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fayes-fics · 1 year

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Happy Birthday, Mr Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict's wife gives him the best possible birthday gift.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, masturbation, vaginal sex, massage, pregnancy.

Word Count: 3.0k

Author's Note: A more romantic fic than my usual. The sweet, soulful artist deserves to be loved and cherished. Enjoy <3

It’s midnight, and a birthday has just begun.

You pad through the house to Benedict’s studio. He is perched on a stool, busy sketching. He often works late into the night when the muse takes him. You pause in the open doorway to watch him work. Admiring his skills as he feathers his charcoal across the page. Admiring him, the movements of his artistic hands, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his braces hanging loose around his hips.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you call softly as you close the door.

“Thank you, my lo…” his answer dies on his lips as he turns and sees you.

Speechless is a good start.

Your skin feels aglow as you bask in his attention, sauntering towards him. His eyes track your every movement. His hand is still suspended in midair, charcoal in hand.

Your gown is totally sheer, the colour of your flesh, its only adornment being tiny starbursts of silver sequins that glitter in the candlelight. You feel beautiful in it, like a walking shimmering fireworks display. With a few layers of chemises, this would be a stunning ball gown; without them, it’s a scandalous sight. Everything is visible through the translucent tulle layers. And you wear absolutely nothing underneath except a dab or two of his favourite perfume.

He still hasn’t said anything, but he is breathing slightly heavily as you draw up to him, his eyes raking up and down your body. You pluck the charcoal between his fingers and place it down on his easel.

“I am the luckiest man in the world,” he exhales quietly, finally finding his voice.

Warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile fondly at his compliment, stepping between his slightly bended knees; one of his feet looped onto the stool, the other kicked out towards the easel. You set aside a little glass vial you came in holding.

“Wh…” he begins, but you hush him with a soft finger to his lips.

“Shh, you don’t need to speak tonight, my love,” you murmur, running your hands into his hair, “just feel.”

His eyes soften and give silent acceptance, and his body relaxes a notch. Even though he finds solace in his art, he’s had a long few days; you want to soothe him and bring him peace.

His soulful blue eyes watch your expressions as your fingertips trail across his cheekbones, curling inwards to brush the back of your fingers down his jawline to his chin, mapping the structure of his face. There are libraries worth of literature extolling female beauty, but you’ve found precious few pieces that capture the truth of male beauty such as his. Your thumb traces gently over his lips, and you ghost a smile as he busses gently against your digit.

You move your hands to outline the shell of his ears, passing his earlobes between your fingers, sweeping down to cup his neck, pressingly on the tension points you feel corded there. He exhales deeply, leaning into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Tonight it’s all about making him feel special, not just because it’s his birthday, but because he spends so much of his time catering to the needs of others, most of all yours, and he deserves to be indulged.

Splaying your fingers upwards around the back of his head, you enjoy running them into his thick hair. He hums contentedly as you massage lightly. Then his breath hitches as you scrape your nails lightly across his scalp, the skin around his open shirt collar erupting into goosebumps. Oh, the responsiveness is so enchanting.

You lean forward and kiss his lips softly, just a brief touch. His eyes fly open, and he chases your lips as you pull away. He pleads with the most mournful expression, so you relent and press your lips to his again. His hands curl around your shoulders, their sizeable warmth at once both centring and sending you soaring. He kisses back slowly, opening his lips slightly, his tongue requesting permission to yours. Hands still in his hair, you pull closer, deepening the kiss. His arms now slide around your back to hold you close. It’s luscious and languid. Shared breaths and gentle flirtation.

You reach down and tug his shirt up. He assists your efforts, removing his arms from around you and pulling the garment up and over his head. You catalogue the sculpted plains of his arms, chest, and stomach. He is watching your face with a crooked smile; he knows all the telltale signs of your desire. Your tongue feels thick, wanting to run over every inch. For later, you tell yourself.

