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splatashahowlett · 2 months

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logan howlett x reader (inspired by @keigohawks <3)

you've been a teacher at xavier's school for gifted youngsters for a decade now and you loved everything about it. the kids were wonderful, the place was amazing and the other teachers (that you were lucky enough to call your friends) were the sweetest people on earth. nothing was missing.

well, if you wanted to go into details: settling into a routine was pretty hard for you. you were used to going on adventures, meeting new people everyday, feeling the thrill of getting caught when you where somewhere you weren't supposed to be. so waking up everyday at 7, eating breakfast with ororo and jean, teaching your class all morning, eating lunch with ororo and jean, teaching your class all afternoon, eating dinner with ororo and jean and then going to sleep after showering was draining. again, you loved your life here and wouldn't trade it for anything, but you got used to it. and that was the worst thing that could have happened.

so when he came along, you saw the perfect opportunity. logan howlett was the new P.E teacher and to say that you two got along very well would be an understatement. you loved the dynamic between you two, you were constantly bickering over who the kids liked more (the obvious answer being you) or who could run the fastest considering you had a very similar mutation as his, you could also fight (read flirt) over who knew more about elvis presley biography.

the whole school was waiting for you to get together already. it wouldn't be that big of a deal anyway taking into account that you both already acted like a couple. you would go together at any type of meeting/social event. logan would stand very close to you without even noticing. you would always have each others back when one of the students complained about the other. charles would assign you two on missions together cause you were the only one who could handle him. even a blind lawyer could see the way you were looking at each other.

but of course, you would both deny it.

"logan is just a friend! nothing more!" you would say to jean

"there's nothing between y/n and I, well not in that way" he would say to rogue

and everybody would roll their eyes...

given you were an art teacher, the art studio was probably your favorite room in the mansion. and you loved to spend time with the people you cherished there. so on a sunday afternoon, you decided to bake some cookies, make some tea and paint with scott, ororo, hank and logan who would just watch everybody else (his stubbornness could be seen as a lifestyle at that point). charles and jean couldn't come but you promised to save cookies for both of them.

the afternoon was spent laughing and smiling, you would take quick looks at logan from time to time and your heart will stop when you'd realize he was already looking at you each time. the hours passed and everybody left, except logan who stayed to help you clean up the mess you made.

"you don't have to do that you know?" you smiled, touched by his kind gesture.

"it's the least I can do, you planned everything" he answered, washing brushes.

"you didn't even paint or ate anything" you retorted

"yeah, I was busy looking at you" he joked (flirted?). your cheeks blushed, shy and flattered. before you knew it you were scooping paint from a plate and throwing it on his back. you acted like a fucking teenage girl around him.

logan froze and slowly turned around, a smirk on his face. with the brushes still in his hand he walked toward you while you were stepping back, grinning from ear to ear, and rubbed the still full-of-paint brushes on your face, grabbing you by the waist so you couldn't escape. you laughed and reached for the glass of water you used to paint and threw it on his face. he gasped.

when he opened his eyes he looked at you intensely. logan grabbed a whole paint tube and threatened you with it. you ran on the other side of the room (so not too far away) and raised your arms before you as a shield. you were both moving in circles in the room, smilling and laughing like kids. it was your turn to grab a tube of paint. logan ran toward you and tackled you against the bookshelf. you squeezed the paint in his hair, knowing it would be impossible to get off (you would help him anyway).

"you little shit" he screeched, when he tried to step back, his feet slipped on some paint and he fell on his back, dragging you with him. you landed on top of him and immediately asked if he was fine, worried about his head hitting the ground.

"logan are you okay?" you gasped. he didn't answer.

"logan?"

"logan!" he didn't wake up. you were considering calling someone for help when he burst out laughing and squeezed his tube of paint right into your face. you screamed, both surprised and angry at him for messing with you. but only seconds after you laughed together, on the ground, covered in paint.

"thank you for helping me clean up" you joked, getting up. logan pulled you back to him.

"with great pleasure" he replied, your faces closer than ever. your hair were falling on his paint covered face. you thought he looked beautiful

"you look beautiful" the words didn't come from your mouth but his. you looked away, embarassed. "don't hide your pretty smile from me bub". so you looked at him lovingly.

