make something simple, roast chicken and potatoes before Logan got back from work. You diligently checked the oven, making sure that nothing was burning, until Logan came home, wrapping his arms around your waist as you stood up from the oven.

Logan’s hands settled warmly around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he looked over at the oven. The familiar, steady weight of him grounded you, even as you felt your heart give a quick little skip at the simple, domestic gesture.

“Smells good in here,” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear as he took in the scent of roasting chicken and herbs. “Didn’t know you were this fancy in the kitchen.”

You let out a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Fancy might be a stretch. I’m just hoping it doesn’t come out dry.”

His arms tightened just a bit, pulling you closer. “Even if it did, I’d still eat it,” he said, a hint of that playful glint in his voice. “Means a lot, havin’ you here. Feels like… home.”

A warmth rose in your chest, one that went beyond the physical, and you leaned back into him, a smile tugging at your lips. “You know, I could get used to this too.” You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “Long days, quiet dinners, just us.”

“Us,” he echoed, his voice softer, thoughtful. There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes, something unspoken yet weighty. His thumb brushed small, slow circles along your hip, as if anchoring himself in the moment, and he gave you a slight smile that didn’t quite mask the intensity behind it.

Logan was quiet for a moment, and you felt a shift in his posture, almost like he wanted to say something but was holding back. He looked at you in that way he sometimes did—like he was seeing more than just you standing there in your small, cozy kitchen. Maybe he was seeing all the days stretching ahead, those simple moments you’d have together, and the weight of that left him speechless.

“Logan?” you asked, brushing a hand along his arm.

He blinked, then smiled, the intensity in his gaze easing back into something gentler. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ how lucky I am.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”

The kitchen fell into a comfortable silence, with just the faint hum of the oven and the quiet, steady beat of Logan’s heart against your back. In the quiet of your little life together, things felt simple, natural. Here, there were no expectations, no obligations—just the two of you, building something real out of those little, ordinary moments.

But later that night, as you drifted off beside him, Logan stayed awake, lost in thought. His hand brushed over the small velvet box in his drawer, the ring that had waited all this time, the one that had been meant for you once before. He ran his thumb along the edge, thinking about when the right time might be—or if he’d even have the chance. For now, though, he’d savor each day, each quiet moment, holding on as tightly as he could.

---

You lay nestled between Logan’s legs on the couch, your head resting comfortably on his chest as you read, while he watched TV, idly sipping his beer. His free hand drifted up and down your arm absentmindedly, and you could feel the faint rumble of his quiet breaths beneath you. There was a calm in the cabin tonight—a peace you’d found only since being with him.

“What’s got you so hooked?” he asked, glancing down at your book with a smirk. “Looks like you’re deep in it.”

You tilted the book so he could see the cover, Jaws. “It’s a book about a shark.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “a shark, huh?”

You turned back to the book, keeping a small smile hidden. “Kind of. It’s a little deeper than just a shark, though.”

“Deeper than a shark, huh?” Logan smirked, shifting slightly to glance down at you, looking mildly amused. “Didn’t think a fish story could be that interesting.”

“It’s not just any fish, Logan,” you said, letting your hand rest on his as you settled back into his warmth. “This shark’s on a whole other level—a menace, basically unstoppable. And there’s all this tension between the people in the town, like who’s responsible, what to do, whether they even believe it’s happening.”

He gave a soft grunt of understanding, taking a sip of his beer. “Guess I can see why you’re hooked. Townsfolk fighting over a monster they can’t get rid of… kinda familiar.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, a glint of curiosity in your eyes. “You got experience with monsters, Logan?”

“More than you’d believe, darlin’,” he murmured, his eyes holding that far-off look he sometimes got when his mind slipped somewhere else, somewhere harder. But his grip on you stayed gentle, grounding him here.

There was a moment’s quiet, then he smirked, leaning down closer. “But I could take out your shark, no question.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, closing the book and giving him a look of mock skepticism. “A great white shark, Logan. One that can bite clean through a boat. I think even you’d have some trouble with that one.”

He snorted, giving you an exaggerated look of disbelief. “I’m tellin’ ya, I’d have it done in five minutes.”

You laughed, poking his chest. “I’d like to see that. You, in the water, with a shark. You’d probably scare it off.”

“Probably,” he chuckled, his tone playful but carrying a hint of something genuine. “But I’d do it for you.”

His words caught you off guard, softening the teasing banter into something warmer, something real. You looked up at him, and the light in his eyes held a familiar steadiness, a promise you hadn’t expected. You felt a smile creeping up, one that made your heart beat a little faster.

“That’s sweet of you, Logan. But don’t go risking your life over a shark.”

He shrugged, giving a small grin. “Risking my life’s kinda my thing.”

With a smirk, you shifted to put your arms around his neck. “I don’t need you to fight any sharks. I just need you here, safe, preferably not trying to tackle any more sea monsters.”

Logan’s hands came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Don’t worry, darlin’. For you, I’d stay outta trouble… or at least, try.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours softly. You melted into him, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath you, the steady beat of his heart, a promise in every kiss, every touch.

When you pulled back, he let out a small sigh, looking at you with a softness that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

“Now,” you murmured, your voice quiet as you tried to keep the mood light, “how about you let me finish reading this book before you start making any plans to fight sharks?”

“Fine,” he chuckled, leaning back into the couch, his arms still loosely around you. “But I’m just sayin’, the offer stands.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting back to lean against his chest, your book in hand. But even as you returned to the words on the page, the comfortable silence between you filled every corner of the cabin, your heart warmed by the man beside you.

---

When Logan came home and removed his jacket, the sound of music drifted to his ears, mingling with the low hum of a vacuum. The cabin was warm, a sharp contrast to the biting chill outside, the smell of pine and faint wood smoke greeting him like an old friend. The soft glow of late afternoon sun streaked through the windows, and as he stepped further in, he caught sight of you.

You were standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old flannels that hung loose on your frame, the hem brushing just below the tops of your thighs. The vacuum roared in your hand as you cleaned, entirely oblivious to his arrival.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you. Something about this—a simple domestic scene—made his chest tighten, a warmth blooming there that he couldn’t quite name.

“Y’know, you’re not supposed to wear clothes that fit me better than they fit you,” he drawled, his voice cutting through the vacuum’s roar.

Startled, you turned it off with a quick flick of the switch and looked up, a sheepish smile spreading across your face. “Logan! You scared me,” you said.

“Didn’t mean to,” he replied, his tone warm as he pushed off the frame and walked toward you. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor, and as he got closer, his eyes drank you in, lingering on the way the flannel gaped slightly at the neck, exposing the soft line of your collarbone. “Got a habit of sneakin’ up, I guess.”

You laughed softly, setting the vacuum aside. “If you were a little less loud, I’d think you were some kind of predator.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he said, his grin spreading as he reached for you, hands settling at your waist and pulling you close, “if I wanted to catch you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled between you, his voice a low rumble that always managed to make your knees feel just a little weaker. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the solidness of him beneath your palms. “Good thing I’m not running then,” you murmured, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

He leaned down, his nose brushing yours. “Good thing,” he echoed, before his lips claimed yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. His hands slid lower, fingers splaying over the curve of your hips, pulling you tighter against him. The flannel you wore rose slightly under his touch, and you gasped softly into his mouth as his fingers found bare skin.

“Logan,” you breathed against his lips, your voice a soft plea.

“Yeah?” he rasped, his mouth trailing down your jawline, his scruff brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“Think you should let me finish cleaning,” you teased, though your hands had already slid up to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the dark strands at the base of his skull.

He huffed a laugh, his teeth grazing the delicate line of your throat. “Nah, think I got a better idea.”

With a swift move, he bent and swept you off your feet, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. You let out a startled laugh, clinging to him as he carried you toward the couch. “Logan, the vacuum—”

“Vacuum’ll be there later,” he cut in, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement. “Right now, you’re the only thing I’m worried about.”

He set you down gently on the cushions, his large frame hovering over you as he knelt on the floor, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the flannel higher. The intensity in his gaze sent a flush rising to your cheeks, your heart pounding in anticipation.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day,” he admitted, his voice thick, raw. His hands paused, fingers curling just under the hem of the shirt. “Mind if I show you how much?”

You nodded, breathless, and he smiled—a rare, almost boyish expression that quickly dissolved into something darker, hungrier. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt about where his mind was. His hands roamed freely now, skimming along the curve of your thighs, pushing the flannel higher and higher, exposing bare skin to the cool air of the room.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered against your lips, his voice thick, raw. His hands splayed across your thighs, gripping them as though grounding himself, his thumbs brushing along the tender skin there. “You’re a fuckin’ dream, darlin’.”

A shiver ran through you, anticipation building as his kisses trailed lower, down your jaw, your neck, leaving a path of warm, open-mouthed caresses. You gasped softly, your hands tangling in his hair as he moved further down, sinking to his knees before you, his broad shoulders nudging your legs apart.

"Logan..." Your voice was barely more than a whisper, already trembling.

“Shh,” he murmured, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed a kiss just above your knee, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. The intensity there made your breath hitch. “Let me take care of you.”

He kissed his way up your inner thigh, taking his time, each press of his lips deliberate, teasing. Your heart pounded as you felt his warm breath against your skin, so close to where you wanted him, needed him.

When his lips finally brushed against you, his tongue darting out to taste, you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that spilled from your lips. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer as he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue working you with an expertise that made your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your hands clutching his hair, your hips arching into him. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his tongue delving deep before retreating to flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you trembling, your thighs pressing around his head.

Logan growled against you, the vibrations shooting straight through your core, and the sound of it—rough, primal—only spurred you on. He was relentless, his lips and tongue working you with a fervor that left no doubt about how much he enjoyed this, enjoyed you.

“Logan, I—” Your words dissolved into a whimper, your body tensing as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His name was a mantra on your lips, each syllable punctuated by gasps and moans as he pulled you apart and put you back together with every stroke of his tongue.

When you finally shattered, the release crashing over you like a tidal wave, he didn’t stop. He worked you through it, his hands holding you steady as you trembled, as your body arched and writhed against him. Only when you were completely spent, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, did he pull back, his lips and chin glistening as he looked up at you with a wicked grin.

“You taste like heaven,” he said, his voice rough, gravelly, as he rose to his feet, his hands still resting on your thighs. “I could do that all night.”

You laughed breathlessly, leaning back against the couch, your body still tingling, your cheeks flushed. “You’re insatiable.”

“Says the woman who was just beggin’ me for more,” Logan teased, his voice a low rumble as his lips brushed against yours. His kiss was slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding into your mouth with practiced ease. The taste of him mixed with the remnants of your own release sent a thrill racing through you, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, keeping him close.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You sure you’re not tryin’ to kill me, darlin’? Feels like every time I get my hands on you, I lose a few more pieces of myself.”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, your fingers idly playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”

Logan huffed a laugh, the sound deep and almost self-deprecating. His thumb traced lazy circles on your thigh, his gaze locked on yours. “For you, maybe not. For me? I’m startin’ to think I wouldn’t mind it.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, a quiet confession that made your chest tighten. You reached up, brushing your thumb along the rough edge of his jaw. “I wouldn’t let that happen,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. “You’re too important, Logan. To me.”

His expression softened, the hard edges of his usual demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me, Y/N.”

“Maybe you should show me,” you said, your voice carrying a teasing lilt, though the heat in your eyes betrayed how serious you were.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, almost mischievous grin. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But you don’t seem to mind.”

He let out a low growl, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. “You’re damn right I don’t.”

In one fluid motion, Logan had you lifted, his hands firm as he repositioned you to straddle his lap. You let out a surprised laugh, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself as you settled against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, the solidness of him grounding you in a way that felt almost necessary.

“See? Told ya I had better plans than cleanin’,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke.

You tilted your head, giving him more access, a soft hum escaping your lips. “I think I’m starting to agree.”

Logan’s hands roamed over you, calloused fingers exploring the soft curves of your body with reverence. There was no rush, no urgency in his movements. It was deliberate, almost tender, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

His lips trailed a path along your neck, his scruff scraping against your skin in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he admitted, his voice low, almost like a growl.

“I could say the same about you,” you whispered, your fingers trailing down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

Logan’s hands gripped the hem of the flannel you wore, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he slowly lifted it. He paused, his gaze flicking up to meet yours, seeking permission.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, taking in the sight of your bare skin bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice thick with something between awe and hunger.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but the look in his eyes kept any hint of self-consciousness at bay. “You’re staring,” you teased, though your voice wavered slightly under the weight of his gaze.

“Can’t help it,” he said simply, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just beneath your ribs. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of lookin’ at you.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that was slow and deep, your hands threading through his hair as you pressed yourself against him.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he shifted beneath you, the hard press of him against your core drawing a soft gasp from your lips. He swallowed the sound with a groan, his grip tightening as he began to rock you against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure racing through you.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Just let me take care of you, darlin’.”

His hands moved to your waist, guiding your movements as he kissed you again, his lips moving against yours with a deliberate slowness that left you breathless. Each roll of your hips against him was maddeningly slow, the steady build of tension making you ache for more.

“Logan, please,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you tried to quicken the pace.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. “Patience, Y/N. I’m not in a rush.”

You huffed in frustration, though the warmth in his gaze softened the sharp edges of your need. “You’re cruel,” you muttered, though the slight smile tugging at your lips betrayed your words.

“Cruel, huh?” he echoed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hands slid down to cup your ass, squeezing gently as he shifted beneath you. “Pretty sure you’ll be thankin’ me when I’m done with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound dissolving into a soft moan as he bucked his hips against you, the friction sending another wave of heat coursing through you.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice a mix of exasperation and longing.

He grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Yeah, darlin’? What do you need?”

“You,” you said simply, the single word carrying a weight that seemed to hang in the air between you.

Logan’s expression softened, his teasing demeanor shifting as something deeper flickered in his gaze. “You’ve got me,” he said, his voice steady, his hands firm on your hips as though anchoring you to him.

Your heart stuttered at his words, the raw sincerity of them making your chest feel impossibly tight. You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his as your fingers slid down his chest, the fabric of his shirt rough under your touch. “I’m glad,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips found yours again, the kiss unhurried and deliberate, his hands roaming up and down your thighs. The heat of him seeped into your skin, grounding you as you moved against him. The friction was maddening, a slow burn that made you ache for more.

“Darlin’,” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick and strained, “you’re makin’ it real hard to take this slow.”

“Maybe I don’t want slow,” you countered, your tone teasing, though the way your breath hitched betrayed your own urgency.

Logan chuckled low, the sound vibrating through you as his lips moved to your neck, trailing kisses along your skin. “Trust me, you do,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make your thighs tighten around him. “I want to feel every second of this.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your fingers tightening in his hair as he took his time exploring every inch of you. Logan’s hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you slightly as he shifted on the couch, settling back further into the cushions.

The new angle pressed you more firmly against him, drawing a gasp from your lips that he swallowed with another kiss. “Fuck,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone softer, though the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

“More than okay,” you replied, your voice trembling as you shifted your hips, testing the pressure between you.

Logan growled low in his throat, his grip on you tightening as his hands slid up your back. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he said, his words heavy with reverence.

You didn’t reply, too caught up in the way he was looking at you, as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. “Off,” you said simply, your voice breathless but firm.

He smirked, obliging without hesitation as he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Your eyes raked over him, taking in the broad expanse of his chest, the scars that marred his otherwise flawless skin.

“Like what you see?” he teased, though there was a hint of vulnerability in his tone.

“Always,” you replied, your hands trailing over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of old wounds. “You’re beautiful, Logan.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands sliding back to your waist. “Don’t think anyone’s called me that before.”

“Well, they should have,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his collarbone.

Logan’s hands tightened on your hips, guiding you as you moved against him, the steady grind of your bodies making your head spin. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, though the words were laced with affection.

“Not likely,” you quipped, a soft laugh escaping you.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shifted again, one hand moving to undo the button of his jeans. Your breath hitched as you realized what was coming next, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now, his gaze searching yours.

“Logan,” you said, your tone steady despite the way your heart was racing. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

He nodded once, his hands steady as he slid his jeans down just enough, freeing himself. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you as you took him in, your cheeks flushing at the sight.

“Come here,” he said, his voice rough as he guided you closer, his hands firm on your hips.