His brow knits in puzzlement as you circle him, coming to a halt behind him instead. You kiss the back of his neck, running your nose up into his hair, where his natural scent is most potent. On instinct, it draws you closer; your hands curl around his biceps as you press your upper body against him. The rasp of your tulle dress against his shoulder blades hitches his breath and yours, the friction causing your nipples to pebble heavily. Knowing he can feel it too—a little tease of what else will come later.

He is listening intently as you reach for the small glass vial you came in with, opening it and pouring a little oil into your palm. Usually, by now, he would be asking what you're doing, using the velvety tone that makes your body sing. Tonight he is quiet, but one look into his eyes would say everything his lips are not.

Notes of orange and bergamot swirl into the air as you massage the oil into your hands, warming it. His inhale is a sign he recognises the scent from the hours of pleasure in your bedroom. Usually, it is him massaging your body into a blissful state before slipping his fingers inside you, making you come over and over. More derailing thoughts you need to put aside.

You begin by running the flanks of your hands firmly down either side of his spine, all the way from his neck to his waist. His moan is one of relief, not desire, but your body reacts regardless; the sudden want to be filled by him is visceral. Your lips tingle to kiss him again, but you resist the urge, focussing on bringing him serenity.

Feeling the tension easing under your fingers as you work on the knots around his neck is a mutual reward. His breath is deep and even; he shifts to place both feet flat on the floor. You spend many minutes mapping the stress points in his back and kneading the flesh until it relents into a relaxed state. His hums and sighs act as the guide for your progress. You circle back to his front when it seems he is entirely free from any strain.

“Does that feel better, my love?” You know the answer, but asking gives you a moment to indulge your heart, appreciating the blissful look on his face as he nods contentedly.

He pulls you in for another kiss and gently bites your lower lip. The room grows a few degrees warmer, a sparking feeling notching up your spine, radiating out across your skin.

You run your hands heavily up his thighs, admiring the latent power you feel underneath the material, him watching your movements. Your hands reach his hips and pause, waiting for his gaze to meet yours. Then you start unbuttoning; you know he’s not wearing anything underneath today; he often doesn’t when you are home. It’s gratifying to watch his pupils dilate as you twist your mouth into a playful pout with each button relenting.

As you reach the last button, you grin broadly, grab his hand instead, and pull him bodily across the room towards the emerald green chaise. The one you have posed on countless times for him. He trails behind you with a carefree laugh, holding up his britches with his free hand.

“No need for modesty Mr Bridgerton” you tease as you pull him to a stop next to the chaise. He raises an eyebrow and lifts his hand, his britches falling to a heap on the floor. Your gaze descends to his cock, standing proud. So familiar to you now, but every time as tantalising and thrilling as the first time he showed you his body.

“Why do you ever wear clothes?” you think wistfully. Your cheeks flush as his lopsided smile tells you you have voiced your thoughts.

“If the lady wishes, I never will again in this house”, he whispers seductively. “But only if you only ever wear this dress” His fingers trace the neckline of your gown with feather-soft touches. “Or nothing at all.” His lips find the spot just below your earlobe that makes you shiver.

“This evening is supposed to be about me seducing you, birthday boy,” you admonish affectionately, pulling your neck away reluctantly, “not the other way around.”

“By all means, Mrs Bridgerton, please continue,” using that voice he knows makes your knees weak.

“Lay down,” you whisper.

He relaxes back on the chaise, one arm tucked behind his head, with an easy smile, an innate confidence in his nudity. You wish you had his skills to capture this moment on a canvas. You take your time surveying the sight before you, shameless almost in your ogling. Ladies of good breeding are not supposed to be so lascivious, but you can’t help it when it comes to your husband. He is gorgeous to you. And, based on how heads turn when he walks into a room, you are not alone in that sentiment. Not for the first time; you consider yourself very lucky he returned your feelings.

“Penny, for your thoughts, my love,” his arm reaching for you, his fingers gently circling your wrist.

“I was just thinking I am the luckiest woman in the world,” you reply truthfully, echoing his sentiment when you walked in earlier, leaning down to kiss the hand that holds your wrist.