"come on, I have to get the studio ready for tomorrow" you said, knowing you would need a great excuse for him to let you go. and he did, reluctantly.

you finished cleaning the studio (without any paint fight this time), while chatting, smiling and accidentally touching from time to time.

you were shuffling around in bed. after about an hour of fighting yourself into sleeping you gave up. you sat up, remembering the dr pepper you hid in a fridge of the back kitchen where none of the kids were allowed to go. no one knew of this secret of yours but you didn't feel guilty about it. the worst feeling is definitely feeling your mouth watering at the idea of a soda just for someone to steal it from you.

so you put on some pants and huried into the kitchen. you were met with logan seating at the kitchen isle, reading the newspaper. you walked past him without even giving him a second glance and went to your secret hideout. but you were meyt with pure horror. the last dr pepper was missing. your mouth opened and you audibly gasped.

you could hear logan asking if everything was okay and decided on going back to the kitchen, defeated. you sat down next to logan, sighing. he put his paper down and looked at you. you looked up and widened your eyes.

"where did you get that?" you looked at the dr pepper in his left hand, still full.

"in your secret hideout, why?" he acknowledged nonchalantly.

"how do you even know where my secret hideout is?" you furrowed your brows,

"you go there each time we're in the kitchen together" he chuckled and looked down at the glass bottle. you were also looking at it, pounting unconsciously. he slide it over to you with an amused look.

"no, keep it, I'm fine"

"you clearly aren't"

you smiled and stood to grab two glasses. you poured the soda in both glasses and gave one to logan.

"I don't usually share my dr pepper" you clarified.

"I know" he smiled and added after a moment of silence: "I don't usually let people in".

you grabbed his hand and stroke it with your thumb, a sign of gratitude, support, love?

he placed his other hand on the nape of your neck.

"I'd like to let you in just a little bit more, if that's alright with you" he whispered.

"I'd love to"

logan closed the space between you two, your lips meeting in a delicate kiss. none of it felt weird or strange, you were already used to intimacy with logan, even if it never went that far.

it felt familiar.

it felt right.

#logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #logan howlett fluff #wolverine x reader #xmen fanfiction

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five-and-dimes · 2 months

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Sunbeam

Part 1 of 4

Using the Dreaming Bingo Adoptable prompt: Cat Ears

Rating: M

Ship: Dreamling

Warnings: Past abuse (not explicit, just implied past warprize things)

Additional Tags: Cat!Dream, Cow!Hob, King/warprize, hurt/comfort

Summary: King of the cow Kingdom, Hob is given a cat person as a warprize, and he'd give him the very sun if he could. But perhaps some sunbeams will be good enough.