You moved slowly, adjusting yourself over him, the heat of him against you making you tremble. Logan’s hands were steady, his thumbs brushing soothing circles on your skin as he guided you.

When you finally sank down onto him, the feeling was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and fullness that made you moan softly. Logan groaned, his head falling back against the couch as his hands gripped your hips tightly.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice raw. “You feel... Jesus, darlin’, you’re perfect.”

You didn’t reply, too caught up in the way he felt, the way he filled you completely. You braced your hands on his shoulders, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as you began to move.

Logan’s hands guided your movements, his grip firm but not controlling as he let you set the pace. His lips found yours again, the kiss deep and consuming as you rocked against him, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

The steady rhythm built slowly, the intensity growing with each roll of your hips. Logan’s hands roamed over you, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair, grounding you in the moment.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You met his gaze, your heart skipping a beat at the way he was looking at you. It wasn’t just lust—it was something deeper, something that made your chest ache in the best way.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrust upward, matching your movements.

The new angle sent a wave of pleasure crashing over you, a soft cry escaping your lips as you clung to him. “Logan,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

“Right here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the strain in it.

The intensity between you grew, the slow, deliberate pace giving way to something more urgent as your bodies moved together. Each thrust, each kiss, each touch pushed you closer to the edge, the tension building to an almost unbearable peak.

When you finally shattered, it was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Logan held you through it, his hands steady on your hips as your body trembled, his name falling from your lips in a breathless mantra.

He followed moments later, a low, guttural groan escaping him as he buried his face in your neck, his grip on you tightening as he found his release.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your breaths mingling as you clung to each other, the world outside forgotten.

“You okay?” Logan asked finally, his voice soft, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“More than okay,” you replied, your voice muffled against his neck.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you go anytime soon.”

“Didn’t plan on going anywhere,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips as you leaned back to look at him.

Logan’s expression softened, his hands moving to cup your face. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your tone steady despite the warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right I am,” he said, his lips curving into a small, almost boyish grin.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together on the couch, the rest of the world fading away. For now, there was only this—only him.

---

You turned off the water that was filling the bathtub and dipped your hand in to test the temperature of the water. The water was just right—hot, with steam gently rolling off the surface. You stood, wiping your hands on the towel, just as you heard the front door creak open and close with a soft click. Logan’s footsteps padded quietly through the cabin, but you could still feel that familiar presence, that comforting weight of him even when he wasn’t yet in sight.

You barely had time to turn around before he appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of you standing by the tub. “Now this is a surprise,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Thought you’d like a soak after all that work you did today,” you replied, a little smile tugging at your mouth. You stepped aside, gesturing toward the water. “Go on, it’s ready.”

Logan’s gaze softened, though his smirk never quite faded. “So you’re spoilin’ me now, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him. “Can’t have you overdoing it. You might be practically indestructible, but a hot bath never hurt anyone.”

He chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off. “Got a point there,” he admitted, tossing it onto the nearby chair. You tried not to stare, but you couldn’t help your eyes drifting over the familiar planes of his chest, scars crisscrossing his skin like a map of all the years he’d survived. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t mind—just kept undressing as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Logan stepped into the tub, easing himself down with a contented sigh as he settled into the water. He leaned his head back, his eyes fluttering shut as the steam rose around him. For a moment, you simply watched him, a fond smile on your lips.

“Good?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

He cracked one eye open, glancing at you with a lazy grin. “Better than good. You joinin’ me?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “This one’s all yours. I’ll go make us something to drink.”

Before you could turn, Logan reached out, his wet hand catching yours. He looked up at you, his expression softer now. “Stay, darlin’. Least for a bit.”

His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, and you found yourself nodding, unable to refuse him. You sat down beside the tub, close enough that you could still feel the warmth of the water, and he let his hand rest in yours.

Logan kissed the top of your hand, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Sure ya don’t wanna join me? Promise I don’t bite."

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Uh-huh. That's what they all say."

He chuckled, his fingers still wrapped gently around yours, as if he was savoring this quiet moment between you. “Could use a little company, that’s all,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving your face.

“This is supposed to be a bath for you.” You replied, your own eyebrow quirked.

“I’d enjoy it more if you were in here with me.”

You raised an eyebrow at Logan, the corner of your mouth quirking into a teasing smile. “Is that right? Well, maybe if you’re lucky.”

Logan’s smirk deepened, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the side of the tub. “Oh, come on. I’m always lucky when it comes to you.” His voice was a low murmur, pulling you in with that familiar, lazy charm he always seemed to have.

“Uh-huh, says the guy who tried to convince me he could take on a shark,” you shot back, crossing your arms, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re just full of bold ideas, huh?”

He chuckled, giving a shrug. “I stand by that. But I’m talkin’ serious here.” His hand reached out, fingertips grazing your wrist in a way that sent a warmth through you. “No sharks, no messin’ around. Just you, right here.”

The sincerity caught you a little off guard. The tension settled into something deeper as you looked at him, his hand steady on yours, like he was holding onto more than just the moment.

“I guess… I could keep you company,” you said softly, the lightness of your earlier words giving way to something quieter. You slipped out of your shirt, feeling Logan’s gaze follow you, his eyes dark with a warmth that made you feel both nervous and excited.

Sliding into the water, you settled in close to him, leaning back as his arms naturally came around you. The water was hot, relaxing every part of you, but it was Logan’s touch, the gentle press of his fingers tracing over your arm, that made you feel completely at ease.

“See?” he murmured against your hair, his lips grazing the top of your head. “Told ya this was a good idea.”

You hummed, closing your eyes as you leaned into him. “You did. Guess I should listen to you more often.”

Logan’s hand slid along your shoulder, trailing down your arm with a steady, careful touch, like he was trying to memorize every inch. You felt the warmth of his breath against your neck, followed by the soft press of his lips just below your ear. The tension of the day melted away, leaving you relaxed and content in his embrace.

For a few moments, you both just stayed there, the only sounds the quiet rustle of water and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. Logan’s fingers traced small, lazy circles along your arm, his other hand holding you close against him, anchoring you to him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“So,” you murmured, breaking the silence, “this isn’t so bad, right?”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Could get used to it,” he said, his voice rumbling against your back. “Peace and quiet. Just the two of us.” His hand dipped below the water, wrapping around yours.

You squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “Thought you’d be the type to get bored out here, all this peace and quiet.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug, though his thumb continued to brush over the back of your hand. “Can handle a bit of quiet if it means you’re here,” he said softly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him, your faces close. “Guess that makes two of us.” You felt a strange flutter in your stomach, the weight of those unspoken words lingering between you both.

Logan’s eyes flicked down to your lips, his gaze soft and intent. “You gonna kiss me, or do I gotta ask real nice?”

“Always so impatient,” you teased, but you leaned in, closing the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. His hand moved up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss, slow and unhurried, like he was savoring every second. When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little heavier, your forehead resting against his.

Logan looked at you, a small, crooked smile on his lips. “See? Worth the wait.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but there was no denying the truth in his words. “You really know how to charm a girl, you know that?”

“Only got one girl I’m tryin’ to charm,” he replied, his voice rough but warm.

Your smile softened as you nestled back against him, letting the silence settle over you both once more. The warmth of the water, the feel of his arms around you—it felt like a small eternity in that moment, like nothing else in the world mattered except this.

---

Trying to turn the conversation away from what Logan told you, about Stryker coming to visit him about a ‘mission’, you started to talk about your day, with Logan’s head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“The stray was matted but Tina started calling him Wolf. Said the dog reminded her of another animal.”

Logan hummed, his eyes still closed, “lemme guess, she showed you a picture of the animal from her book.”

You giggled, “yeah, she did. Gotta admit that dog looked quite similar to the wolverine in her book.” You tilted your head downwards to look at him, “Reminded me of you. Grizzly, sometimes dirty.”

Logan opened one eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah? Grizzly, huh?”

“Maybe a little.” You grinned, your fingers drifting through his hair in slow strokes. “Not just the dirty part, by the way. Wolverines are pretty fierce, don’t let much stand in their way.”

He let out a low chuckle, closing his eye again, seeming to relax further under your touch. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment, comin’ from you.” There was a slight pause, and his voice softened a bit. “Not everyone’s a fan of the grizzly type.”

You scoffed lightly, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. “Well, good thing I am. You know, even wolverines have a soft side somewhere.”

Logan huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? Don’t think I’ve got much of that left, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh, you definitely do.” You brushed a thumb gently along his temple. “Trust me. Like today—taking the time to help out with that old couple’s truck, even after a full day’s work.” You smiled down at him, admiration clear in your gaze. “I see it, Logan, even if you don’t.”

He tilted his head a bit, opening his eyes and looking up at you, his expression unreadable for a second before he sighed, a smirk breaking the moment. “Keep sayin’ things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

Logan’s gaze softened, but he kept his usual, laid-back tone. “Guess I’m lucky you put up with me, huh?”

“You know it.” You winked, letting your fingers trail down to his jawline, and you felt him relax a little more, like he could melt under your touch. “Plus, someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

“Not an easy job,” he muttered, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he leaned into your hand, his voice barely above a murmur. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N.”

The two of you fell quiet for a moment, the warmth in his gaze making your heart beat just a little faster, and you couldn’t help but lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. When you pulled back, he just looked at you with that familiar mix of amusement and something else—a depth you didn’t need him to explain.

You shifted slightly, a small smile still on your face. “Now, about that dog—think you could convince Tina to bring him around here?”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted, a smirk tugging at his lips again. “Bringing a stray mutt up here? You sure?”

“Why not? He’d be a good watch dog for you when I’m not around,” you said, with a wink.

He chuckled, a bit softer this time. “Guess I’ll think about it.” Then, his eyes crinkled with that familiar spark of humor. “But only if you promise not to call me Grizzly in front of anyone else.”

You laughed, leaning back against the couch, his head still in your lap. “Deal.”

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, and you just let yourself soak up the comfortable silence, the simplicity of Logan resting there, perfectly at ease. And as your hand drifted gently through his hair again, you couldn’t help but wonder if this—these quiet moments—might be what you’d both been needing all along.

---

You were driving down a narrow road, the trees thickening as you made your way toward town. The familiar hum of a cassette player filled the car, and you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm. It had been a good week—a small but sweet milestone with Logan, half a year together, and you’d even managed to keep things peaceful in that cabin of his. Tonight was supposed to be simple, a little surprise you’d planned: a tiramisu. Probably the only thing you could bake to perfection.

You rounded a curve, smiling to yourself when—

The sight in the distance made your stomach twist. A figure stood in the middle of the road, dressed in black, unmoving, watching you with an unsettling focus. You slowed the car, blinking to see if you were imagining things. But no—he was still there, large and unflinching in the middle of the narrow path.

As you approached, your heart hammered against your ribs. Something about him was familiar, but not in any way that felt safe or warm.

You pressed on the brake, bringing the car to a cautious stop. The man took a slow, deliberate step forward, his face coming into view under the faint sunlight streaming through the trees. His eyes were cold, almost amused, and his mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

It was him—Victor. The man Logan had mentioned a few times, enough to make you know he wasn’t someone you’d ever want to meet, much less find waiting for you like this.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice deep, mocking, and calm in a way that was anything but reassuring.

You tried to keep your face calm, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Just heading into town,” you replied, voice steadier than you felt. “Is there…something you need?”

He tilted his head, like he was sizing you up. “Logan ever mention me?”

A chill crawled up your spine, but you kept your expression guarded. “Maybe once or twice.”

Victor took another step forward, his gaze raking over you with a twisted curiosity, almost like he was toying with the idea of letting you go—but only almost. “See, I’ve been meaning to have a little chat with him,” he drawled, his tone venomous, “and here you are, just making it easy for me.”

You felt a pulse of dread, instinct telling you to turn the car around and get out of there, fast. But you knew better than to provoke him. “Logan’s not here,” you said, hoping that would be enough.

He smirked, that same cold expression never leaving his face. “I’m aware,” he murmured, taking another slow step toward you. “You think he’d leave someone like you on your own if he thought you’d be safe?”

Your heart raced, a knot of fear tightening in your throat. You wanted to say something, anything, to stall him, to get yourself out of this, but nothing came to mind. The realization was dawning, and from the look in Victor’s eyes, he knew it too. There would be no bargaining, no reasoning with him.

"Didn't think Logan would be the type to leave someone behind. Guess I was wrong," he said, sounding amused.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, refusing to give in to the fear swirling in your chest. "Logan’s not here," you repeated, your voice firm.

"Like I said, I know," Victor replied smoothly, taking another step. His eyes traveled over the car, then over you, a twisted curiosity behind them. "But I figure, maybe you can pass along a little message for me."

Every instinct told you to run, but the car blocked you in, and Victor was only feet away. "What do you want, Victor?"

He grinned, his sharp teeth glinting under the dim light. "Simple. Tell Logan I said 'hi'... if you get the chance."

The dread in your stomach crystallized as he lunged forward. You tried to move, to react, but he was too fast. His hand closed around your throat, lifting you out of the car as though you weighed nothing, and you fought, kicking, clawing, anything you could think of to get free.

"You know," Victor’s voice was disturbingly calm, "he’s been through a lot. But there’s always that soft spot, that weakness he can’t seem to shake."

Desperation flared within you, and you kicked harder, one foot making contact with his chest. It only made him laugh, and he tightened his grip, his face drawing close enough that you could see the cold cruelty in his eyes.

"You’re just like all the others," he murmured, voice almost thoughtful. "Maybe a little more stubborn, but that’s hardly new."

Black spots began to dance at the edges of your vision, your breath coming shorter and shorter. You knew there was no getting out of this—not with him, not with a monster like Victor Creed.

But Logan...

---

Logan walked through the vegetation right by where he and the other guys were cutting apart a tree. He stopped short once he saw the head of an animal laying on the yellow grass.

“What you doing, Logan?” One of the guys asked from behind.

Logan looked around before seeing large scratch marks on a tree trunk, lined with red. “Y/N.” He whispered, before running down the hill and through the forest.

Once he hit the clearing, he could see the truck on the side of the road. Logan reached the car, his hands gripping the window frame as he scanned the empty interior. “Y/N…?” His voice was rough, the crack of worry breaking through, echoing in the quiet forest.

His eyes darted down to the disturbed earth, faint scuff marks in the dirt telling him where you might’ve been dragged. His heart hammered as he followed the path into the trees, every step growing heavier with dread as he moved through the dense underbrush, the silence unsettling.

And then, in a small clearing, he found you.

You were lying there, so still, your skin pale against the forest floor, hair fanned around you like a dark halo. Blood flecked the ground, stark and terrible against the greenery. He staggered, dropping to his knees beside you, reaching out with trembling hands, one of them clenching briefly before he let himself touch you.

“Y/N…” he whispered, voice breaking as he cupped your face, his fingers brushing a smear of dirt from your cheek. Your eyes were closed, lips parted just slightly, as if you’d been trying to say his name. For a split second, he could almost pretend you were just asleep, and that any second you’d open your eyes, make some joke, or reach up to tug him down to you.

But there was no warmth, no spark, nothing.

Logan’s breath caught, and he pulled you close, his arms cradling you as if he could shield you from the reality already etched into his heart. The rage simmered below his skin, burning through the grief, fueling the ache with something primal. He rocked back, jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his face buried in your hair, trying to hold on to any last trace of you, the faint scent of you still lingering, even as everything around him felt like it was falling apart.

“You… You were supposed to be safe here,” he whispered against your hair, voice hoarse. “I shoulda been here. I shoulda…” His words trailed off into silence as he sat there, unmoving, clutching you in his arms as if the weight of his grief alone could pull you back.

He looked down at you, his thumb grazing over your cheek one last time, as though trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. “Y/N… I swear… I’ll make him pay.” The last words came out like a promise, a vow laced with the kind of anger only a man like Logan could bear. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before letting out a long, broken breath.

When he finally tore his gaze away from you, his eyes turned cold, a new resolve searing through him.

This wasn’t over.

umm... sorry??

i tried to make a different version of how logan got the name 'wolverine' to try and fit reader's personality, since she probably doesn't know about the myth kayla did.

next chapter will be x2!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time #logan ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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streamdotpng · 5 months ago

Text

Quick sale till... march? Maybe? Who knows, i'm trying to get verified in Vgen so i'll keep the sale going until i reach that or if there's too many orders

If you'd like more examples of my works, feel free to check the tags commission work, rendered, my art or ask for more in DM’s!