His smile turns almost shy, and he averts his eyes, long eyelashes fluttering as a slight blush colours his cheeks. It makes your heart melt and your pussy clench simultaneously. How he can do that astounds you. You want to wrap him in the tightest, sweetest hug but also fuck him so hard your teeth rattle. What a beautiful contradiction.

“I had all these plans,” you sigh, “but I find myself impatient for you, my love.”

“Tell me about them,” he requests, looking back up at you, his lips tugging into a playful, beautiful crooked grin.

“I planned to tease you for ages, kiss every inch of your skin from your ankles to your hair,” you reply, your gaze tracking up his body again, fingers itching to trail over his contours.

“Sounds lovely,” his voice teasing.

“Mmmm, but,” you hitch up your dress and straddle him, settling your hips on his waist, your dress fanning out over him, your fingers tracing the constellation of freckles on his breastbone, “you are too tempting, Mr Bridgerton, and I find I just want you inside me.”

“That sounds even better,” he admits, his voice rough as he grabs your knee and runs a hand up your thigh under the gauzy layers. His questing fingers slide between your legs, and you moan as he expertly flexes them against you.

You grab his forearm. “No, my darling, it’s you who gets the pleasure tonight,” you counter, gently shaking your head and pulling his hand away.

“But I want to watch you. I love your face when I do this to you,” Benedict pleads, his eyes so beseeching.

“Then allow me,” you offer with a raised eyebrow.

Gathering your dress slightly, you slide your fingers between your legs, loving the wetness you find there, all for him. You moan gently, holding his gaze as your fingers move. His grip on your thigh tightens; you intuit what he is asking for and speed up your ministrations. You bite your lip and groan loudly, not daring to break eye contact. His other hand behind his head moves to grip your other thigh; his Adam's apple bobs visibly as he swallows, and his chest rises and falls more visibly.

“I need you,” his voice breathy and low, “please…”

Your fingers slip from your body and reach behind to grab him, and he groans as you give him a few gentle pumps with your hand before shuffling backwards to line him up with your body. Watching many expressions flit across his face, revelling in his breathy anticipation, you allow his tip inside. His moan is like poetry, and you sink fractionally lower, loving how it feels when he invades your body—the insistent stretch and heat. You roll your hips, eager to envelop him but also to maintain a slow tease. He looks at you pleadingly.

“What do you need, my beautiful birthday boy?” you ask softly.

“Please, my love, take all of me; I need you,” his voice sounds so needy it makes your chest flutter.

You smile as his eyes burn into yours, then sink down, gasping at the hot, plunging invasion pulling you so taunt. The lustful noise he emits makes you pulse around him, which in turn makes him call out your name, a wanton call and response that has you grabbing his hands and placing them on your breasts. The tulle of your dress scrunches against your nipple, sequins catching against your sensitive skin and between his fingers. He slips his hand inside the neckline and grabs your naked flesh as you press into his touch and start to rock gently.

Usually, you talk to each other when you make love, whispering debauched thoughts or just communicating how you feel. But tonight, you enjoy a silent, almost psychic connection, something more sensual and decadent, staring into each other's eyes, saying everything without words. Your movements are fluid but slow and deliberate, savouring the intoxicating feel of him sliding within you.

He lifts your left hand from his body and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips over the wedding ring you wear proudly. You mirror his actions, taking his left hand, but instead plunge his wedding ring finger into your mouth, sucking it gently, the metal of his ring knocking against your teeth as you rise and fall. Hoping to convey through your actions the depth of emotion and passion you feel for this man.

He groans and drives his hips upwards, sliding even deeper, catching against the top of your channel, your toes flexing at the pleasure that causes. You call his name, releasing his hand, your nails scratching over his abs. Something more carnal, taking you both somewhere frantic.