Read on AO3

It takes a village to make an au like this- It all started on our fav @gabessquishytum 's blog (specifically these posts), plus a lot of inspo from discord, and Hob's design based on the amazing art of @amielot. Thanks for feeding my obsession with this au, friends! 🤘

~~~

By the time Hob makes it back to his room, finally released from a dull morning council meeting, it is nearly afternoon. And Dream is kneeling on the floor.

It’s been a little over a week since King Hob was gifted the cat person now staying in his private chambers. When Dream had been presented to him, Hob remembers feeling a mix of emotions- rage and sorrow and confusion and offense. The bovine kingdom did not trade in people.

(Not anymore.)

He had wanted to refuse the ‘gift’ out of principle. But he had looked down at the wounded, far too thin creature in front of him and knew immediately that he could not let him go back with his captors. So he had accepted the offering with the minimal amount of politeness to not start a war. He had beckoned the cat to him, and learned that his name was Dream, and that he was too weak to make it up the stairs to Hob’s room. His body was withered and wasted, starved and neglected, even a short walk leaving him panting and shaking. Hob had waved the guards away and lifted him up into his own arms to carry him the rest of the way.

Dream had trembled against him, no matter how Hob tried to reassure him. Part of him still wonders if it was a mistake to bring the poor man into Hob’s own chambers, to lay him on his own soft bed when his fears were so obvious. But Hob could not bear the thought of leaving him alone and scared in some strange room in the palace. In truth, he wanted desperately to care for him himself. Some part of his heart had been given to the cat the moment Hob saw him, and he was determined to see him healed.

The first night was hard, and Dream continued shivering even as he drank from Hob’s chest, falling into a fitful sleep in Hob’s bed after being tugged away guiltily to ensure he didn’t make himself sick drinking too much too fast. In the days since, Hob has left him in his room as he went about his business throughout the day, returning to check on him and feed him, and always finding him in the exact spot on the bed where he left him. Until today.

It had been raining for much of the week, but today the sun was streaming through the open windows, the light falling vibrantly across the floor in the center of the bedroom. Dream was crouched at the edge of the thick rug placed beneath the bed, reaching one long arm out to dip just the very tips of his fingers into the light, his face full of equal parts longing and trepidation.

It is a look Hob remembers on his own face when he was a young calf, sneaking into his mother’s study and standing on the tips of his hooves to admire her golden collar and bell. He would tap it, giggling at the heavy chime, feeling mischievous as he imagined a day in the future when the beautiful adornment would be passed on to him. He also recalls getting caught, his mother admonishing him sternly yet fondly, and the way he never once felt fear of her.

He put his grimly little child’s hands all over literal gold, and he never felt anywhere near the blatant terror he sees now on Dream’s face at being caught reaching for a sunbeam.

“I apologize, my lord,” Dream scrambled frantically back onto the bed, folding his limbs to kneel and forcing his hands to release his robe, laying them in his lap meekly. It broke Hob’s heart every time, the way he so clearly wanted to hold the robe closed around his body and just as clearly expected it to be torn away from him.

He had been given to Hob naked.

The robe he wore now was meant for a calf, too short and too wide and still the best fit they could find for the cat until the tailors finished the custom robe they were working on. Dream had been near tears when he was presented with something to cover himself, bowing his head and offering anything and everything of himself in thanks. So grateful. All for a robe that didn’t even fit.

Hob approached the bed slowly, smiling gently even when he wanted to cry for the poor creature, “You’ve done nothing wrong, sweetheart.”

Dream shivered, keeping his gaze downcast, “I should not have moved without your permission, master.”

Hob flinched at the title. As king he was accustomed to being referred to as lord and sire and majesty- it was only appropriate, and he did expect to be given the respect due his station. But he was no one’s master.

Right now though, he had to choose his battles. “You are free to move about the room, Dream,” it was true that Dream clearly needed rest, but his heart ached to think of Dream sitting stiffly wherever Hob ‘put him’. He turned and gestured at the sunlit spot, “You may even move some of the pillows or blankets from the bed, should you wish to lay in the sun.”

Dream looks horrified at the very idea, ears pinned back in fear, “I would never, sire,” his voice nearly pleading for Hob to believe him, as though he is being tested.

Hob feels his own ears droop, before straightening with resolve. He keeps his motions clear, walking to the bed to gather an armful of pillows. Dream keeps his head down, but his eyes follow Hob’s movements as he begins arranging the pillows on the floor where the sunlight is hitting. He adds a few blankets to the pile too, until he has a little nest in the middle of the room, soft and sunlit.

Dream still hasn’t moved.