You can either commission me through Vgen or here. I'd appreciate it if its through vgen so i can get verified but if you don't feel like it, shoot me a DM and we can talk there.

Now, read everything below first before commissioning me.

🗐 COMMERCIAL RIGHTS

⚲ IMPORTANT!

Upon commissioning the artist, the client automatically agrees to the terms of service provided, as it is assumed they have read them. If there are any questions or concerns, feel free to reach out through DMs or my other socials.

No additional payments are required for the following, as long as credit is given with my handle "@streamdotpng" whenever used:

✔ Icons, Banners, Thumbnails, and Posts used for streaming or other content purposes.

If the art is used for commercial purposes, with the artist’s consent, the artist will receive an agreed-upon percentage of the sales profits.

✒ GENERAL

The Artist has the right to refuse a commission if they are not comfortable or confident about the request.

The client is allowed to ask for progress updates every 2-4 days and are freely given. If it is a rushed commission, feel free to ask for more frequent updates.

By commissioning the artist, the client acknowledges that the artist is a student and this is not the artist’s full-time job. The client should not expect the artist to treat it as such.

Communications will generally be done in Vgen Chats (Please check your emails for chat notifications). Unless you prefer to communicate in other applications, that is also allowed as long as you let me know. Scroll down to see the end of my Terms of Service for my contacts or check the links in my profile.

Under any circumstances, Clients are not permitted to use any part of the commissioned artwork for non-fungible tokens (NFTs), blockchain, cryptocurrency platforms or AI Training. Such usage is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action taken.

✎ᝰ. CAN, MIGHT & WON’T DRAW!

╰┈➤ CAN DRAW !

Fanart

Shipping [GL, BL, Straight, Yumeship]

Original Characters

PNGtuber Models (e.g Blinking, Speaking)

Character sheets

╰┈➤ MIGHT DRAW ! (We’ll need to talk more about these requests)

Anthropomorphic animals

Heavy Armor

Excessive Gore

Comics

Complicated backgrounds (e.g. Detailed interior, buildings etc)

Honestly, if it isn’t in the "Can Draw" list, let’s talk about it!

╰┈➤✖ WILL NOT DRAW !

Depiction of suicide and self harm

Depiction of any type of hateful/political art

Anything that crosses my personal boundaries

⏱ TIMELINE & WORK PROCESS

Work completion will take at least 1-2 weeks minimum, depending on the amount of commissions worked on.

My work process simplified: Draft and Line Art ➤ Colouring ➤ Final Touches.

My work process expanded on: Draft ➤ Line Art ➤ Flat Colours ➤ Shading ➤ Final Work.

After completing each stage, I will contact you for either payment or revisions and thoughts.

$ PRICING & PAYMENT

Prices vary depending on the commission. I’m flexible, but here are some base prices:

$5-10 USD depending on the background

$10-15 USD per person added

Note: There can be additional charges due to PayPal fees.

Half the payment is expected to be paid upfront Post-Draft or Post-Line Art. The rest of the payment will be paid fully after the Flat Colours are seen and approved. If payment hasn't been received, the Artist will not continue until then.

The option to fully pay upfront is allowed but must be talked about before sending over the money.

No refunds are allowed after the draft has been sent.

You can pay through PAYPAL, KOFI or VGEN

↺ REVISION POLICIES

Once the coloring stage begins, the only major revisions permitted are details that the artist may have missed and was specified by the client while the commission was still in the sketching/lineart stage (e.g. a missing tattoo that’s essential to the character’s design).

If the client is unsatisfied with the commission Post-Line Art, the artist is willing to discuss and make minor edits as stated prior (e.g. adjusting colors). However, the artist will not redraw the piece and expects full payment, as the client should have specified in the sketch stage the changes they wanted to be made.

The client may not hire another artist to adjust the image without the artist’s consent.

The artist is willing to edit the image post commission for the commissioner, but may charge a small fee depending on what is being asked of them

🛈 RUSHED COMMISSIONS

Rush Fees apply. Contact me first to discuss how much you’re willing to pay for the rush fee.

The fastest turnaround time is 1-2 days (maximum 4 days) with the same quality as my usual work.

For short deadlines, you must be responsive when it comes to communication. It'd save us both the headache and worry.

▸ DISCLAIMER!

Breaking or disrespecting the rules of the Terms of Service will lead to a permanent ban and you will be blacklisted. It means, users who break the Terms of Service will lose the rights to commission me.

However, I may allow second chances. Blacklisted users can contact me with proof of improved behavior to request removal.

---

…and that’s about it? Just don’t expect me to be obligated to draw something and we’ll figure something out. Not to mention that depending on how much commissions i’m getting and how busy i am, the art will take atleast a few days to a week!

If you got references, provide them! It’ll help alot. You can also ask for progress updates, just don’t mind me accidentally not seeing the message bc this is tumblr and I don’t get notifs for some reason.

That’s about it, thanks for seeing this yall. Again, If you want to see more examples, simply look at my art tags in my account or send a DM and i'll send some over there.

#commissions open #commission work #commission sheet #open commissions #vgen #vgenopen

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echotunes · 11 months ago

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Pac's talk about Arkanis

(disclaimer: I'm not fluent in Portuguese so I may have missed or misunderstood something but this is what I gathered)

It's going to be a "survival and RP" series - there's also going to be enigmas and mysteries, but it's also going to have regular Minecraft gameplay like building houses and such

The "first season" of the series will begin very soon ("not like, next week, but soon")

Pac wanted a studio for the series so he, Batista, Tayr, Himaru, and Guhzera made one - Boiss Studios. They've been working on the project for a couple of months now

They have a team of programmers, artists, and actors(!) for the server

There'll be new mods that we haven't seen in Minecraft yet, they're being made specifically for the series

It's going to be a completely original story

There's going to be 20 participants total! So far people who have been revealed (via Twitter here and here) are Meiaum, Bagi, GabePeixe, Guaxinim, Maethe, Choke, Matt, Felps, Pac, and Coreano.

Pac emphasised that "for now" there's only going to be people who speak Portuguese in the series, which made a lot of people in chat wonder if there's gonna be Portugal-Portuguese speakers there, but he didn't say anything else. He also trailed off mysteriously about the "for now" part

Pac said he'd be streaming basically every day. the people are doubtful of this but who knows

There will be "probably weekly" events, maybe some related to specific dates as well

Regarding the story: There's a city called Valigma and it has a mayor named J. The mayor has a Twitter account and "he's very suspicious honestly". He wants to recruit "experts" for their talents, for a purpose that is currently unknown

"What talent does Pac cubito have? I don't know, we'll have to find out."

(paraphrased) "If you're upset that your streamer isn't participating: Who knows, maybe there'll be an event in the future and they'll appear, who knows."

There'll be one central story but every member can create their own story as well

There won't be subtitles like there was with the Qlobal Translator in QSMP because that mod was made for QSMP specifically. Maybe other people will have the Twitch subtitle extension like Pac does, but there won't be anything in-game

It's a mainly stream-focused SMP, and people can make stream highlights if they want. Pac said there'd probably be things posted on his own clips channel

There'll be an official Arkanis Twitch channel that'll "go live sometimes"

"Is Pac on Arkanis going to be the same Pac cubito as in other universes? I don't know! It's possible!"

It's been a very cool thing for Pac to be part of the team working on it, he's very excited and hopes people will enjoy it

It's called Arkanis from Latin "arcanus" meaning "mysterious"

There might be a fanart museum like in QSMP

and then he ended stream. I may have missed or misheard something so if anyone else wants to add on feel free but that's the general gist I got!

#echo.txt #arkanis #mcyt #pactw

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themoonlitquill · 4 months ago

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Whispers Woven in Shadow. (6/?)

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧? 𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚? 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚? 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 ; 𝖠𝗓𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗅 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖮𝖢 (𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; HI. I meant to post this yesterday (like I did last week don’t hate me pls) but I didn’t like where I originally ended it so I revised and ta-daaa! 🪄 This one was a very fun one to write! It was going one direction and then ended up somewhere else, which I LOVED. And I hope you do too! 🩵 Alsooooo, the next chapter is already in the works and let’s just say I am STOKED for it. 🤩 Hehe. ENJOY!!

𝖳𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ; 𝗡𝗼𝗻𝗲??? 𝗢𝗺𝗴 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗹𝗲???

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 ; 3553.

“The key to being a Daemati is discretion,” Rhysand stood in front of Ariadne, only a few feet away, with a rather serious expression in place. It was clear that what he was about to teach was important, no nonsense to be found, and she found herself thoroughly engaged. “Once you find your in, the last thing you want is to be discovered. It could be catastrophic otherwise, especially since you’re new at it.”

Her hands were clasped together behind her back, lips pursed. “That makes sense, but wouldn’t they be able to feel me enter somehow?”

“Not necessarily,” he picks a piece of lint off his sleeve. “When you’re in complete control and know what you’re doing, there’s nothing to be felt. Although,” the violet of his eyes were gleaming. “It also depends on if they’ve been trained against Daemati powers and if they have… it can be more complicated.”

“So there is a chance that I could be found out?” Ariadne frowns. “What do I have to do to prevent that?”

The High Lord smirks. “I’m so glad that you asked, littlest Archeron. That’s exactly what we’re going to work on today.”

“I have a name, you know,” her eyes were now narrowed into slits, annoyance set into the hard line of her mouth. “Use it.”

“You’re a sassy one, aren’t you?” Rhys chuckles under his breath. “Reminds me of Feyre.”

She swallows dryly, a pang hitting her chest. “I don’t want to talk about my sister with you.”

His shoulders lifted slightly and she had a feeling he had sighed, more than likely frustrated by the way she had shot him down. Not my problem. I don’t trust him. I don’t know if I trust any of them.

Ariadne takes a breath, the pain receding to a dull ache, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the pointed tip more prominent now. She didn’t know if she would ever get used to them. “Where do we start?”

The smirk diminishes as he straightens and it amazed her at how quickly he was able to switch from one emotion to another. It was almost too easy for him, which was a conundrum in itself. “Close your eyes.”

She hesitates for a moment, unsure, but obeys nonetheless.

“Now,” his tone is softer, more coaxing, like cool water flowing down a stream. “Picture a door. It can be any color, any shape, any size. Just be sure to put all of your focus on it.”

Slowly, Ariadne begins to conjure up what he had asked, allowing her subconscious to make the decisions for her; polished wood - ebony? - that was slightly worn with age, large enough for a grown person to fit through, and its handle curved into the shape of a crescent moon. She doesn’t know why, only that it felt right.

“Good,” Rhys hums approvingly. Could he see it too? It wouldn’t surprise her if he did. “The door isn’t yours, remember that, it belongs to someone else. Think of the mind as a house, full of locked rooms that hold a plethora of secrets.”

She gives a subtle nod, finding herself grateful for the way he was explaining things. Magic was a completely foreign concept to her and having powers, even more so. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t be able to figure it out if he approached it differently, but she’d rather it be done this way. Much easier.

A strange sensation brushed against the door then. It reminded her of nails scratching, not entirely unpleasant, though not comfortable either. There was an awareness that came with it, some sort of pressure, and she couldn’t help wondering exactly what it was.

“Do you feel that?” She nods again. “That’s me. I’m allowing you to sense that I’m trying to get in,” there’s a shift in the air and all of a sudden it disappears. “And now you can’t feel me anymore, correct?”

“Yes.”

“The goal isn’t to use brute strength, even though there will come a time when that’s necessary,” he pauses. “But for now, it’s about slipping through the cracks. There’s always a way in, Ariadne. Even if you don’t see it at first. Some houses leave windows left open, while others have weak locks. Sometimes there’s too many doors, which leads to things left unnoticed. Don’t force it. Follow your instincts and feel for the gaps.”

Ariadne exhales, finding her center where she stood and reaching out tentatively; it felt like her own opalescent barriers, though this time, it was extending towards the door she had created, moving along the outer edges in search of a way in.

Her brow draws together, coming up empty handed and leading to her releasing a frustrated huff. “I don’t- Wait!”

The shimmery mist gathers along the bottom left corner, probing at the wood and that’s when she feels it. A small hairline fracture, barely there, but it was possible, and that was all she needed. “I found it,” her tone was hushed, full of awe. Truthfully, she hadn’t put much stock into this and now she was a believer.

Rhys smiles. “Try to get through without me feeling you. I’ll wait.”

She takes a breath and holds it before pushing forward, allowing herself to slip into the crack, trying to be mindful of how much pressure she was putting behind it and there’s a whisper in the back of her thoughts, reminding her to be stealthy, as fleeting as a shadow. Her nails dig into the skin of her palms, teeth clenched, and she focuses on thinning out, bleeding through to the other side inch by inch.

“There you go. That’s it,” he encourages, watching her with a keen gaze that holds something akin to amazement, and he couldn’t help but marvel at her tenacity. “I can feel you, but just barely. If you keep practicing, I won’t be able to at all, which is saying something.”

Ariadne finally opens her eyes and she feels… accomplished. It wasn’t anything major - yet - and she still had work to do - a lot - and despite that, she had done it. There was progress made and she couldn’t help in feeling more determined than ever. This bit of success had served to further prove that she could do this, that she wasn’t going to be stuck, and she relished in it.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

As it turned out, Rhysand was a pretty good teacher. He was patient and explained things well, gave her praise when she earned it and corrected her when she made a mistake, though it wasn’t harsh, more on the constructive side than belittling her like she had expected. It was… nice, and she had learned enough to begin practicing on her own before they would eventually move to the next lesson.

There was no way she was ready for the whole ‘shattering minds’ aspect of it, but maybe Azriel had been right. It would be smart for her to at least know how to do it. Just in case.

And speaking of the elusive Shadowsinger…

Ariadne tilts her head, honey brown eyes roaming over bronze skin and swirls of black ink that adorned his upper arms, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his shirt. How many does he have? She wanted to ask and managed not to, especially after how he had reacted yesterday. Why did he leave like that? He owes an explanation. It was rude. If he doesn’t want to be around me, he should be an adult and say that. Are all Illyrians complete dicks?

She huffs and strides into the kitchen with purpose, dead set on confronting him and giving him a piece of her mind when he looks up, gold seeming to brighten, and causes her to falter, suddenly feeling warm all over.

“Hi.”

Azriel raises a single brow and she notes that he had stiffened, shoulders tense and shadows flitting about almost anxiously. “Hi.”

“How was your day?”

He balks. “My day?”

An uncharacteristic snort emits from her. “Yes, your day. It’s called having a conversation. You should try it. Unless you plan on leaving again without a reason why?”

Guilt flashes across his face and she places her hands on her hips expectantly. “I’m sorry.”

She softens. A little. “You shouldn’t have done it. If I do something to offend you, I’d much rather you tell me than running off and making me wonder what the hell it was I did. I’m a big girl, Azriel. I can handle the truth.”

He observes her silently for a moment. “I know you can.”

“Don’t do it again. Please,” she adds. “I want to be your friend and you’re making it harder than it needs to be.”

“Friends,” his jaw clenches and her head tilts curiously. Did he not want that? “Okay then. My day was… alright.”

Maybe he did. “Just alright? What did you do?”

“Trained with Cass.”

“What kind of training?”

“Hand to hand mostly,” he relaxes, slightly, some of the tension lifting. “Some flight maneuvers here and there.”

Ariadne perks up at that and leans against the counter, glancing at his wings briefly. “Did you ask him to race?”

“It may have come up.”

“And?”

“He agreed.”

“Oh, how exciting! When can we do it?”

“Whenever you want,” Azriel’s gaze intensifies and she feels heat creep up her neck. Why was he looking at her like that? “As the unbiased judge, we thought it only fair for you to be the one to choose.”

She hums. “Well, in that case, how about the end of the week? It’s only a few days away and it’ll give me time to write out a scorecard.”

“A scorecard?”

“Yes. It can’t just be based on how fast you are. That wouldn’t be as fun.”

He seems to think it over, lips twitching. “What are the other categories other than speed?”

“I can’t tell you that. Cassian isn’t going to get an advantage, why should you?” Ariadne raises an inquisitive brow, engaging in a silent challenge. “What’s fair is fair.”

“I don’t even get a hint?”

“No,” she releases an exaggerated sigh. “I’m afraid your skill will have to speak for itself.”