You surge up and down, chasing all the sensations, his hands running down your back, warm through the layers of your dress, grasping your hips and pulling your down harder into him as your fingernails drag against the ripples of his abdomen muscles. Over and over until your thighs burn, and still, you don't ever want to stop, revelling in the feeling you get every time he nudges that place inside you that makes all the exertion worth it.

You see in his eyes as he is approaching his peak, the desperation for you to join him, making you reach under your dress and touch yourself, him hissing encouragements as you do so. His voice rockets you to the edge, the sonorous rumbling through his body that sweeps you over to a place that is a kaleidoscope of bliss; breath stolen, body tensing and releasing, firing a euphoria in every fibre from your scalp to your toes. Distantly, you can hear him climaxing, his fingers a vice-like grip as his groan turns guttural, and he holds you down fiercely. All his muscles tense in rigid relief as he comes hard. He looks so beautiful in this moment, biting his lip and screwing his eyes shut, that you collapse onto him and kiss his jaw, even biting gently in a way that makes him more vocal and his grip stronger.

Then as the intensity of the moment passes, all is serene as you recover together, breaths evening out, hands laced together. These quiet moments after the passionate storm feel the most intimate—the languid caresses, soft kisses and whispered words.

“Thank you for the most wonderful birthday gift,” he sighs, sated, as you lay atop him, your head on his shoulder, drawing idle shapes on his pectoral muscle with the tips of your fingers.

“A massage and making love are not your gift, my love,” you refute quietly, twisting your head to look up into his inquisitive eyes. “You deserve those and so much more. No, your gift is something else entirely. There is a reason I dressed like this, to look like the nicest gift wrapping that I possibly could,” you explain and sit up, straddling him again.

“I will always think of you as the best gift in my life,” he chuckles happily.

“Not me, Benedict.” You grab his hand and place it on your dress, just below your belly button.

“There is a gift in here for you, my love. It will probably take another, hmm, seven months, but I think it will be the greatest gift you, and indeed I, could ever receive. A beautiful gift we made together.”

His breath catches, and his mouth opens a fraction in surprise; his eyes suddenly go glassy and soft with emotion.

“Are you with child, my love?” he murmurs excitedly.

“I believe I am Mr Bridgerton. Or should I say papa?” you smile indulgently. Suddenly he is sitting up and pulling you into an embrace with his other arm, his lips finding yours.

“This is the best gift ever,” he grins, his eyes damp, his hand cradling your still-flat belly as if it is the most precious thing in the world.

“Happy birthday, Mr Bridgerton,” you beam as you place your hand over his, “from both of us.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!

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1-800-deactivatednearu · 9 months

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woag character design notes

[i.d.: a drawn line up of the half life vr ai characters, from left to right, gordon, dr. coomer, tommy, bubby, gman, and benrey. /end i.d.]

yeah i skipped some guys , i dont draw some of them enough to have much unique designs and some of them are a png of a dog

trust me i am just surprised as the rest of yall that i am doing hlvrai art . design notes below (very long, mind your step)

gordon:

wow this guy dont got no head

i didnt want to give gordon a face because of how unexact the person is as the fandom engages with it. is it wayne rtvs? (well as presented to an audience, yes) is it gordon freeman? (well as seen from an in game perspective, yes) is it a whole new guy entirely? (well as

i cut the confusion and took it a whole new direction: guillotine

hlvrai being treated as a very broken game is fun to me as a design perspective, so if you (the audience) are not supposed to see his face, what happens when you see it anyways? missing texture time

there are eyes drawn over because i did not have confidence in my expressions at first and then it grew on me

i think if i were to draw (and i have drawn) an actual person under the mask i would still censor the eyes because that is where the vr headset sits!!