“Come here, Love,” Hob keeps his voice soft and soothing, but Dream still tenses when Hob scoops him up into his arms easily, so frighteningly light, “You must be hungry. Breakfast feels like ages ago.”

As much as Hob wishes he could sustain Dream with his milk alone, they had begun introducing some light foods- small morsels of fish, and select vegetables that the royal librarian deemed safe for cat people- into his breakfast and dinner. In between though, Hob fed him himself. Hob was used to being responsible for an entire kingdom, to making decisions that were far and long lasting and praying that he might make his country even a little bit better each day. And he was proud of his position, he would not trade it for anything. But there was something so special about being able to hold this one person in his arms and see the good he was doing.

It still took some encouragement. As he settles into the nest, leaning back against the pillows and facing the window so that Dream can sit in his lap in the direct sunlight, Dream is still tense and trembling. Hob shushes him gently, slipping his shirt over his head before placing one hand at the back of Dream’s head to guide him to his chest. He remembers how confused Dream had been the first night when Hob had fed him, opening his mouth wide like he might for a different part of Hob’s body, unsure of what was expected of him. He had allowed himself to be maneuvered without any resistance until Hob was finally able to get a few drops of milk onto his tongue. He had watched as Dream’s eyes had widened, pupils dilating as he licked his lips in something like disbelief.

After that it was a little easier. He is still nervous and hesitant, but Hob is able to press his mouth to his nipple and say, “Drink,” softly, more of a request than an order even if Dream does not yet recognize it as such. Hob shivers at the sensation as Dream begins to suckle, biting his lip to hold back a groan. He turns his gaze up to the ceiling, trying to distract himself from the sensation. Dream shifts in his lap and Hob has to mentally recite every trade detail he’d been given at his morning meeting in order to restrain himself from moving his hips.

The first night, Dream had looked so resigned when he finally noticed the hard prick in the lap he was sitting on. Hob had just pushed him back, not wanting him to throw up what was most likely the first substantial meal he’d had in who knows how long. He had looked so sorrowful, gazing longingly at Hob’s chest, and then he leaned back and gasped, Hob’s cock hard and hot against his hip.

He had seemed to wilt, any relaxation Hob had coaxed from feeding him vanished, and he spoke like he was reciting a script, “How shall I repay you, master?”

Hob had felt his blood run cold at the title, “There is nothing to repay, sweet one,” he promised, his smile more of a grimace. Dream had stared at him in blatant disbelief, and as much as Hob wanted to keep holding him, he knew his body’s response was not helping the situation. So he had moved Dream off his lap, tucked him under the bed covers to sleep off his meal, and then gone and taken a long bath to take care of the problem.

It is a routine he has kept ever since. Dream no longer asks what Hob wants in return, though he still looks at him expectantly, and Hob smiles and pets him and then excuses himself to the bath to spend as much time as he needs pleasuring himself. And if he spends that time imagining the soft pads of Dream’s hands, or his sandpaper tongue, or the few glimpses he’s gotten of Dream’s enticingly barbed cock, well, no one needs to know.

Glancing back down at the cat in his arms, Hob is drawn now to Dream’s ears. His own are soft, yes, but they are also thick and sturdy. Dream’s are so thin. Even with the blackness of his fur, the sun seems to shine through at the very tips, a soft glowing pink with little veins just barely visible. Almost without thinking, Hob moves the hand on the back of Dream’s head to lightly grip one ear between his fingers.

Unsurprisingly, Dream startles, a frightened chirp escaping him as he releases Hob’s teat.

“Shhh,” Hob soothes, nudging Dream back towards his nipple, “It’s alright, you can have some more.” He has to be careful not to let Dream make himself sick, he had been warned by the palace physician what to look out for, but they were nowhere near that point yet. Dream shyly begins suckling again, eyes glancing up at Hob through his eyelashes for approval. “Good boy,” Hob praises, and Dream’s eyes flutter shut, relaxing minutely.

In his hand, he runs his thumb across Dream’s ear. So soft, so delicate and paper thin. He feels a strange compulsion to put it in his mouth. Not to bite, like he did with his playmates growing up- Dream feels too frail for that sort of roughhousing, and Hob does not ever want to hurt him.

No, he wants to hold his silky ear in his mouth like a delicacy, wants to lick and suck at it as gently as Dream does to his teat until the gossamer fur is wet and warm from his tongue.

For now, he settles for simply rubbing the skin between his fingers, stroking the velvet softness in a feeble attempt to distract himself from his own lust. Eventually, too soon for his or Dream’s liking but in accordance with the doctor, Hob must gently push Dream away, his chest feeling emptier and yet still too full. All he wants is to feed Dream until he is fully sated. It hurts that, for now, he cannot.

Dream has become more accustomed to the routine, and so his whimper is nearly inaudible when leans back in Hob’s lap. Hob can feel the way his ears go from lax contentment to physically pressed down, tense and flat against his head. Or trying to be, at least, in the case of the ear still in Hob’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Hob coos, “I know you want more, just have to wait a couple hours, Love.”