Azriel’s shoulders shake as his mouth curves up into a smile, the smallest hint of a dimple appearing and she finds herself fascinated by it, gaze zeroing in as her body leans over the counter. She wanted to see if he had another on the other side, but it was gone before she could ask.

She chews on the inside of her lower lip, suddenly finding herself at a loss for words; it seemed that happened a lot when she was around the Shadowsinger and she didn’t know why. It was like she had a million different things to say and couldn’t figure out how to string them in the right order to keep the conversation going.

It also didn’t help that she held a fear of him leaving again because she did something wrong that she was unaware of.

How was she supposed to navigate this?

Her mouth opens and then closes, brow furrowing, and she could see the shadows swirling about languidly, some slithering towards her and she wanted to touch them, wanted to touch him.

Wait, what? Ariadne shakes her head and resumes her incessant biting. Don’t do that. If you’ve learned anything, it’s that he’s an obvious flight risk.

Azriel watches silently and she had this weird feeling that he knew what she was thinking somehow. “They like you.”

She blinks. “Who?”

The shadows move closer and his head inclines slightly. “Them.”

Where had that come from? Their conversation in the library replays in her mind. He had pulled them away from her like it - she - was some sort of issue and now he was finally acknowledging it? It made no sense. Like everything else around here, she sighs.

“Maybe I’m better company than you are.”

His eyes widen a fraction and a low rumble reverberates in the back of her skull, warm and all-consuming. It sent tingles down the length of her spine and there was no doubt that it was a laugh. She was certain. Azriel was laughing. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Cassian was massive.

She had met him before and yet, she didn’t remember him being this big. It was sort of… intimidating. He looked like he could throw her through a wall and not even break a sweat. Her lips curve slightly at that. It was certainly entertaining to think about.

He stood next to Azriel and there was a shit-eating grin on his face, which only seemed to annoy the Shadowsinger and it was obvious that she was missing something.

But what?

Ariadne observes Cassian with interest, wondering how different he was from the others. He had to be a force or else he wouldn’t be the… What was his title? Lord of… Something, she tilts her head with a curious expression. Lord of Illyrians? What in the name of the stupid Cauldron was it?

She flicks her gaze to Azriel, silent questions in honey brown, and he elbows Cassian, chin dipping towards her and she wished more than anything that she knew them well enough to know exactly what they were saying without saying it.

“So, you can’t hear at all?”

A dark shadow passes over Azriel’s face that she chooses to ignore, mostly, and she shakes her head. “Not in the traditional sense. I mostly go by touch and sight.”

“That’s gotta be a pain in the ass.”

Ariadne fights a smile. Oh, I like him, she steps forward, eyes roaming leisurely. “Believe it or not, you get used to it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Cassian looks down at her with amusement. “You’re really tiny.”

She scoffs, hands moving to rest on her hips. “You don’t miss much,” her neck tilts back in time with her perusal. “Which is surprising considering I didn’t think you’d be able to see from all the way up there.”

He barks out a laugh. “You’ve got my vote.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Azriel rolls his eyes, arms moving to cross over his chest. “Ignore him. I do.”

“It’s impossible to ignore me,” Cassian interjects. “Don’t listen to him. He’s cranky and needs a nap.”

Ariadne nearly laughed at that and it was a bit of a surprise at how comfortable she was with him already. Rhysand, she was still wary of, and Azriel… well, she wasn’t quite sure what she felt where he was concerned, but Cassian? He was a breath of fresh air and she liked that he didn’t seem to take himself too seriously. She thought they might end up being fast friends, which she was in no position to say no to.

“Or maybe you just get on his nerves.”

His grin widens - if that was even possible - and catches the small chuckle from Azriel, the rare sound a surprise and he found himself stunned for a moment; his brother could deny it as much as he wanted, but it was evident that there was something there and it pained him that he couldn’t speak on it, not unless he wished to come to blows and the last time that happened, it hadn’t ended well.

“She has a point,” the Shadowsinger gives Cassian a knowing look, who huffs in return. “I’ve never heard any complaints,” he focuses back on the youngest Archeron. “I could never. He loves me too much.”

Her eyes rolled, though there was no malice, only a subtle fondness that softened her features. “I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you,” a small hum emits from her throat. “Have either of you decided what you want the prize to be if you win the race?”

“I’ve been waiting for this!” Cassian claps his hands together, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “Oh, right,” he smiles sheepishly at Ariadne. “Sorry, this’ll take some getting used to. Anyway,” he perks back up. “I’ve been thinking that since you’ve shown so much interest in flying… That the winner gets to take you for the first time.”

Azriel tenses and so do his shadows. “Absolutely not.”

He ignores him, practically giddy, and continues on without missing a beat. “Az told me about this scorecard you’re making and since you’re the one judging, it makes sense for the winner to be the one to do it. You know,” Cassian’s grin returns. “Safety and all.”

“I said no,” Azriel bites out, jaw hard. Was he out of his mind?

“I like that idea,” Ariadne had noted the Spymaster’s reaction and it was the ten-thousandth thing that she added to the ‘makes no sense’ pile. “But instead of just going for a flight, why not make it more interesting?” There’s a brief silence and she took that as her sign that they were agreeing with her. “I want to go down to the city and explore. I’m sick of being in this house, no offense,” she glances up at the ceiling before returning to the two Illyrians. “I need to get out and the winner gets to be my escort slash tour guide.”

“Excellent!” Cassian pats Azriel on the shoulder. “I bet you’ll make sure you win now,” he winks playfully at the little Fae. “You’ve got yourself a deal!”

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

You are excited.

Ariadne looks down at the shadow encircled around her wrist, eyes brightening. Hi! Long time, no see! Wait, how can you tell I’m excited?

You wear your emotions plainly, it tightens its grip in a quick squeeze. It is easy to tell.

I never really noticed, she gives a half-shrug. But you’re right, I have something to look forward to at the end of the week. I get to fly to the city!

Velaris.

Yes, Velaris, her eyes move to the open archway across the room. I’ll be out of this house for the first time since that damn Cauldron and be around other people and check the shops and see that pretty river and be normal.

It was all she wanted; to have the opportunity to venture out and be a part of something instead of locked away in a hypothetical tower - that was actually a magic house - away from curious glances and speculation. Though, she found she didn’t care what the reaction would be to her, only that she was finally going to be free, even if it was just for a little while.

Who are you going with?

She blinked down at the shadow, watching it shimmer as it flowed around her wrist. They really were beautiful. Oh, I don’t know yet. I’ll find out at the end of the race in a couple days.

It is your decision who wins, is it not?

Yeah, it is, Ariadne hums and ghosts her fingertips over the sleek obsidian. Why was it so important? Why had Azriel said no? She had caught that - despite her lack of skill in that department - and hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. I want it to be fair, though. That’s why I made the scorecards. I split it into different categories.

You made a scorecard?

She huffs, not liking the fact that it felt like it was laughing at her. What was the big damn deal? It was the perfect way to judge!

Yes, that way I can take into account a few other things needed to win a race other than speed.

Such as?

Agility, form, and endurance, she raises a single brow, daring the shadow to tease her again. It doesn’t just take being the fastest. What about the air currents? The way they extend their wings and how far? What if something gets in their way and they have to go around it?

Like what?

What kind of a question was that? Ariadne throws her hand up, a second huff emitting from her lips, though more exasperated this time. I don’t know! A tree?

A tree in the middle of the sky?

Are you serious right now? I don’t know how high they’ll be flying!

It would have to be a very tall tree, the breathy whisper was lighter and she realized then that it was laughing at her. What a beastly little thing! She wanted to flick it.

I’m not talking to you anymore if you’re going to keep making fun of my scorecard!

Me? Making fun? Never.

She releases a frustrated sound and flicks it, eyes narrowed. Be nice!

Says the one who just wounded me.

Oh, don’t be dramatic. You’re fine, she rolls her eyes, but carefully rubs a small circle with her thumb, slow and soothing. I thought it was a good idea. There isn’t much to do around here, so I figured I’d go all in.

The shadow wraps around her forearm and squeezes, the temperature cool against her skin. It is. Your mind is fascinating and I enjoy seeing how you respond to things.

So that’s what that was? Ariadne purses her lips, watching as it moves further up until it’s on her shoulder and twirling through her hair. It seemed to like it there the best. What a weird way to go about it.

Not weird at all, little moon. You will soon see.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ; @ashblooddragons , @rcarbo1 , @waytoomanyteenagefeels , @prettylittlewrites , @tele86 , @missxmarvelous , @herondale-lightworm , @kabekusa , @fr0stf4ll .

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ikeukiss · 10 months ago

Text

HIGH & DRY | 최한솔

➸ First story in the @hogwartsaltior universe!

⟢ PAIRING: chwe (vernon) hansol x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 4.5K ⟢ GENRE: fluff, some comedy⟢ TAGS: hogwartsaltior!au, dj!vernon, gardener!reader ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Vernon is good with his words behind a microphone and with hundreds of students listening to him. Why is it so hard to talk to one girl in the gardening club? original banner by @okiedokrie-main at the end of fic!

“Thank you for listening to Chwe’s Power Hour sponsored by Hogwarts Altior. Have a good day and night folks.” Vernon puts the headphones down on his makeshift desk, surrounded by studio equipment and paperwork that he always neglects to turn in on time. His homework also sits unfinished in his backpack, but he’ll worry about that later. His focus is on looking over the stats for his latest stream.

Dokyeom, Vernon’s roommate and fellow Gryffindor, gives him a thumbs up as he scours the laptop screen in front of him for the numbers Vernon’s after. “Best show so far man.”

“But do the views say that?” Vernon looks over Dokyeom’s shoulder, anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

“Read it and weep, kid.” To his surprise, his best friend is actually right for once. Almost two hundred students listening in, both on and off campus. The outreach Vernon’s radio show has gotten so far is something to be incredibly proud of, but he wants more. Maybe if he can prove music is not a waste of time, his parents may take him more seriously when he talks about switching majors.

“Holy shit,” Vernon says out loud, smiling at the evidence.

“I know.” Dokyeom closes his laptop and begins getting his stuff together. “Listen, I gotta head to Combat Training, but we’ll go over the next show tonight.”

They exchange handshakes as Dokyeom exits the tiny office space the university gave them as a studio, leaving Vernon alone with his thoughts to ponder during what remains of his lunchtime.

Astrology isn’t the worst degree in the world, not by a long shot. He likes to learn about the constellations, the stars, how the planets moved in tandem with one another in a symbiotic pattern. And sure, being in one of the longest educational tracks seemed daunting, according to his friends, but it’s interesting to look up at the sky and know there’s a system up there that needs to be understood and appreciated like everything else.

But does he love it? After a year of studying, that remains to be seen.

What he does love, though, is his Power Hour.

It gives him a zest to his daily routine that didn’t exist before. His schedule had just been friends, Quidditch, and studying. It was fine at first, but being without something that truly drove him to do more, be more, had become taxing after a while.

Walking out of the building, he decides to go home and eat lunch in the comfort of his bed before his next class, Star Charts.

Vernon loves to take note of the greenery as he passes the gardens towards the student quarters. But he knows it’s deadly to step foot near the many plants and flowers, not just because of his allergies. He doesn’t want to smell like a joint if he steps in the wrong spot thanks to Josh and Jeonghan’s extracurricular activities in the horticulture club.

What does make him stop today, however, isn’t just the plants. It’s mostly the girl plucking weeds from the ground at the entrance of the courtyard, stealing his breath in a way pollen never could.

Face caked in soot and a messy bun at the top of your head, you know a steamy shower is in your plans as soon as classes are over. You loosened the yellow tie around your neck hours ago to focus on the gardening work in front of you, but it turns out to be a bad decision due to it flopping around in the wind. If only the last root could give…

You look up to see a guy facing your direction, mouth lightly agape and seemingly looking directly at your spot on the ground. Was something or someone behind you that you failed to notice? You turn your head to look over your shoulder, finding nobody down the path or coming out of the greenhouse you were in prior to your work outside.

You look back in the guy’s direction, but he’s gone. He’s speed-walking up the path to the student quarters when you do catch the image of him, his back quickly going out of sight.

Shrugging, you go back to the stubborn weed that has taken up too much of your time. Maybe you’ll cut it at the base and call it a day.

Vernon scribbles the score of the student’s assignment on the front of the paper, relieved it’s the last in the stack. TA duties have been completed to fruition, possibly for the first time in weeks. He wishes him and Wonwoo got to switch TA positions, but Vernon’s aware that it breaks all kinds of moral codes for a TA to also be a student of the very professor they’re assisting.

At least Vernon gets to see the architecture of the Law building for reference in his drawings. He didn’t have any painting classes yet, but the more he could practice now, the better. If he was to ever become as good as his mother, anyway.

The tall doors of Professor Sung’s class open, and Vernon almost can’t believe his eyes.

It’s you. You’re not covered in dirt but still entirely breathtaking, holding a large potted plant in your hands. As you walk closer, careful not to bump into the desks on your way towards him, he is unsure what to say for the first time to capture your interest.

You smile and set the pot down on Professor Sung’s desk. Both of you speak at the same time, words blended on top of each other’s.

“Sorry to bother-“

“I’m allergic to pollen.”

Your face morphs into confusion, but you laugh all the same. Vernon wants to immediately crawl into a hole. Why in all things magical did he just let those words come out of his mouth?

“Okay, noted.” You point to the plant. “This is for Professor Sung. It’s asphodel. No pollen, I promise.” You look over the graded papers on the desk. “You must be his TA.”

Vernon nods immediately and stops, feeling ridiculous again for being so eager and forthcoming with information. What was wrong with him? You were just a girl. A beautiful, cute, hardworking, breathtaking girl, but still a girl!

Your mouth goes slack in recognition, eyes suddenly widening. “I remember you now! You were outside of the student grounds the other day.”

Vernon laughs nervously. He puts the papers in front of him into a neat pile, trying to stifle his panic. All he remembers from that day is you and trying to run from the fact you caught him staring. The cringe he feels is excruciating. “Yeah. I like to look at the plants on my way to my room. You guys have done a great job with the…selection.”

You laugh again and bite your lip. “Yeah, it’s mostly me and Jeonghan. You probably know him.”

He nods again. “We practice together on the Quidditch field. Well, us and my roommate Seokmin.”

“I know Seokmin! And forgive me, I forgot to ask your name.” You hold your hand out politely and give him your name in turn.

How can a person be so gorgeous and nice? Vernon thinks maybe it has to do with your Hufflepuff placement, but he has a feeling the evidence lies in your personality. One he wants to get to know now as soon as possible.

“Hansol,” he replies after placing his palm in yours, your soft skin making him weak in the knees. “Most people know me as Vernon or DJ Chwe or Chwe but y’know—what I’m saying is, my name is Hansol.”

You smirk. “Nice to meet you, Hansol.”

You play on Vernon’s mind in a loop. The feeling mimics the visual graphic Dino made for Vernon’s radio station icon, the turning CD adorned with the words “CPH.”

“Alright, listeners, I hope that music mix brightened your day and leaves you in anticipation for the next one. My name is Hansol Vernon Chwe. Thank you for another installment of Chwe’s Power Hour, once again sponsored as always by Hogwarts Altior. And you have a good day and night. Peace!”

Dokyeom and Vernon take their. headphones off at the same time, Vernon’s best friend blowing out a breath. “At this rate, man, you’re going to be turning discs all over the world.”

Vernon chuckles. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, bro.”

“C’mon! You talk about it all the time. Pull the plug. Chase your dreams.” Dokyeom knocks Vernon in the shoulder with his fists multiple times, turning the younger boy into a heap of laughter. “And, maybe before that, let in the girl you’ve been talking about?”

Dokyeom motions for Vernon to look towards the clear windows of the station. When he does, he finds you there with a smile on your face, an entirely new plant in your hands. It’s smaller than the asphodel you harvested for Professor Sung. The plant, like its pot, is in an assortment of bright colors, mostly teals and greens.

Vernon motions for you to come inside, so you do. You greet Dokyeom before Vernon. “Seokmin and I share a free period, and he told me he helps you with your station stuff.” You smile and put the plant on Vernon’s desk near his headphones. “Don’t worry. No pollen.”

Vernon inspects it with his eyes, unfamiliar with the plant in front of him. His brows narrow in pure curiosity, and you answer the question that sits on the tip of his tongue.

“Muggles call them succulents. They’re really easy to take care of. Just a little sunlight and watering once a week should be enough.” You laugh to yourself and glance around the office space. “Thought the place could use some color.”