(i do not like putting an actual flesh to gordon though)

though i really like seeing how other people interpret gordon hlvrai it is not . my gordon ? we are talking about the same guy . but this is my gordo . i made this one . this guy my guy . maybe i should draw other gordon designs

i can draw the hev suit from memory and it is also the entire reason why i can render metal confidently

i liked how people changed the lambda to read ai :] i also have no clue if i wrote the lambda correctly

(i did, i just checked)

dr coomer:

as much as i draw/drew him i find it more fun to not stick to one set design :)

so a lot of my takes on dr coomer tend to jump from idea to idea, especially from what other people are doing, though they could be fitted to the left and right designs!

the left design is mainly based off what i saw in fandom spaces

we see rounder shapes, making for a more friendly and welcoming appearance

i think of this as straying from the more professional uniform of the actual scientist models

enter swimming shorts and bright yellow socks, for some reason

so now he kind of looks like a cool science teacher :)

it might be the lab coat

the right design is mainly based off thumbnails for hlvrai itself

these use a more angular appearance

i want to push how comically buff he is because of strength he shows at times, especially since his left design seems to completely down play it as a comically not buff man who is still very strong

the shadows on right design coomer get so much more harsh and exaggerated because i have comic books on the mind :)

he really does look like a dehydrated comic book character huh

tommy:

stick bug (he gets it from his dad) (this thought process is explained at gman section)

i pushed a lot of the saturation of colours in her design because i think tommy gets to be a little silly with it

fun art story of the day! when you color, try messing with hue! you might notice you can get away with a lot as long as your values are about right

i like pushing this with white because you can get away with a lot of things reading as “off white”

old faithful for me is cool shadows with a warm transition colour to keep things visually interesting

i keep making white objects the trans flag

happy pride

tommys design looks a little like a school boy, with the tucked in button up shirt+suspenders+shorts+jacket tied around the waist . and the primary colours . but like it is really fun to dress up so brightly

i actually was strongly inspired by medieval babies if that is a weird descriptor? i wanted him to both be a middle aged man but also a young adult

do not be like tommy, who has their finger on the trigger of the gun while not even looking at where it is pointing and good god he is squeezing the trigger . top ten firearm safety of all time

bubby:

the absurd part is that i think bubby is tall . he is just between tommy and gman who are exaggeratedly lanky .

i wanted to make bubby a pointy kinda guy, so he is the only one actually wearing the lab coat proper . and the only one actually wearing dress socks but not even wearing dress shoes

i wanted to give him a novelty tie but i was running low on ideas and running high on boreds so we dont get a tie

he does have crocs though!! in attack mode!!

i do think we all kind of saw his model and collectively decided it works for him because i have honestly not seen major divergences from his model?

gman:

stick bug

i wanted to stress the more spooky and unknowable nature of him and took it in the dark souls direction of “make bigger than player character”

maked too bigger

he cannot walk through any doorways but you will have to crane your neck to look up at him

in the opposite direction of tommy, i pulled a lot of the saturation in gmans design

it feels important to make them both not fully match the rest of the slightly less broken npcs because there was so much work to make them look cool so i have to respect that

actually a lot of gmans and tommys designs are made in opposite to one another

gman has a largely stationary face and very stiff line work

while tommy is pushed to expressive as possible

thats pretty fun, way to go me

benrey:

benrey also has two designs

and in both of these i keep getting too lazy to use a reference so the vests are super plain (forgetting the badge and black mesa logo) . i think the helmet is supposed to be darker actually .

the design ethos of benrey was “built like a brick shithouse”

a friend of mine took this cooler and interpreted it as a shield/wall/barrier as a physical (and narrative) obstacle

again the first uses fandom designs

most notably the overcast shadow (seen in video thumbnails but i never noticed it or understood why so many people did it until someone pointed it out to me)

i think hlvrai is such a great medium because it acknowledges it is a game and is able to play into that to great effect! i think the shadow is fun to imagine as solid black as a small reminder of the impossibility of the space :]

benrey is a smug cat in the body of a human . to be honest . and this is the full range of emotion i have ever drawn him with

the second was mostly because as fun as taking creative liberties are, i just really wanted to see benrey as is: the half life security guard model in all its slight wonk :]

i actually do prefer this design . it is a little more uncanny because i choose the worst translations of the model . i like it because it is a little more uncanny !

that can be said for like . every single design in this line up huh .