“You have been more than generous, master,” Dream replied shakily, and Hob suddenly realizes that he does not want to run away to sequester himself in the baths.

At the moment, his body is not betraying him, at least not so much that his robes do not hide it. And so he shushes Dream again and turns him in his lap, easy as a doll, until they are both facing the window. He nestles Dream between his thighs, bracketing him between thick, warm fur and tugging him to lean back against the softness of his belly. He feels Dream’s breath hitch as he brings his free hand around to rest softly on the subtle swell of his stomach.

“Relax,” Hob whispered, one hand on his ear while the other rubbed his stomach soothingly, helping encourage his starved body to digest the meal it’s been given, “Just relax.”

As he strokes Dream’s trembling belly and pets his ear, Hob cannot help but tilt his face into the sun. He thinks perhaps he has taken this warmth and light for granted. How many times has he awoken and scowled at the light streaming across his bed? How often has he walked past these sunbeams, stepped across the warm fibers of his extravagant rug, and not even spared them a glance? Now, feeling his body warm- feeling Dream’s body warm- in the glowing light, he feels a pang of regret that he has not appreciated this simple pleasure before.

Well, he is appreciating it now. He smiles to himself as he feels Dream slowly relax under his ministrations, body melting back against him and sinking into Hob’s abundant, pillowy flesh. Hob thinks that if he could, he would keep Dream here, surrounded by his body, soft and warm, forever.

Maybe he can’t hold him forever, but he can hold him now. And maybe it is too soon to mouth at Dream’s silky ears and press his tongue to them like a salt lick, but he allows himself to press a fleeting kiss to the one in his hand.

Dream doesn’t flinch. And that is more than enough for now.

#the sanmdan #dreamling #my writing #cw lactation #cw warprize #warprize au #cat!Dream #cow!Hob #my art

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blueewu · 2 months

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Heya this is my first post on here. this is my contribution for a little "art trade" I made with a friend. It's based on a scene from the murder drones intermission fan animatic. I had an amazing time drawing it! I hope you enjoy it aswell c:

#murder drones #murder drones v #md v #glitch productions #murder drones fanart #fanart #digital painting #digital art #md #murder drones v fanart #murder drones intermission

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camilitamaellard · 6 months

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Art trade with @terrortalesv 💖🍭🥰✨

#regular show #artwork #art trade #LOVE YOU SYD #Amazing friends #regular show celia #regular show fives #high five ghost #HFG #regular show oc #ocs of my beloved friends #cyrus #regular show cyrus

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dinoclawsz · 20 days

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Good morning sunshine 😊☀️🌸✨

Part of an art trade w my super awesome friend zack..follow him on xitter NOW his work is amazing https://x.com/zackburgah?s=21

#akira nishikiyama #nishikiyama akira #nishikiyama akira fanart #kiryu kazuma #haruka sawamura #yakuza #yakuza fanart #rgg #ryu ga gotoku #rgg fanart #need to come up with a tag for my post-y1 nishiki stuff…i will think abt it

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weavewithshadow · 1 month

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I was needed... as I suspect you were needed.

Take moments of happiness where you find them. The world will take the rest.

I'd never seen Ameridan when I made Ithalia. Friends like @infernaldaydreams were amazing about keeping me unspoiled, for weeks.

I cried when I first saw him. And then again, when she gave me this.

(art trades are fun, y'all, everyone should do them with writing and fic and everything create-able, ever.)

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanart #dragon age oc #inquisitor #ameridan #inquisitor ameridan #inquisitor lavellan #lavellan #oc: ithalia lavellan

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mercymaker · 2 months

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i think we could live forever / in each other's faces 'cause i'll / always see my youth in you / and if we don't live forever / maybe one day, we'll trade places / darling, you will bury me / before i bury you...

i am so so so happy to show everyone this beautiful gift i've got from my amazing friend @euryalex 💖 i cannot even count the hours we spent talking about our baldur's gate 3 characters and how many songs we found relatable in halsey's 'if i can't have love, i want power' album (which was the inspiration for the drawing)! this beautiful piece of art was done by the incredibly talented @felrija (please, check out her art and commissions page!)

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanart #bg3 art #baldur's gate #bg3 tav #drow tav #drow #art #baldur's gate tav #drow art #drow oc #oc: maleane #oc: thoriel #thank you thank you thank you SO much em i owe you my life #and of course aleksandra for bringing this idea to life and doing such an amazing job at it!!!#i couldn't wait to see it on a big screen and i honestly can't stop staring #just look at lil baby thoriel!!!! look at her lil toy AAAAAAA