“Thank you,” Vernon says. His heart can’t help but be shaken up even more by your presence in his sacred space. He barely knows you, yet he’s so enraptured at your mere existence.

He used to make jokes about his friends when they were down bad for girls, ones that they knew were out of their leagues. Now, he feels like an asshole for doing so. Clearly the workings of the heart are something out of a person’s control.

Vernon isn’t idiotic enough to call it love, but it’s as intense as infatuation can be.

“I’m gonna go, but I’ll see you guys later.” As Dokyeom’s leaving, he raises his arms in the air in a silent chant for Vernon. Thankfully, you don’t notice Vernon’s idiotic best friend and roommate, entirely focused on him.

You stand there, unsure what to do now, but Vernon fills the space with the dumb courage he musters. “I was just on my way to grab a bite to eat. Do you want to join me?”

He stutters, suddenly trying to play it cool. “I mean, unless you have a meeting or something with the gardeners. In which case, I don’t want to intrude—“

You raise your hand to shut him up, giggling. “I would love to, Han.”

The nickname on your lips makes his heart stop and start again in a millisecond. He could get used to that. Definitely.

On the brink of midnight, Vernon gets a text from Jeonghan.

[YJH]: Got party favors in the greenhouse. U in?

Vernon groans, stuffing his head in the pillow. Should he smoke when he has an early class tomorrow and another Power Hour special? Probably not.

But the second text that pops up makes Vernon sit up straight in his bed.

[YJH]: Your missus is our DD, if that changes your mind ;)

Lunch a few days ago had been a success. You laughed at all of his jokes and even took his hand when he offered to help you up from the picnic table. Although you exchanged numbers at the end of the “date,” he hadn’t found the nerve to text you.

But now, he won’t waste the opportunity to see you.

Vernon puts on his old Quidditch hoodie and a bit of cologne to mask the odor. The next step after he sees you is to do his laundry to avoid smelling as much as possible. Homework sits somewhere in the middle of that plan.

He closes the door to the greenhouse behind him, the smell of the herbs hitting his face immediately. It wasn’t a mystery how Josh continued to supply himself and his friends with…supplements. As the president of the Horticulture club, he can access any specimens at any time. Surely it should been you, your care for plants and flowers not going unnoticed by him and probably your other classmates. Pretty privilege has to apply, for sure. But you’re much prettier than Josh, too, so what the fuck’s up with that?

You smile when you see Vernon enter the greenhouse. Your new friend skates by the stoned, giggly man-children sitting in the lawn chairs and passing their joint around. Hoshi is practically asleep, eyes almost closed and chuckles leaving his lips at the speed of a young schoolgirl. Vernon has the passing thought about how ironic it is all the Slytherins he knows take up their efforts with “gardening” yet probably know only a handful of plants.

“Hey, flower child,” Vernon says, sitting next to you on the workbench.

“Oh, spare me. Is that my nickname now?” You jut out your bottom lip, pouting.

“I think it’s nice. It fits!” Vernon motions with his hands to the surrounding vines and other foliage within the greenhouse.

You nod in agreement. “Okay, point taken.”

He looks over at the assignment you’re doing, some form of chemistry if he had to guess. “What’re you working on?”

“Lab stuff. If I want to be a herbologist, I have to pass this class,” you say with a groan.

“Wait, you’re telling me there’s actually something you’re not good at?”

You stick your tongue out at him, threatening to poke him with your pencil. “Just wait, you’ll see I have many flaws.”

He knows that can’t be true. To him, even the most minute flaw of yours is impeccable.

“But yeah, just balancing equations and the like. I know astrology is more metaphysical stuff, but—“

“I love chemistry,” Vernon says, standing up and grabbing leaves from random plants between his fingers. Strangely, the more he walks around and steps into your world, the more confident he feels. “Speaking of that, I wanted to ask—“

“Hansol, watch out!”

Little does Vernon realize his back is perfectly positioned in front of an adult sprig of venomous tantacula, the plant ready to spring for the sight of prey. In an instant, Vernon sees your wand appear from your side and ducks out of the way to avoid the impending spell.

“Diffindo!” The venomous tantacula shrivels as soon as its body is separated from the base of the plant. You breathe in a sigh of relief at the fact your friend has not met his demise at the hands of the creature. However, Vernon’s quick dive turned out to be a bad choice. He managed to drop into a large pile of terracota plant pots. Some of them cut up his arms and a small part of his face in the process of his crash landing.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you ask, bending down to inspect his face. You touch a hand to his cheek, moving his face in your direction. Vernon responds with a gummy smile.

“Nothing a bandaid can’t fix.” Vernon releases a breathless laugh.

“I have a medical kit somewhere around here.”

You run to find it. Vernon’s just dumbfounded and pleased he got so close to you on a technicality. Yes, his face is probably bleeding a good amount, but he knows it’s worth it to see your pillowy lips and doe eyes up close and personal.

When Joshua stumbles up to Vernon on the brick floor of the greenhouse, stoned out of his mind, he laughs like a madman. “Did you fall or something?”

Vernon smirks, resting his head happily on the ground. “You could say that.”

The collection of vinyls, CDs, and musical content in Vernon’s room is a marvel. The piles are mixed in with the typical items in a guy’s room, socks strewn about the floor and star charts leaning against the wall. When you call Vernon a slob in a playful tone, he can’t deny it.

“I have to be in the mood to clean,” Vernon says in his defense.

You roll your eyes. You’ve met messier guys, but Vernon’s definitely making his way to the top of the list. “If I had to be in the mood to garden, half of the greenhouse would be withering away as we speak.”

“Is that how Josh keeps his presidential position, by only doing half of the work?” Vernon smirks, running his hands over the map in front of him. The homework needed to be done yesterday. Calling you as a reinforcement to make him focus is his best chance at getting it done.

Then again, seeing you now, he thinks that was a mistake. How can he focus when you’re in his room, chastising him to work and clean his room in such a cute way?

You may just be the end of his academic career as he knows it.

“No. Josh is a good president, and he really stands up for us with the student government. If he hadn’t advocated for muggle flora imports when they wanted to put more money in the Quidditch reserves, the greenhouse wouldn’t look half as good as it does right now.” You snap your fingers together. “Like the succulent in your radio station! Josh is technically to thank for that.”

“Don’t let him take the credit. I bet you put in a lot of effort growing that thing.”

You scoff and go back to inspecting his music collection. “Have you listened to every album you own?”

Vernon nods, smiling. “Some more than once. But that’s because some of those are my folks’ copies.” He gets up from his bed to stand next to you, tracing the outlines of the vinyl jackets with his fingers. “Like this one? Stevie Wonder’s In Square Circle? One of my favorites.”

The corners of your mouth turn up. “Surprises me you’re not a music undergrad. You already know so much.”

He chuckles sadly. “My parents thought it would be best to find something more practical to study.”

“Astronomy is practical?”

A smirk appears on his lips. “Point taken.”

You huff. “Anyway, it’s your life. It should be about what you love to dot. My parents wanted me to be a lawyer, but herbology’s my calling.”

“No kidding, flower child.”

“You know that nickname is cringe!”

In the midst of your banter, Vernon was unaware how much the distance between you closed. He can smell the perfume lingering on your neck, the scent of moondew driving him insane. His better impulses tell him not to stand so close. He should avoid inching further towards you. It’s wrong to focus on the look in your eyes that tells him not to stop.

Your breath hitches just a touch, and that’s his signal to throw all of his reservations out of the window. He presses your back to the vinyl player, caring little for the scratch of the record at the sudden movement. He can buy another one later.

He captures your lips with his and instantly feels every worry sap out of his being. You wrap your arms around him, hands firm against the back of his neck and fingertips grazing the ends of his hair. Magic in his world is not just exclusive to charms, potions, and cauldrons anymore.

He has you to thank for the definition expanding.

When a moan slips out of his mouth, you pull away breathless.

“Sorry if I was too forward. I—“ Vernon blurts out.

“No, no, don’t apologize.” You smile shyly. “I wanted you to.” You press your hands to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your palms. “Just don’t want to rush into anything.”

He nods without a second thought, hanging onto your words with glee. You’re into him. Enough to want him to kiss you, at least.

“Does this mean I can ask you on a proper date? Not just lunch after CPH?”

You giggle into his neck. “Yes, I would love that.”

After a month of secret kissing behind corridors, study dates in the library, and even Vernon helping tend to pollen-free plants in the garden with you, he may have to admit he’s fallen into the deep end.

But how does one say that, especially someone as terrible with non-lyrical words as him?

So, he decides the perfect way to tell you isn’t in the standard sense.

He writes.

He writes down his thoughts and feelings to a random beat that popped into his head, the rhymes that show up on the notepad in front of him exactly what’s inside of his heart. He makes final touches, moving a word around and then repeating some others. It’s not a full song, just the idea of one at this point, but it says what it needs to, and that’s more than enough.

Vernon texts his parents about his next special, and this time, they promise to listen. Maybe now he can prove to them it isn’t a fruitless endeavor not worth pursuing.

He puts the headphones over his head, one half of his mind occupied with a million thoughts and the other half excited to see what will come after the special. Dokyeom counts him in, mouth in a thin line from focus.

“Welcome to Chwe’s Power Hour, everyone. I’m Chwe Hansol, the man himself behind this lovely hour of music, and I thank you all for tuning into this special episode of the show.”

They go on as usual, answering user-created questions from the last stream and also playing a couple of requested songs. When they make it to the ten-minute mark, Vernon sees Dokyeom’s cue.

“So, recently, I met someone who has quickly become a very important part of my life. So, today, I want to share something that was on my mind with all of you.”

Vernon nods his head to Dokyeom who begins playing the backing track for Vernon’s song. Some guitar strings and a welcoming beat begin to play. The confidence suddenly rises out of Vernon, taking on its own life as he begins the song. The words come out of him effortlessly, the poetry he wrote for you synchronized with the music in a way that has even Dokyeom swaying in his seat cheerfully.

Flower child,

Why can’t I keep my thoughts off of ya?

You grow in my chest without my consent.

Please help when my heart’s under arrest.

Flower child,

I always recognize your steps

When you walk around my head.

The path you have to be familiar with.

Don’t tell me your interest’s a myth.

Flower child,

Is this garden ready to bloom?

You drive me wild.

Can I grow with you?

Flower child,

Can I show you?

You’ve left me beguiled,

Flower child.

The guitar and beat of the song fade out gradually. Dokyeom can’t help himself when he claps his hands together and cheers for his best friend, the sounds coming through in the stream. Vernon laughs and clears his throat.

“As you can hear, my co-host DK seems to have enjoyed my song.”

“Are you kidding?” Dokyeom says, mouth agape. “Best thing we’ve played on this show, no doubt.”

Vernon chuckles heartily, his chest filled with pride. Not just for himself, but for this creation he’s found enough conviction to share with the world.

“Thank you again for all tuning into this episode of Chwe’s Power Hour, sponsored by Hogwarts Altior. I cannot wait for the next episode and your thoughts on this one. It was without a doubt my favorite special so far. To all of you listening, have a good day and night.”

When the stream comes to a close, Dokyeom grabs Vernon in a tight bear hug, screeching in glee for the younger one’s success. “That was fucking incredible!”

Before Vernon can reply, he feels the buzz of his phone in his back pocket, your name lighting up his screen.

Meet me in the greenhouse? x

Vernon walks through the greenhouse. The foliage and flora he’s encountered many times in the past since meeting you and beginning your love affair greet him. He hopes the flowers he picked up on the quick run from the radio office to the courtyard capture your heart in the same way the plants in the greenhouse do.

Even if they make his eyes itchy around the eyelashes, he will deal with it. No amount of pollen could ruin this day.

You’re working on some homework at the gardening bench when he comes in. You drop your pencil immediately when you spot him out of the corner of your eye. You smile at the bouquet in his hands. “Usually I’m the one bringing you plants.”

Vernon grins as well. “Thought I’d return the favor this time.”

You leave your stool and walk towards him. Pecking his lips, you grab the flowers from him. “You know zinnias have pollen in them.”

He shrugs, taking no stock in the stuffy feeling in his nose. “You’re worth all the allergies in the world.”

Your cheeks turn a deep shade of red. Pressing your nose into the flowers, you take in the smell with a satisfied hum. “They’re beautiful.”

“They represent long-lasting affection, according to Joshua. But he might’ve been stoned when he said that.” Vernon smirks, grabbing onto your free hand.

You giggle. Staring deep into his eyes, your expression suddenly becoming serious. “Speaking of that, I listened to your show.”

Taking a deep breath, Vernon hopes he can find the same courage he had in the studio then now to use exclusively for you. “Since the second I saw you, I was drawn to you. And all the feelings I’ve had since then I put into that song to express just a fraction of how amazing you are. And I know it’s cheesy, but I meant every word, and I hope you feel the same.”

You step away from him, letting go of his hand and walking back to the gardening workbench. Vernon’s anxiety spikes, unsure what your next step will be. Would you say what he wanted to hear, or would you tell him something that would break his heart altogether?

You drop the bouquet on the table and run back to him, knocking all the air out of Vernon’s lungs with a sudden, soul-encapsulating kiss.

In the pressure, movement, and heartfelt nature of your lips against his, he feels idiotic second-guessing you for even a minute.

You both separate, lips still inches away and smiles abound. Despite your actions saying everything he needed to hear, the words leaving your mouth just confirms every emotion in his heart. “I love you, too.”

#svthub #hogwartsaltior #vernon x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #hansol x reader #vernon fic #hansol fic #svt fic #seventeen fic #— ikeukiss

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suzannahnatters · 11 months ago

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Let's talk about what IMO The Rings of Power gets RIGHT about Galadriel as an interpretation of Tolkien & a female character.

I think Galadriel is an inspired choice for a major protagonist of the series. Audiences already know her, yes. But she's also a perfect choice if you're wanting to make a Tolkien fantasy fanfic in the 21st century - which does expect prominent female characters (thank goodness).

This is because Tolkien's Galadriel contains multitudes. The important thing to know about Galadriel is that she was at different times in the legendarium's creation BOTH a rebellious mess AND a wise queen.

It was only towards the end of his life, when Tolkien began to see Galadriel as an analogous figure in his world to the Virgin Mary, that he began to remove the traces of rebelliousness from her backstory. But originally she was up to her neck in a little event called "the Kinslaying."

The version of Galadriel we see in THE LORD OF THE RINGS is one who has been specifically banished from Valinor for her part in rebelling against the Valar in order to go to Middle Earth. She sings a whole song about how sad she is she's never been allowed to go back:

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew: Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew. Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea, And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree. Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone, In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion. There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years, While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears. O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day; The leaves are falling in the stream, the river flows away. O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor. But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me, What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?

By the end of LOTR, that exile sentence has been revoked, probably in part because she resisted the temptation of the Ring when Frodo offered it. What we're seeing through Frodo's uncomprehending eyes in THE MIRROR OF GALADRIEL is the end of a REALLY REALLY long character arc.

In Tolkien's published work, Galadriel the wise queen wasn't born, she was made over many centuries of rebellion, temptation, and struggle. She had to learn.

Until Tolkien changed her. A flat arc is also valid, of course. But, for this character, the change arc is equally valid.

In TROP, beginning with a younger, more rebellious Galadriel seems to be a clear artistic decision to follow a change arc. I LOVE, BTW, that in the first ep we see her both in armour AND in beautiful dresses. This character is not going to fit easily into boxes.

Just like she does in Tolkien, TROP Galadriel contains the potential both to be Nerwen, the "man-maiden" and Galadriel the wise queen. TROP Galadriel doesn't seem to be under a sentence of exile, but she DOES start the series with a stated inner struggle.

I'm not going to spoil it for you, but I'm so excited to see where this goes. This is a young, angry, sword wielding Galadriel who is clearly at the start of what could be an epic character arc that refuses to put its protagonist into a tidy little tradwife/rebel binary.

#don't mind me just reposting another set of TROP thoughts I shared on twitter two years ago during season 1 #the rings of power #trop positivity #lotr trop #lotr rings of power #jrrt #jrr tolkien #galadriel #the lord of the rings #rings of power #repost from twitter

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muddyorbsblr · 1 year ago

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this magnetic force of a man

'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: married era; a few months after 'come on, england'

Summary: A watch party livestream on TikTok catches sight of you and Tom in the VIP tent of the final night of the Eras Tour in London

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning/s: language; potentially inaccurate depictions of what goes on backstage in a concert; changed lyrics for Lover [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: new & experiment story format in the first part of the chapter; fictional streamer "original character" heavily featured in first part of the chapter

TikTok Livestream of getawayscholar: Eras Tour Wembley N8 Watch Party!