#hlvrai #my art #gordon feetman #dr coomer #tommy coolatta #dr bubby #gman coolatta #benrey #half life vr but the ai is self aware

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astral--horrorshow · 11 months

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Around-The-Clock Shadows

Platonic Yandere ROTTMNT x Reader

Info: This will be a full-length fic including multiple ROTTMNT characters, the main storyline revolves around the Mad Dogs.

Fic Summary: You sure are likeable, aren't you?

Chapter 1: Preparations and Purple Dragons

Characters: Kendra, Jase, Jeremy, Donatello, Raphael, Michaelangelo, Leonardo

A/N: Kicking off the first day of my summer break with a fic! I've been working on this for a while now, so I hope you like it! Apologies for the short length and any bad writing! I was very inspired by @yanteetle , @pianocat939 , @yanyanderes , and @yandere-toons ! (edit: @oleander-nin too!!)

If you want to be added to a taglist, just say the word! If you want to draw fanart or make anything based off of this, I would be literally honored. Please don't be shy, I will love whatever you make! If you have any questions about the fic, feel free to ask!

TW: Kidnapping plans, toxic relationships, stalking, Jase gets kicked in the shin (spoiler: it's Kendra), attempted(?) peer pressure, Leo and Donnie are creepers.

I do not condone any of the behaviors found or done in this fic. This story is purely for entertainment purposes. If you or someone you know is being treated like this, please contact the authorities.

Please Reblog writer's work!

Chapter Summary: You hang out with the Purple Dragons, and the Hamato brothers prepare for your arrival.

Word Count: 1166

☆~☆~☆

Kendra had her hand on the back of your neck, leading you further into the Purple Dragon's closed-off corner of the computer lab.

"And this is the Dragon's Tooth," she said as she pointed to a large, circular table with a small, green device suspended in a glass tube.

"Oooo!" You leaned towards it in curiosity, careful to not get too close to the lasers, "What does it do?" Before Kendra could answer you, Jase rushed over and started to explain with a speedy voice, "The Dragon's Tooth is a military-grade piece of technology that- ow!"

Kendra had kicked him in the shin. Hard. From what you had known about her, she didn't like to be interuppted.

"Shut up, Jase," Kendra snapped.

Jase kneeled on the ground on one leg, rubbing the kicked one with a grimace on his angular face. You reached out to him, but Kendra casually pulled you by the collar of your shirt next to her, placing her hand on the back of the neck you craned to see if Jase was okay and pushed you along yet again.

Your watch suddenly let out a long, piercing beep, which caused your gaze to turn to the plastic screen.

"Oh, I need to get home!" You exclaimed, rushing from Kendra to grab your bag.

"Awh, c'mon, can't you stay a little longer?" Jeremy strolled towards you along with the rest of the Purple Dragons. You were, quite literally, cornered by them, but you still persisted in your quest to return home.

"But I really gotta leave! I'll see you tommorow!" You rushed out, waving to the students strung up by their knickers outside their tech cubbyhole. The Purple Dragons didn't pursue, looking at the silent, red device on the collar of shirt in a cocktails of smugness and satisfaction (mostly from Kendra) and slight guilt of invading your privacy (mostly Jase).

You rushed to the bike racks as soon as you came out of the double doors of the High School. Going to unlock your bike, you spotted a figure in purple slink down an alleyway.

You pulled up to your residence, locking your bike and unlocking the door to your home. Taking off your shoes, and setting your bag down on your bed, you flopped down onto the carpet, feeling the rough material rubbing against your cheek. Despite it grating against your face, you found a sense of comfort in the act. You turned towards your bed, focusing on the underside. Stuck to one of the nails of the supports, was a bright orange piece of cloth. You reached out your arm, grabbing the fabric between your fingers. It was a bit worn, but perfectly clean otherwise. How odd, you didn't remember having any clothes like that.