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gamesetart · 3 months

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ohhhhh idk something about both of them trying to get you back into their lives at once, behind each other’s back. for themselves, yeah, but as a gift to the other. They just need to figure out how to get their claws in you first!!

and when Tashi breaks through first— when she invites you out to a “business dinner” that ends with the two of you in the backseat of her fancy ass car and you’re on your knees taking care of her the way you used to— the way art didn’t know about <3 messy and slick and her hand is in your hair and she’s telling you what a good job you’re doing, that she needed this, needing you.

But she’s Married. And you think about Art and feel that sad ache in your chest, like a missing part of you. You’ve always had a soft spot for him, of course you did. He was a good boyfriend, until the end when he started getting distant. You couldn’t hurt him the way you currently were. With Tashi’s taste on your mouth and her looking at you like you’re some magical missing piece that can fix her life.

So you’re the first to leave. Tell her it’s a mistake and you Can’t do it. You think about texting Art, but he texts you first. “Can I see you?” And you think he knows, that you’re going to have to explain and apologize. Then you get a second text from him. “I just miss you.”

And you’re sitting there thinking about how fucked up their marriage is.

Okay byeeeee

being possibly The Only Person privvy to how absolutely fucked up the donaldson marriage has to be the best and worst position on earth.

because you didn't, nay, couldn't imagine tashi had ulterior motives when she invited you to dinner. how could you? you've seen their press conferences. hell, you were invited to their wedding. (a shitshow for another day). they have a beautiful marriage and a beautiful daughter and a beautiful life.

still, you've never been able to feel totally... secure around tashi. so you shave every inch of yourself. you polish your skin in the shower until you glitter. you do your hair just the right way, perfect around your face. you put on your favorite dress, a gorgeous little black number that laces up the back and shows off perfect, tennis player legs. you remember the way you were - just before art, when it was just you and tashi, and you spent ages together under covers, trading kisses, tangling limbs.

(there wasn't ever an overlap, but you always did feel a little guilty never telling art you and tashi used to hook up. probably it would have fucked with his head. or he would have cum his pants.)

so you're astonished when you end up in that backseat. tashi tastes so familiar, and it feels so right to be back like this, doing the one thing you knew you did best: please her. she might have been the better tennis player, but you'll be damned if you aren't the best lay she's ever had. and for a moment, it's nothing but perfect as she looks down at you, ankles braced on the front seats, smiling coyly. telling you how much she's missed you, how much she's "missed this, baby, you're doing so good for me, that's it, that's it, fuck, just like that--" and it's amazing how well you still remember exactly what to do with your tongue, exactly how to drag her orgasms from her sweet, sweet cunt.

you leave, hop out of her car and take yourself home. you tell her this can't happen again, and maybe its best if you avoid each other at events for the near future. tashi doesn't expect that to hurt, but she also didn't expect you to be able to turn her down like that. you never did before. oh, my darling, she thinks, you've grown. tashi loves to get what she wants, and she will. but shes a little bit pleased you're so assertive now. it'll be that much sweeter when she finally does land you.

it'd kill art to hear it from you. a betrayal of the worst kinds, to the boy you dated all those years ago and the man you're still a decent friend with - the one who greets you with a hug at every social event, the one who danced with you at your first olympics event, when you hovered awkwardly at the edge of the dance floor. the one who texts you updates about his life and meets you for brunch if you're both in town. the friendship with art is distant, and you rarely meet in person, but it's there. you're bound together by that year at stanford. by the loss of your virginity on your ballet-slipper pink dorm room bedsheets. by the locket with his face in it he gave you for your six months. by the leather bracelet you wrapped around his wrist. by every kiss, every hand held, every sweet nothing in the middle of the night. and every bit of purely platonic friendship after.

but you should tell him. bear the brunt of his hurt. you deserve it, you tell yourself. and you're going to, too, you draft the text in your notes app and everything. prepare yourself, the next day, to send it but you don't need to.

art 🌻 3:23 pm

can i see you?

your heart falls into the floor and you think, oh, god, he knows, he knows and i didn't tell him and its all my fault and he knows--

but then the second message comes in. after a minute or two, like he was debating sending it.

i just miss you.

and you realise for all their publicity, for all the game changers posters and the matching public smiles, the donaldsons are one fucked up couple.

#cat ur brain #the vibes are matched and immaculate #art donaldson #tashi duncan #catchat!#innercircles #stanford exes!au #working name tbh #kit.writes

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