The stream on screen zooms in to the VIP Tent.

"Hold on! Hold the fuck on is that…holy shit we have ex alert in attendance! Friends and others, Tom Hiddleston just walked in to the VIP tent with Y/N H--I didn't even know they were still together damn good for them." getawayscholar applauds on her stream; the chat floods with clapping hands emojis and various hearts.

The stream on screen shows Travis approaching you and Tom, shaking Tom's hand and making you jump for a high five with a jovial smile on his face. The three are talking while they walk to where Travis is seated.

"And they're seated with Travis, holy shit the world is healing."

Paramore's opener set begins. The stream on screen refocuses to the stage for the next 5 songs.

getawayscholar's stream chat floods with messages: "change source stream!" "check VIP tent!" "some shit's going down on VIP go go go!"

New Instagram Live streaming on getawayscholar's big screen shows you and Tom in your own little bubble, dancing with each other to "The Only Exception". You're singing the words to him.

"'Didn't I read somewhere that these two got married?' I don't know about this one yet, guys but if they did ohh my god good for them! Look at these two they look like the definition of in love and unbothered--Hold up what's going on why's Jan in the VIP tent?"

The stream on screen shows Jan talking to Travis and you, looking panicked, making a gesture for you two to follow him to the stage. Tom holds on to your hand as you're leaving. You mouth many words. Visibly "It's okay" and "I love you" before giving him a kiss and running out of the tent with Travis.

"What's going on, y'all? Are we getting Travis on stage again? Maybe for the Lover era this time?!" getawayscholar squeals on her stream, visibly kicking her feet for a few seconds before abruptly stopping. "But hold on, why do they need Y/N H., though?"

The chat pops up with one new message: 'Not sure how accurate it is but I read somewhere that Y/N H. did some work for the TTPD Era stage design? Maybe it's something about the glitch?'

The stream on screen refocuses back to Paramore on the stage for the rest of the opener set. The countdown clock appears on screen. When the clock strikes 00:00, the dancers come out on stage. The show proceeds as scheduled until the end of You Need to Calm Down. Taylor approaches the mic with her guitar and begins her opening remarks.

"What a bittersweet honor it is that I get to say these words for the last time where in Wembley Stadium. London, welcome to the Eras Tour!" The crowd applauds and cheers. getawayscholar applauds from her seat at home. "The last time we were here a few months ago we made some absolutely insane memories on this stage, in this stadium…" The stage screen flashes to Travis walking out in a suit and top hat on Night 3, leading to more cheers. "And I can't wait to make some more with you tonight."

getawayscholar sits up straight, looking excited and panicked. "What does that mean, Taylor?!" she shouts on her stream.

Taylor starts playing Lover, with a longer musical interlude after the first chorus. She starts speaking again while playing the interlude chords.

"Now you all know how sometimes I like to bring out a few special guests up here on stage." The crowd screams and claps. "Well tonight I'd like to bring someone out that has been an absolute delight to have known for the better part of a decade. She's one of the most brilliant minds I'll ever meet in my lifetime, and the only person I know who sleeps about as much as I do. Which according to you all is…next to never."

"Ohh my god what is happening--" the Instagram Live streamer starts shouting.

"She has made her mark on so much of this tour, from our stage design, the Tortured Poets dress, the reputation bodysuit, the graphics on the screen that are nothing short of breathtaking and sometimes terrifying. I mean, you all said it, not me." The crowd erupts in laughter. "So I'd like you all to help me welcome on to the stage…stage designer, costume designer, graphic designer, fellow mastermind, and a dear personal friend of mine…Y/N Hiddleston."

The crowd from the stream gasps. getawayscholar gasps and squeals in her seat, gripping her chair armrests tight as a platform opens to reveal you rising up to the stage in a navy bodysuit short dress with gold lace detailing, mic in hand. You look to the VIP tent, blowing a kiss to your husband before you start singing.

"We could let our friends crash in the living room This is our place, we've made those calls"

"Did they switch up the lyrics?!" getawayscholar squeals, starting to bounce in her chair.

"And I don't give a damn if everyone who sees you wants you I've loved you eight summers now, honey And I want 'em all"

The stream on screen zooms in to the VIP tent, Tom has made his way to the front, tears in his eyes as he watches you on stage.

"And I'll go where you go We swore to always be this close Forever and ever and oh Take me out, take me home You're my my my lover"

Another extended interlude as you walk over to Taylor and you give each other an embrace, looking like excited childhood friends as you sway side to side before parting ways and walking to opposite sides of the end of the stage. You stop at the edge, facing the VIP tent.

Taylor sings to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? With every guitar string scar on my hand"

You point towards the VIP tent, right at Tom, before joining Taylor and singing, "I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover" . You both sing the next few lines of the bridge until Taylor stops to give the final line over to you, revealing that this line was also rewritten for the show.

"And at every table…you've saved me a seat. Lover."

The stream on screen changes sources to someone streaming from a much closer angle, the camera zooming in to the detailing on your costume.

"Holy shit this woman is something else. It's the quiet unhinged energy for me and in this household we love Y/N Hiddleston," getawayscholar tells her stream, grabbing a screenshot of the intricate gold lace detailing on your dress, revealing that some portions were made of embroidered lettering that spelled out "I ♥︎ TH".

"Lover" ends and you and Taylor walk towards the center of the end platform, joining hands and raising them in the air before taking a bow.

The stream on screen pans the camera over to the VIP tent, zooming in on Tom applauding with a brilliant smile on his face before pointing at the stage and shouting, "That's my wife!"

Taylor addresses the crowd again. "Now…seeing that this is our last night here in Wembley Stadium, I figured a few more surprises sprinkled in wouldn't hurt." She motions toward you with both arms before the piano for the acoustic section emerges from under the stage and she sits in front of it, both of you nodding at each other before she started playing. The crowd erupts into cheers again as you started singing.

"Combat…I'm ready for combat…"

Overwhelming.

That was the only word you could think of to describe this moment right here, standing on stage with Taylor in the dress you'd worked on for weeks and fully knowing that by now, multiple posts had been made on the details you worked into the lace. Probably even some news articles from various sites, both reputable and otherwise.

You both joined hands, raising them up in the air before you took a bow again, doing a little hair flip when you came back up. The platform then began to descend and Taylor pulled you into an embrace.

"I'm so happy I actually got to share a stage with you," she said excitedly, giving you a squeeze before being whisked off to change into her Fearless era dress. "Drinks after the show?" she called out while she shimmied out of her bodysuit.

"Count on it, Babes," you answered her, shimmying out of your own dress that one of her dancers helped you out of. Once you were back in your regular dress and shrugged your jacket on, you found the crew applauding you and cheering you on. Taylor included.

"You did great, Tater Tot," Travis spoke up. "Now come on I gotta get you back to VIP before your husband gets hounded."

You gave them all a little salute before running out of the prep area, giving the towering hulk of an athlete a pointed look. "For the record, only you and Taylor can call me that and live to tell the tale."

"I know I know," he answered, chuckling as he opened the curtain leading to the VIP tent. Once the thick fabric was put aside, the attendees in the VIP tent greeted you with a relatively quieter round of cheers and applause. They all mostly stepped aside as you made your way through them, revealing your husband at the front of the rows. "There you go, dude. Back in one piece."

Tom met you halfway, pulling you into his arms and lifting you into the air once you got close enough. "That was incredible," he told you, his tone full of wonder. You could feel his heart racing through his shirt. "You are incredible, goddess."

He placed you back on your feet, keeping you in his arms as he rested his forehead on yours. It was only at this moment that you realized he'd walked you into a corner of the section, far enough away from the fleetingly curious onlookers whose collective focus was once again on Taylor and the opening notes of Love Story.

"You have no idea how damn lucky I feel every day that I get to call you my wife," he said softly, just enough for you to hear before he started kissing along the side of your face.

"Really? It wasn't too much?" The magnitude of the gesture was finally really sinking in, your mind going so many places on what you just signed yourself up for. Placing yourself in the crosshairs of the same vitriolic people that were once chomping at the bit nearly a decade ago after knowing relative peace for so long. "I know big gestures aren't really our thing but--"

"It was perfect," he cut you off, pressing a kiss to your lips that had you melting in his arms. "You're perfect. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," you said breathlessly once he broke the kiss. He held your hand and led you back to the front of the tent, positioning himself behind you and letting you relax against him as he held you in his arms for the remainder of the show.

"There's no more surprises for the rest of the night, though, I hope?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before holding you a touch tighter. "Because I'm not too open to the idea of letting you out of my arms unless it's to drive us home."

"No more surprises," you reassured him, placing your hand over his. "But I did promise Taylor I'm meeting her for drinks after the show…"

For the most part you kept to your word, there really were no other surprises you had planned for the night, and save for your husband going to grab a snack for the two of you from the catering table, he really didn't let you out of his sight for the following sets. It was only when Taylor stepped out for the acoustic set that you were both slightly taken aback when she chose to address you again.

"Well then…welcome to the acoustic section, everybody." You and the entire crowd began to clap and cheer loudly. "Trying to decide what would be good to do for tonight since it's our last night together and all…But first let's get some choices off the board." Then she faced the VIP tent. "Y/N, Babes…how much trouble would you be in if I play Getaway Car?"

The entire tent burst into laughter as you scrambled to keep a poker face, already anticipating that she'd pull that joke when she mentioned it in your texts the night before. You began to mouth a message back to her. "Taylor no…my husband is right here have mercy on my damn legs."

You broke out into a smile toward the end when she had to shut her eyes and compose herself because her shoulders started shaking from her laughs. "I mean I kind of thought so but it was worth a shot." Then she shrugged and started strumming some chords; the crowd erupted into cheers again when she began to sing.

"The moon is high like your friends were the night that we first met…"

A/N: All cards on the table, I've had this chapter planned for so long but seeing all the happy lil insanities that happened this weekend in Wembley made me decide to put some time aside today and start on this chapter earlier today. I did not, however, expect to be finishing the chapter today as well 😂 And also I figured since I already had the reveal out that the OLTK blorbos are married, I can go ahead and shift some plans around and make some "married era" chapters when the mood strikes and ohh boi howdy did the mood strike today 🫠

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #one look & they'll know #muddyorbs writes

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httpsserene · 2 years ago

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httpsserene's F1 Kinktober '23

summary: george has created a serious problem. you two have been dating for over three years, and he fed from you the first time about three months ago. the problem lies within the fact that he conditioned you to orgasm every time he used you as his glorified high-class wine bottle. on second thought, that’s a pretty good problem to have; his thirst is sated, and yours is as well.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i guess i got too into the plot and lost myself in the exposition. i was originally going to delete the beginning ramblings of setting the scene and what not, but this would be like 500 words if i did that— anyways have fun reading 🫶🏽

click here to view the f1 kinktober ‘23 table of contents

vampire & biting/hickeys — 𝐠𝐫. 𝟔𝟑 george russell x fem!black!reader 4k words. not beta read. vampire au. dubcon? (tagged because of the effects of vampire venom in this). safe, sane, and consensual. coming untouched. no penetrative sex. implied sex. blood drinking. hickeys, bites, & bruises. mention of multiple orgasms. the grid & mercedes knows about george being a vampire; the public does not.

george had gotten enough schooling to learn what classical conditioning is. pavlov conditioned dogs to salivate at the sound of a bell ringing; a conditioned response. george may have done the same thing to you–he made the mistake of making sure you orgasm as he bites and drinks from you. now every time he feeds from you, you cum, even if there’s no sexual build-up at all; it could be the most bland feeding session and the minute his venom enters your bloodstream, you can’t fight it—he’s pavlov-ed his girlfriend. he should’ve never allowed himself to feed from you.

when george first met you, he was enamored with you from the start. after every morning run, he would end at a local coffee shop and you would already be cozied up in a corner seat working away on your computer. you smelled delectable, george quickly picked up on that. he was thankful the barista had already memorized his usual order, because he really wouldn’t have enjoyed explaining why his canines had elongated into fangs. he couldn’t handle the way your blood was calling to him and left the coffee shop as soon as he got his drink, running into several people on the way out. you would be in the coffee shop on two out of the three days he came in, and he would be a serious hazard to any customer who came in during the five minutes he was there. it was like this for two months and twelve days (not that he was counting or anything), until you weren’t in your seat one day. george sighed in relief, shoulders relaxing and the fixed grimace in anticipation sliding off his face—what he didn’t expect to feel is disappointment at the lack of your appearance and addicting scent. he dismisses the emotions, convincing himself that he’s just used to the constant repression of his instincts around you. he even takes the time to engage in small talk with the baristas; two months ago he was well-invested into their lives, he has a lot of catching up to do. he allows himself to be forced into a seat at the counter to drink his coffee and indulge in a few pastries that are definitely breaking his diet. it’s an off day for him, his only plans are to stream in the evening with the usual quartet, so he can afford to dine in this morning…and indulge in catching up on the coffee shop gossip, he’s only a man, alright?

george is halfway through his cup of coffee and laughing along to a story about how this adorable kid tried to buy hot chocolate with monopoly money when the entrance door jingles open. he chokes on his sip of coffee, almost spraying it over the counter in surprise as you walk up to the counter. he turns to look at you ordering at the register, to confirm he’s not imagining your presence and—you look amazing. you’re wearing flared black trousers with a short-sleeved, white, collared shirt tucked into them, elegant gold jewelry accented against your brown skin—you’ve dressed up today. it’s different from the usual hoodie and headphones george sees you wearing in that corner nook of yours; at least that’s his excuse for why he ends up staring you down. after finishing your order, you head towards your usual seat and end up making direct eye contact with george, because the universe hates him. he sees your attempt at a polite smile and his cheeks burn red at being caught, and jerks his head forward breaking his stare. he hears you continue to walk past him, and the barista stares at him disbelievingly, “mate…you fumbled that.” george stutters through a denial, but then he hears your footsteps stop—and he knows you haven’t reached the corner seat yet. he picks up on the sound of you turning on your heels and heading back in his direction, and he drops his head into his hands, resigned.

“ah! someone’s taken your seat today,” the barista in front of george calls out to you—george narrows his eyes at the man in warning, “come sit at the counter then; you can tell me what you’re all fancied-up for.” the barista glances at george with a smirk, and he swears this may be the first time he bleeds a human dry.

you laugh and sit at the counter, one seat in between you and george. and george sighs in relief for the second time today; you’re wearing perfume and it taints the smell of your blood, enough for him to not start salivating, at least. its silent for a minute, and george can feel your awkwardness radiating.

“so…” you question teasingly, “not in a rush today, then?”

george turns to look at you, shocked that you’re even talking to him—he never figured he’d be in a conversation with you. while your voice may have been teasing, your eyes are soft, warmed with kindness, and george melts. he manages to muster a tease back in your direction, “no, not today. but, look at you—in business casual attire, i was starting to believe you only knew how to dress in sweatshirts?”

you roll your eyes at him, and a smirk replaces your painfully polite smile, “ah? today must’ve not been the only day you’ve been staring at me, if you’re so familiar with how i dress…even though we’ve never spoken to each other before.” george’s mouth drops open at you checking him, and he can hear both baristas giggling behind the counter. and at that moment, george is pretty sure he fell in love with you right then—even though he didn’t have the balls to ask you out for another month and a half.

for those weeks, every time george came to the cafe, you would wave him over to your table with a bright grin and invite him to sit down across from you. even on days when he really couldn’t afford to be late, he’d find himself sitting down to chat with you. instead of being early to zoom meetings with the mercedes team, he started being on-time, often enough for lewis and toto to comment on it. his only response to their gentle prodding at the change in his behavior being, “i added another mile to my morning run,” when he really was spending those minutes talking to you after his run. after he built up the courage to ask for your number (platonically, of course), he would show up to the driver’s briefings a few minutes late, rushing in yet tapping away on his phone struggling to hide the smile on his face. for all of his superior senses, he doesn’t notice how his grid mates stare at him like he’s lost his mind; eventually, one of the officials calls him out when he glances down at the notifications popping up on his phone screen for the fourth time in five minutes, “mr. russell, i am sure that whatever you find so interesting on your phone can’t be more important than our discussion about track conditions, can it?”

george flushed red (he knew he shouldn’t have fed until later) and stumbled through an apology. after the briefing ends, the drivers start teasing him for being ‘so unprofessional,’ and lewis doesn’t help when he reveals how george has started being late to mercedes team meetings, too. charles pretends to faint, alex gasps in horror, and lando’s eyes light up at the opportunity to be a gremlin.