☆~☆~☆

You opened the freezer door, shivering at the blast of cold air hitting your face. You grabbed the ice cream container as fast you could, and gingerly closed the freezer as to not wake up your family. As you sucked the spoon free of the frozen treat, you gazed at the moonlight filtering through your kitchen. There were a few clouds, but otherwise it was clear. You couldn't see the stars, though. Not in New York City, where lights and air pollution thrive. Putting the ice cream back, (you couldn't eat so much to the point where it would be noticeable) you pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders and tiptoed back to your bedroom. You buried yourself under the warm covers, a welcome respite from the cold, and closed your eyes, unaware of the being outside your window.

Leonardo chuckled to himself, and propped his elbows up on the windowstill. He watched you cutely snuggle your pillow, your cheek squishing against it. The only thing he wanted was to pinch and squish them 'till they got numb, but bringing you home sooner than planned would make the rest of your new brothers irritated at him. You fell asleep almost immediately, you must've been so tired, poor baby. He pulled out his phone, and dialed a number.

"Hey, Don- what? Yeah, I know it's late. Don't shout at me right now. Yeah, add ice cream to the list."

☆~☆~☆

Mikey skipped into the room, holding a pair of slippers in his hand. He set them down near the bed just as Donatello finished spreading a thick, fluffy blanket on it.

"Ah, thank you, Michael," Donnie spoke upon seeing Mikey with the slippers.

"Anything for them!" Mikey squealed, obviously shaking with excitement.

"Hey, party people," Leo casually called out as he strolled into the room, holding his ōdachi over his shoulders like they were regular sticks instead of mystical, deadly weapons. Upon the red-earned sliders entrance, Donnie turned and glared.

"Leo, I don't see why you had to call me at exactly 2:38 AM last night. It could've waited until morning."

"What?" Leo pulled his hand to his chest in mock indignation, "And not complete the list? I swear, it's like you don't even want them to be happy here!"

"Of course I do!"

Before their squabble could turn into a full-on argument, Raph burst in the room with a number of plushies of different shapes, sizes, and colors in his arms, which he started to arrange on the bed. Donnie sauntered away from Leo to help Raph in an attempt to keep his temper under control, and Mikey arranged things around the room. Leo slumped his shoulders, made a portal with a single slash of his ōdachi, and fell backwards into it.

☆~☆~☆

Donatello typed on his keyboard, occasionally turning his gaze to the other screens, which had a plethora of security cameras, locations of trackers, and information displayed on them. "Occasionally" being every few seconds. Eventually, he gave up on his coding and leaned back to soak up all the information on you and blue light the multiple moniters could give him. He was the number one expert on you, which he had to be if you were going to be happy in the Lair. He was also going to be your older brother soon, which meant he had to make up for all the missing years. You didn't know how much you needed them all, but you would soon. Very, very soon. A ping from his phone pulled him from his obsessive thoughts. He had sent S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N to guard you throughout the day when he or his brothers couldn't do it themselves. His eyes widened to saucers when he saw the feed from his creation.

You, standing there. With the Purple Dragons. Talking to you. Touching you. The Purple Dragons. You, oblivious to their danger.

Donnie leapt up from his chair and sprinted toward the door, racing through the halls. He wouldn't let that horrible, deceiving, Kendra and her flunkies take advantage of you. Over his dead body.

"I'll be there very soon," he thought, "Wait for me just a little longer.

I'll save you."

☆~☆~☆

A/N: *chuckles* you're in danger.

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c0stass · 6 months

Text

Right now, you're feeling helpless...

Content warning: bondage/dominance, rough sex, aftercare, sadism, masochism, teasing, cussing, dirty talk, pain, nsfw, 18+, mark hoffman x reader, p in v penetration, possible cnc??? Literally just straight up porn w little context bc i can't write anything else lmao.