“boysboysboys,” lando grins, gathering everyone’s attention, “i think it’s finally happened.”

george sighed, over the dramatics already, “what’s happened, lando?”

“you’ve managed to get yourself a girlfriend!” lando shrieks, his high-pitched laughter hurting george’s ears.

george flusters, and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, “she’s not my girlfriend!” and, he’s only made it worse.

alex’s eyes widen, pointing at george in shock, “oh my god—so you are talking to a girl!” george groans and spins on his feet to leave the room, ignoring the jibes and teases of the grown men behind him.

later that night, his hotel room is infiltrated by almost half the grid (including fernando, for some reason), all seeming to rally behind their common goal of getting george to ask you on an actual date. they debase all of george’s points about why he shouldn’t ask you out—the main point being that he’s a fucking vampire—and ask him the one question that he’s been refusing to acknowledge, “you can smell how she feels—does she smell like she likes you?”

george hisses at them half-heartedly, more like a frazzled kitten than a terrifying monster, “yes, i’m already aware that she’s interested in me—that’s the problem! i’ve already led her on this whole time, and she doesn’t know that she has a crush on an undead, immortal, vampire!” the room quiets at his outburst, and he can only groan and drop his head into his hands.

“so just tell her,” max states bluntly, not looking away from the fifa game he’s beating charles’ ass in. george stares at max, appalled.

“let her make the decision for herself, right?” max starts, pausing the game to look at george, “for some bizarre reason she likes you for who you are,” george scoffs, “so, just tell her from the jump—you’ve already led her on enough, so give her the opportunity to decide whether or not if she should date your lame ass.”

the vampire stares at max disbelievingly, “that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

the red bull driver shrugs, ears turning red under the surprised stares in the room, and quickly un-pauses the game and scores on charles. the monegasque screams dramatically, and the tense air is broken. george shakily sighs, anxious, and pulls out his phone to ask you on a date. originally, he was thinking about asking you through a text, but with almost every driver in the room disapproving of any way he goes about wording it, he bares his fangs at them, and steps out of his own room, to call you.

the phone doesn’t even complete the first ring before you pick up, and a pleasant, “hi, georgieeee,” slips from your mouth; he can hear how you’re smiling through the phone. he banters with you for a minute, listening to how you're singing praises about his performance even though the actual race isn’t for another day. when the conversation dies down, he blurts out the question, “do you want to go on a—“

“i would love to go on a date with you!” you cut him off, eagerly, “i mean–sorry, yes. i would like to go out with you.” george laughs, relieved and comforted by the fact that you’re as gone for him as he is for you. he can’t even bring himself to be mad when he hears the men in his room raucously cheer.

and when george took you out for brunch to the same cafe, ignoring the baristas’ proud expressions, he realized he had nothing to worry about. the conversation flowed easily, he made you laugh and you made him laugh, and most importantly, he didn't think about draining you dry like a caprisun. you’ve ditched the cozy outfits and dressed up again—dressed up for him—and george is out of his running attire and fancied up; and you make a off-hand comment about how unnatural this feels, and george is reminded of the one important thing he was supposed to tell you. time has flown by so quickly while the two of you were hidden away in your preferred corner seat, and it’s become mid-afternoon. george surveys the surroundings briefly and is shocked to find that it’s only the two of you, and the baristas in the cafe; it’s the perfect time to tell you.

when george states that he’s a vampire, you obviously think he’s joking, “well, you’re not burning in the sunlight, georgie–so i don’t believe you! i am afraid that if this is a kink of yours, i don’t see a second date in the future.” he tries to smile at your joke but it ends up as more of a grimace, and he exposes his fangs for you to see. he hears the breath catch in your throat, sees your eyes widening in shock, blown-out pupils shrinking in fear, hears your heart beginning to race in your chest, blood rushing in your veins, and smells your scent souring.

“george russell,” you whisper yell, glancing around anxiously, “what the fuck! i believe you—you shouldn’t do that in public! what if someone else saw?!” and that’s when he realized that sure, a small amount of your fear was from the confirmation that he is a supernatural being—but mainly that, you were afraid for him. and at that point, george knew that he could allow himself to be vulnerable with you.

and after three years together, he fed from you for the first time. a lot of planning went into the initial feeding: after the end of the racing season, a trip away just for the two of you, george would satiate his thirst with his usual blood donor supply, he wouldn’t drink more than six ounces from you, you’d eat a full meal and be properly hydrated, and of course, he’d drink from you when you orgasm. the bite hurts in the beginning—george has been told many stories from feeders—and the most common distraction to the pain is a simultaneous orgasm. you were apprehensive yet extremely willing to allow george to drink from you, and told him that you trusted him completely—you even sat through his numerous clinical rundowns of the plan without complaining.

however in the moment, george diverted from the script. instead of having you cum once, george forced three orgasms out of you and bit you on the last one. he practically mauled your neck, chest, and hickeys throughout the night, as if he was teasing himself with the indents on of his teeth on your body before he bit into you. you couldn’t figure out if it was the venom from his bite or the multiple orgasms that had you floating pleasurably. george couldn’t deny that seeing you covered in love bites and his actual fang marks didn’t provoke a hidden possessive trait in him. the love bites he left on your body would fade within a few days, the bite mark would fade in around two weeks—and you told george explicitly that if he ever wanted to feed from you again, he’d be more than welcome to do so.

the vampire always thought that he was the one who was at risk for getting addicted to your blood; his greatest fear being that he wouldn’t be able to resist sucking you dry. however, it rapidly dawned on him: you’re the one who formed an addiction.

george always made sure his thirst was properly sated with his usual blood bags before he drank from you. over three months, he’d consistently make you cum whenever he bit you, whether it was with his fingers, cock, mouth, thigh, etc. but he never quite realized that he conditioned you into cumming whenever he bit you, until the singapore grand prix.

singapore was hot. it wasn’t hell on earth like qatar, but it was still fucking hot. and then, he crashed. as he made his way back to the mercedes garage (stomping under the force of his self-deprecation), he became increasingly aware of the tingle in the back of his throat; he’s hungry, he needs blood. he ignores his race engineer asking if he needs medical attention, and asks for a ‘juicebox,’ the codeword for a blood-bag. only to find out, he had his last one yesterday after qualifying—the hotter race weekends have him draining his supply quicker than usual. the vampire whimpers, and suddenly he’s bombarded by you speeding over from the back of the garage. you’re tugging his face down to eye level, worriedly asking if he’s hurt, but george can only register how alluring your blood smells. contrary to popular vampiric-belief (if that’s a thing, he has no clue), blood does not smell sweet. it smells metallic, and the overall scent is affected by water content and ph-level; you smell velvety, and absolutely perfect to george.

the vampire briefly reassures you that he’s fine, before he grabs you by the hand and turns to toto. george begs his team principal to postpone any of his post-race interviews for as long as he can so he can get a brief feeding in with you before he loses his mind any further. toto cuts george’s pleads off immediately and allows him to do whatever he needs; the brit's temper is short enough already, if your blood can calm his mouth toto will personally send you a brand new g-wagon.

george pulls you along to his driver’s room, slowing when he hears how you’re tripping over your feet two match his speed. he shoves the door open, but kindly guides you with a palm on the small of your back into the room, before he steps in and slams the door shut, locking it with a quickness. he speedily sits on the edge of his couch, and pulls you onto his lap, staring up at you with wide, pleading eyes.

“love,” he starts, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip, “may i drink from you? i should’ve been smarter about preserving my supply, usually i’m more careful about it, but i think i was just overager with everything this weekend. i’ll only take a small sip, just enough to hold me over until we fly back home, yeah? i mean, if you’re uncomfortable, i will not drink from you. i should be able to wait—”

you cover the vampire’s mouth with a hand, and smile softly at him, “yes, georgie, you can feed from me. the whole point of drinking from me was to have me acclimate to the feeling for rare situations like this, yes? i’m okay with it, you can take as much as you need from me.”

george stares at you for a few seconds, for some reason, he’s surprised at your easy allowance, before he’s shaken out of his stupor by you waving a hand in front of his face.

“i won’t be able to make you cum—i need to get out there as soon as possible,” george rambles out.

“ok,” you state, looking at him oddly, “i’m pretty sure i’ll be able to handle it, and if not you’ll know before i do.”

the brit asks if you’re sure one last time, before he effortlessly stands up with you in his arms, spins around and places you on the couch, sitting you where he was. the vampire kneels in front of you, and parts your legs gently, before tugging at the waistband of your pants for permission. you’re still reeling from his easy manhandling (you forget about his superior strength, he never makes it obvious), and how he fell to knees for you—the duality of his actions has you embarrassingly hot. you lift your hips up allowing george to tug off your pants, and you see firsthand how he loses his train of thought.

when george brings you along to a race, he avoids leaving marks in a visible spots, so unfortunately for him, your neck and torso are complete bruise free; the humid weather in singapore meant that you would be wearing tank tops or cropped shirts, so he can’t risk someone seeing a smidge of a bruise on your body; they wouldn’t understand. although, george could take his fill of marking you up on your thighs. the dark skin of your inner thighs is mottled with bruises from his lips and indents of his teeth, all in various stages of healing observed by the various shades of purple they’re colored in. george slowly presses a finger into one of the marks and smirks when a strangled gasp escapes you from the pressure. if the vampire wasn’t so focused on the scent of your blood, he’d probably notice how that motion alone already had you wet.

george buries his head between your thighs, close enough that you can feel the exhales of breath from his nose over your panties. you shift, squirming away from the feeling—this is about giving george blood, which he needs for sustenance, not for you to get turned on at, you try to remind yourself. the brit halts your movements, his hands flexing around you only slightly. you try and buck your hips away to test his grip, and you don’t move a single centimeter. you glance down, making eye-contact with your boyfriend, and the teasing smile he’s hiding behind your thigh has your heart rabbiting faster, even though you roll your eyes at him. george begins to lick and nip across your thighs searching for the best spot to pierce your skin, and you are trapped in your own mind. you’re at the mercy of an immortal being, you have no chance of fighting him off if you needed to. of course, you’re very aware that george wouldn’t lay a finger on you, but your hindbrain runs off of instincts, and it’s telling you george is a predator and you’re clearly his next meal. the adrenaline thrumming underneath your skin causes you to start breathing a little heavier and you manage to wrangle the instinctual fear away to relax under him. george startles you from your thoughts when his cold hand leads yours to rest on the nape of his neck, and he pauses when he feels you jump underneath him.

“hey, you can still say ‘no’ if you’re not ready for this yet. there’s no pressure, love,” george reassures you. the calming tone of his voice has no judgemental lilt, and his words soothe you enough to double-down with your agreement.

“thank you for doing this for me, love. as soon as we get back to the hotel, i’ll take care of you properly–i promise,” george praises you, “now, remember, this won’t take any longer than ten seconds. if you need me to stop beforehand, pinch the skin on my neck and i’ll stop, okay?”

you swallow, clearing your throat, “yes, george. can we start already? my nerves will scare me away if we wait too long.”

george nods, hands petting at your waist reassuringly, before he focuses back on your thighs. his nose tracing along your sensitive skin for a few more seconds, until he stops and nuzzles at a spot almost on the underside of your left thigh, close enough to your pussy to have the fear fade under the anticipation of pleasure. the vampire kisses at the spot three times, before he lets his fangs slide out with an audible shlick. he presses them gently against you skin for a few seconds before he bites down.

the pain isn’t from the invasion of his fangs, but from the spread of the venom. it burns as it spreads through your bloodstream; you imagine this is what boiling alive feels like. the feeling is immense but fleeting. the initial bite has always been paralyzing, but when george takes the first pull of blood, the venom must have reached your brain and taken effect, because the pain instantly switches to an immobilizing amount of pleasure. the scream that was originally building in your chest transforms into a keening moan, the burning pain no longer present.

you feel your core tightening as george continues to feast on your blood; thighs trembling in pleasure, eyes rolling back overwhelmed, and toes curling. it’s happening so quickly, quick enough that you don’t register that you’re cumming. waves of pleasure crash over you unendingly, and you’re unable to figure out why. every drag of blood george takes ruins any chance you have to think. the pleasure is so catastrophic that you don’t even register when george releases the bite.

the vampire can only stare up at you in awe as your mouth parts, drool beginning to leak from the corner of your lips, your eyes slamming shut, and face scrunching from the force of the orgasm he ripped out of you. george soothes the bite closed with careful sweeps of his tongue, allowing you all the time you need to come back to him. he softly sucks a few more marks into the meat of your thigh before he fights himself away from cradle of your legs, brushing a kiss on your cunt over your panties.

the vampire slides his way onto the couch next to you, pulling you into his arms to allow you to shake through the aftershocks in his grasp. he presses kisses to your forehead, while he murmurs praises freely. while his mouth is running in one direction, his thoughts take a completely different turn.

he’s ruined you for any other person. he’s trained you to orgasm with a simple bite of his fangs. your body has correlated the painful spread of his venom with pleasure. george has tied you to him for the rest of your life. this is a huge fucking problem. his mind starts racing; if that’s the case he either needs to work that out of you, or he can never feed from you in situations like this again. you’ll be useless for the rest of the day, your brain has turned into jello. he needs to make sure that he manages his blood supply properly in the future, so he doesn’t have to drink from you where the media can discover how gone you are.

george has no idea how he would go about un-training your…pleasurable…response to his bite. on second thought, george doesn’t want to change your newfound reflex. if anything, it’s like an equal exchange. the vampire satiates his thirst, and you satiate your thirst. george coos at you adoringly when he hears the near inaudible moans your breathing into his neck—yeah, he thinks you’ll agree with him when you’re aware enough to do so.

he finds himself tracing the fresh bite mark with a thumb, groaning when your hips grind against him in return. he fumbles his phone out of his pocket to tell toto he needs at least another twenty minutes.

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serenadeonacanoe · 2 months ago

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Waiting for Something (Namjoon x OFC) Chapter 1

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Original Female Character Genre/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Pining, Emotional Realism, Slice of Life, Media/Celebrity Dynamics, Bangtan are truly good friends to OFC, travel, Seoul, this has a bit of it all... Word Count: ~126k | Chapters so far: 45 Status: Incomplete Yes, this is a bit of a monster of a fic. It was my first one, five years ago. At the time I just wanted to get my mind off Covid, no editing, just writing every day. Now I finally found time to edit it all, my goal having been to finish before BTS returns. So you have been warned: This covers quite a few years and is full of tropes and cheesiness. I hope you enjoy. =)

More already on AO3

Summary: It starts as a joke. A red carpet wink, a viral clip, a late-night show stunt. Ollie, a rising music journalist, never meant to become the girl who accidentally flirts with Kim Namjoon on live TV... and definitely not the one who ends up texting him afterward.

But what begins with playful banter and harmless curiosity slowly becomes something else. Through late-night messages, missed opportunities, chaotic schedules and quiet moments of honesty, Ollie and Namjoon find themselves circling something that might be real. If only the timing weren’t always slightly off.

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Chapter 1 The truth was, there was something a bit gross about red carpet coverage. Yes, it was exciting and nerve-wracking in a good way. Sometimes, actual interesting conversations happened and most of the time - with a little help from editing - the result was worth it. But there was also just a lot of waiting. Standing around. Constant screaming. A lot. Of. Fake. Laughter. And that made sense in a way. Who could keep their energy up for so long? Well, not me. Between interviews, I'd just drop my shoulders, trying to relax for a moment before cheering up again when a new opportunity popped up.

Minutes of fast talking, endless cheeriness and yes, sometimes fake laughter followed. Then I'd go back to daydreaming about napping on the sidewalk.

"Cheer up! You forgot that you love this!" Nick, my cameraman, muttered. His head was still hidden behind the camera on his shoulder, but I looked in his direction and my mouth dropped open for a second. Jesus, he was right. Why was I complaining? When had I gotten so used to the spectacle that I forgot how lucky I was?

I was doing what I loved - just like those I interviewed. How many people studying journalism and obsessing over music actually ended up here? My own music show. Okay, it was online and not regular TV, but still. It was financed by a network. In the age of streaming, numbers mattered more than TV airtime anyway. I should've been more grateful.

Nick grinned. I saw it in the corner of his mouth, even though most of his face was hidden. I smiled too - and then interviewed Harry Styles. You know, casual Friday.

Somehow Nick's comment saved my night. I forgot about being tired. I forgot I’d promised my mom three days ago that I’d call and hadn’t. I forgot that my ex-boyfriend was currently at the Great Barrier Reef with the girl he’d insisted was “just a friend.”

It was just me and people passionate about what they created. That was enough to make me feel like I was asking good questions and doing a decent job.

And still, Nick hissed a hasty "Step it up!" when he realized we had a shot at interviewing BTS next - even before I spotted them. I had known they were here somewhere, the crowd screams had confirmed that. But suddenly, a stern-looking woman pointed at me and seconds later, they were in front of our camera. Matching suits. Polite smiles. Super professional. And me, just - stunned.

Some clever editor would later play it up like I had gone into stand-by mode. I turned to the camera like I had lost it, then turned back around with a smile. "Oh my God. It’s BTS. How are you guys?" They were professionals - but so was I.

I managed two questions before the woman tried to rush them along, but I pretended not to hear her and squeezed in one more. Jimin waved at me like a toddler and for some reason, it made me go "dawww." He didn’t hear it - but Namjoon, the last to move to the next interview, did. He turned back, chuckled and winked at me.

I blinked. And then they were gone.

"Did Namjoon just low-key flirt with me?" I asked Nick, who was still recording. "You wish." he replied. I laughed, nodded with my eyes closed, like, "Guess so."

Nick stopped recording and I let my shoulders drop again. Man, who was I to complain about fake laughing when I could go from hyper journalist to energy-saving mode in five seconds?

Checking my phone, I realized I had to head inside or I’d miss my chance to get backstage before things got crazy.

The award show was alright. No interviews backstage - it was too organized, no time for sideline chats unless they were pre-planned. My role was to show how much fun I was having, probably for some montage later. And I was having fun... mostly. But some of it felt goofy. Clapping for performers like we were best friends.

Nick and I found a good spot near the stage, with a monitor showing the broadcast feed. Once he had enough footage, he set the camera down and we had a beer while watching the rest.

Toward the end, the host gave a little speech and then rolled a montage of red carpet moments. Nick commented on the fast turnaround and I made a noncommittal sound while checking my phone.

He kicked my shoe. I looked up, confused. Thought he was annoyed with me. But he gestured to the screen. And for good reason.

I was on it. They had captured my little "OHMYGAWD IT’S BTS" moment from behind the scenes. I smiled... and then there it was: the "Did Namjoon just flirt with me?" line, from a different angle.

Apparently, the whole audience saw it too. I heard laughter. Then, the live camera cut to BTS. RM - Namjoon - was looking at the screen, a little overwhelmed. Then, playing it cool, he turned to the camera, nodded, held a hand up to his face and mouthed, "Call me."

The other boys were dying laughing. Hobi looked like he might fall out of his seat. Namjoon looked slightly horrified - probably realizing what he’d just done. I was aware enough that this kind of stuff didn't really happen on Korean TV.

I only noticed I had my hand over my mouth when I turned to Nick, who was cracking up. Okay. Nothing about that had been super clever or even that funny. Award show humor. But now everyone had seen my childish comment. Including Namjoon. It was harmless and he had taken it well. So I laughed too. I didn’t stop for a while. Embarrassed? Yes. But at least they made me look relatable and not desperate.

Later, back in my hotel room - several glasses of sparkling wine later - I saw a text from my best friend Lauren back home in New York:

Lauren: So who’s the new boyfriend? Me: If everyone who ever winked at me was my boyfriend... Lauren: You’d still be single! Ha!

#bts #bts fanfic #kim namjoon #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #bts smut #rm #fanfic #namjoon #bts fluff #bts x reader

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solardrop · 11 months ago

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I wanted to post some excerpts from two of my Hotch wips to see which one people find more interesting! I included a poll at the bottom because I know a lot of people don't like commenting but I'd appreciate comments, asks, etc about the one you like more as well! There are a lot of typos and issues in these but they are just first drafts!

Both of these will end up being nsfw stories so minors please do not interact with this post (because you won't be interacting with the actual fics anyway)

this one is the first hotch fic I ever tried to write. I abandoned it because I felt like my first fic being a smut was too horny (only for my first posted fic to still be a smut...lol). But rereading it I actually still really like the idea I just need to actually figure out where I wanna go with it. Its currently very lovingly titled: "A sad attempt at a hotchner fic". WIll definitely be changed before I actually post it LMAO. Maybe to "strawberry salt" or something

He grabs you by the hips as he leans against the headboard. Sliding you until the soft curve of your belly meets his, and the swell of your breasts push against his collarbone. The wiry hairs across the top of his legs tickle your inner thighs. His eyes drift downward for a brief moment, distracted from his original mission, before he places a quick kiss on your sternum. “What was that again baby?” He smiled up at you. An absolute shit-eating grin if you say so yourself. Trying to sweet talk and ‘baby’ you out of this wasn’t going to work. Neither was the mischievous hand sliding under your robe towards the curve of your ass. “Aaron,” you swat his hand from below you, “how many times are you gonna use my body wash and leave me with nothing!?” This makes him grin wider, his dimples teasing and tempting for a kiss. Your belly warms as you look at him beneath you. How could a man so damn infuriatingly be so annoyingly sexy? His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, it takes all your self-control to stop from moaning at the sight. You force yourself to look up from his lips and raise your hand to lightly pinch the very tip of his nose. A soft blush forms on the skin there when you remove your fingers. “Not funny Aar! Now I smell like Alaskan sea salt and thunderstorms instead of Strawberry sugar.” “Well. I think you smell amazing.” He buries himself in your neck, inhaling deeply. “If you think so, then use your own body wash!”

This second one is just called "shower" it's my longest wip so far and I like it a lot but I need to rework a lot of things about it because its a lot of word vomit right now:

Your thoughts are interrupted by Aaron reapproaching you, still dressed in his button-up, the sleeves now rolled up his thick forearms. He tries to get the detachable showerhead when you reach up — with your good arm— and stop him. “What are you doing?” you question. “Getting the showerhead so I can help you shower?” “Your clothes are still on.” “Yes? What’s wrong—” He pauses, face marked with confusion until he slowly pieces together your meaning, “Honey, you’re injured. I’m showering you, not showering with you.” He laughs reaching for the hose again before you stop him. “I’m not a patient. I’m your fiancee,” you seethe, “You’re not gonna scrub me down like I’m some sweet little old lady. Get in here, Hotchner.” His arms cross over the expanse of his chest, staring you down like he was giving you a field order to comply to. Too bad you weren’t scared of him. You stare back at him, the water streaming down your body as the moment passes. He breaks eye contact and begins unbuttoning his shirt. “Alright,” he sighs, “but we’re just getting clean and getting out.” He shrugs off his shirt, revealing beauty of his broad body to you. You eyes travel, admiring the way the muscles move under his skin as he scratches the soft pudge of his belly. He unbuckles his belt and pants. You bite your lip as he finally hooks his fingers in his pants and boxers, sliding the fabric down, slowly exposing the hair lined down his lower belly before his hands just stop. Your eyes flick up to his at the clearing of his throat. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “No funny business. I promise,” you whine.

#aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #both of these will be written #and again ill probably post whatever i want regardless of results #but i need motivation

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bundoesnotcompete · 1 year ago

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Based off my previous SAGAU post about a hunted reader meeting the Tsaritsa. Multiple connected bite sized povs combined. Pov's are as follows: the creator's sibiling, the reader, Lumine. Implied violence

The Other Half

There was a new trailer that had come out for Genshin Impact. While they had to admit they were excited for it, it still hurt as they had played the game with their sibling constantly. Sighing they booted up their computer, getting ready to start streaming for their fans. As they got Set up, they watched their chat fill up with love, chat aware of the recent loss and giving the best encouragement they could. Preparing they turned on their Vtubing model and got to work.

"Hey! Hello! I see all my happy little chatters out there! Um, I know I haven't been streaming like usual after y'know everything." More words and hearts filled chat, they too were grieving the loss of their favorite streamer's sibiling. "I am ready to start playing Genshin again though. I know everyone has missed it and even though its not gonna be the same without them, i want everyone to know that i am still going to play it. So, how about we see that new trailer, yeah?"

Chat was going too fast to see much, but it didn't take a genius to know they were excited. Finding the trailer called Flowers For a Blooming Spirit, they began to watch in anticipation, unaware of what was happening in it was very real.

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It was snowing in Snezhnaya like it always. Thick snow covering a large castle that held two very important idividuals inside. The camera shifts, showing a woman with a white dress and thick cloak to match it. The woman sat on a throne facing towards someone who has their back to the camera. They both were talking but it seemed to be coming to end by the time the camera shows them. The camera shows the bottom of the womans but not the rest. She begins to speak.

"My Lamb, I know this is of great importance to you, but are you sure you want to do this alone?" The camera shows the other being from the neck down, showing that they are wearing and identical cloak to the woman's.

"I am fully aware of my current prediciment. I want to see Paimon and my other half. Don't worry old friend, I will try not to get into too much trouble." The Lamb's face is revealed to show a mask covering it. Though the shape and origin of it is unknown, it covers the whole face. The one known as The Lamb turns their heel, beginning to leave the room. The woman says one final thing before The Lamb leaves.

"Do be careful. You know i worry about you, My Divine Lamb."

New Story Arc: The Deluded Dreaming Of Gods

New Character: The Lamb - ???? - Abyssal

Event Wish Preview:

First Phase: Albedo - Xiao

Second Phase: The Lamb - Tartaglia

New Event: The Ludi Harpastum Festival

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The Lamb

Appreantly, when one is watched by the other twin creator, they are forced to follow a script. While it had little effect on you, Teyvat seemed try and restrict any mention of the relationship between the other twin and The Traveler. It also felt odd to be watched, you had thought it to be more like a cold chill but instead it was a warm blanket. You hoped you looked cool being watched even if it was something trivial like talking to The Tsaritsa.

It had only been a mere handful of years since the hunt for your head had happened, The Great Hunt as it was now called. Alot would be an understatement for what has happened between then and now. Between being an honorary harbinger and meeting Paimon, you had been busy trying to right things on Teyvat. As badly as most everyone had treated you when you first descended, you had grown fond of Teyvat and almost everyone in it. Well, except Celestia and the Twin Imposters.

Abyssal energy hummed in the back of your mind, demanding attention in your thoughts too. That was another thing, the abyss called to you and allowed you to use it. In fact, it was eager to do your bidding as long as you loved it in turn. The Abyss was not chained down by the seals covering your body, thus allowing you to use it in almost in its entirety. Of course that came with drawbacks, like a month power nap and Teyvat being displeased that you had forced parts of the two planes together. The Abyss and Teyvat were like cats in a way, you had thought. Being petty towards each other and getting jealous over who got attention from their parent, but working together in order to get everything functioning like it should. If only they could do it without overstimulating your mind with whispering at times.

"Little Lamb we are here. Oh, come on don't give me that look, you were the one who wanted to show up to the Ludi Harpastum festival knowing fully well we had work to do first." Pantalone's voice gently waded through the carriage. He was correct that there was work to do, but the wine was more important to you. Well, other than watching Venti shit himself at the fact that you were very much alive and seeing The Traveler. You were right outside the gates of Mondstat and Fatui soldiers and diplomats were waiting for you and Pantalone. Quietly groaning, you got out of the carriage and walked with Pantalone to the Goth Grand Hotel.

A few of the locals did not seem pleased with your and Pantalone's arrival, but kept it to themselves. The Knights of Favonius, however, were tenser than wooden boards. You tried to focus on something other than upcoming meeting and looking at the festival decorations could only do so much. God, you hoped Pantalone would do most the talking. After the horrendously awkward meeting between you and Furina last time, you could only hope that Pantalone would do the talking. You did not want a repeat of last time, especially now that you were likely to be watched by both your sibiling, the entirety of their chat, and the civilians of Monstat.

Walking into Goth Grand Hotel, you took a second to appreciate the interior because of was one beautiful building. Looking back, you were led into a large room were most all of the fatui stationed inside Mondstat were. Noticing that they were now in the presence of 2 high ranking officals, someone ordered the room to attention. You and Pantalone stood in front of the group.

"Now that's more like it. No more meddling about, hmm? First order of buisness, we are well aware of a few rats in this building so let us deal with that first." Pantalone's voice rang clearly throughout the large room. You knew you were about to feel guilty about not being able to save the poor sops were about to be taken off payroll. You knew Pantalone did not like mora wasted and those who have betrayed both the fatui and him were nothing but wastes of mora. Oh well, there wasn't much you could say now that would save their lives. Might as well try to think of a swift death for them that wasn't bloody.

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LUMINE

Lumine was trekking her way back to Mondstat for the Ludi Harpastum Festival. According to Paimon, the Festival was 15 days long and had just about everything you could imagine a festival having. While Lumine was excited, she couldn't shake the gut feeling that something was off about this festival. While Kaeya's letter was mostly about the festival, he made mention of Fatui Harbingers being there. In Lumine's experience, Harbingers often meant something big was about to happen. As she came atop the hill, she felt the warm presence come back to her. It had been gone for what felt like forever. Standing by the Statue of the Seven, Lumine took a moment to compose herself.

"Traveler! The Ludi Harpastum Festival is gonna start soon if we don't hurry up! Oh Paimon is so excited. Do you think they will have lots of food?" Paimon appeared beside her, high pitched voice rattling on about food.

Taking off towards Mondstat, Lumine made it to the gates just before the evening hours. However, the guards seemed to be about ready to turn to stone with how tense they were. "Hey is it just Paimon or does everyone seem really tense?" Paimon floated close to Lumine's ear, whisepering as she spoke. "Maybe Jean or Keaya will know something. Let's go ask them." Lumine nodded and headed to the Headquarters of the Knights Of Favonius. When she finally made it and asked a Stressed looking Jean, it appeared she was right, something was off.

"Oh, yes, they have every right to be stressed. With how many have already showed up to the festival and the arrival of two Fatui Harbingers every knight is stressed out. But, please, do not let that distract you from having fun at the festival." Jean had explained, rubbing her temples as she did so. It seemed her work never ended. The festival was already a stressful time of year for the knights and two harbingers showing uo only added to it. On top of that, the Harbinger called "The Lamb" was suspected to be one of the hands of the Tsraritsa herself. Any wrong doing could completely sour the already fragile relationship with the Fatui. She did not want risk a diplomatic incident with someone like that. Jean watched as Lumine nodded.

"I do not want to seem like i am overstepping or trying to ruin your time here, but if you wouldn't mind keeping an eye out for anything suspicious I would greatly appreicate it. Please, have a wonderful time first and foremost. Now, if you do not mind I have a meeting to prepare for. Go out and have fun and hopefully i will be able join you soon." Jean had shooed Lumine out of the office. Lumine smiled before nodding and leaving to join the festival activities. It was nearly evening afterall and she didn't want to miss even a single minute of activites with friends.

Unaware of the looming ghosts, Lumine went and enjoyed festivites and met with old friends. The Lamb prepared for an eventful next few days. Between haunting Venti for his crimes against them and preparing to meet Lumine, The Lamb had their plate full. Pantalone prepares to move his chess pieces in the most profitable direction that won't entirely spoil Fatui and Mondstat relations. All of them entangled in a web that The Lamb themselves partially created to expose the concept of Divine Creator to their sibiling.

(Arc: The Deluded Dreaming of Gods.) (BEGIN)

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A word from the author:

This was originally written to be multiple parts and way different then I thought. This was also a test of my strength when i comes to writing an actual semi connected short story thing. I was not satisfied with the original work so i remade it into this snippet. I would delete it, but i wish to keep it so into this little dumpster it goes.

I try not to make the Reader into too much of an OC but i find it difficult to not make it an OC insert sometimes when i write. Hopefully its not too much like an OC when read. The Ludi Harpastum Festival is an actual thing in Genshin. I am not making that up.

#genshin impact sagau #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau cult au #sagau

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