It is currently Friday night. You're alone on your bed, waiting on your partner to get home. Working late again, investigating the latest Jigsaw murder. He has to pretend he isn't the one who set it up, and its getting more difficult for him to fly under the radar. You'd peeked in his drawer earlier in the day, the drawings of it made you feel some type of way. There was something about how the person was suspended that made you feel hot.

All you are wearing is a thin tank top and some black underwear. You laid back on the bed, closing your eyes as your fingertips grazed your nipples.

Mark hated it when you did stuff without him there, but you figured he wouldn't be home for another hour or two. You are too excited for him right now to wait. He hates it, but you love it because he would always be so rough with you. And he was so good at it.

Lifting your tank top with one hand, your other hand moved down your body and rested between your legs. You've just barely started to think about him, but you're already getting so wet.

You pull your panties off and drop them on the floor next to you. Then your tank top. Closing your eyes and moaning softly, yearning for him to pound you as you slide your fingers in between your soaking wet lips. You didn't even hear him come in or notice him standing at the foot of the bed, watching.

"What the hell is this?" He asks.

Your eyes snap open and you gasp, quickly pulling your hand away from between your legs.

"Mark! I-"

"You couldnt wait for me to get home, could you?"

His shoes, jacket, and tie were already off, and he's working on unbuttoning his shirt.

"I wasn't expecting you for a couple more hours, and I just couldn't wait!" You stammered as he quickly finished getting undressed.

Like lightning he climbs on top of you, pinning you down. He was already rock hard and throbbing right against your sensitive clit.

"I don't care, you wait for me," he said, shoving his thick cock deep inside you. You cry out in pleasure.

His hands are wrapped around your wrists tightly, holding them on either side of your head. His knees holding your thighs down. You are sure to have bruises later, but you dont care. His hips are resting against yours, and he is deep inside you. But not moving at all, chucking as you struggle against him and whine, desperate for just a little friction. He just smiles down at you, absolutely loving seeing you like this. As he bends down pushing his bare chest against yours, he growls in your ear

"Right now, you're feeling helpless."

Every one of your nerve endings is hypersensitive. Between the sharp pain in your wrists and thighs, and his warm skin against yours, and let's not forget the feeling of his lips grazing your ear slightly, you can't help but let a moan escape your lips. In response, he nibbles your earlobe gently.

Mark isn't just teasing you, but himself as well. More than anything the man wanted to just fuck the hell out of you until you couldn't walk. But he is quite enjoying how needy, desperate, and defenseless you are.

"Mark... please... I need to feel you..." You whine. Feeling him throbbing against your walls wasn't enough. He hasn't moved at all except to shove himself inside you, but you could already feel a pool of wetness collecting on the blanket under you.

He moves your arms over your head, crossing your wrists and holding them with one hand. His other hand made its way to your neck, his fingertips squeezing on the sides gently but firmly.

"How does this feel," he growled softly, his deep voice in your ear making you shudder.

"Fuck.." You gasp.

He leans into your chest again, tightening his grip on your wrists but letting your neck go as his other hand slowly travels down your body. Breathing heavily into your ear as his rough hand cups your right breast.

"You're so pretty," he whispers in your ear as he moves his knees off your legs. You breathe a sigh of relief because, though you didn't wanna say anything, it was actually pretty painful. You said nothing, not because you were scared of how he would react though. You trust Mark with your life. You just love how he has you pinned like that. And you know he enjoys it too.

Gently releasing your wrists, he tells you to stay put and to close your eyes. You do, and let out a noise that sounded like a moan and a whine at the same time as he gets off the bed, pulling his dick out of your dripping hole. The sudden empty feeling leaves you feeling needy as you hear a metallic clicking noise. You feel him pulling you up the bed, and more metallic clicking noises as you feel something hard and cold around your wrists. Opening your eyes, you realise he's handcuffed you to the metal bars of the bed frame.

You look at Mark, whose eyes are full of lust as he looks at you for a moment, just taking in the sight of you. Biting your lip and smiling, your eyes travel over his naked body.

You aren't saying anything, but begging with your eyes. Taking advantage of that, he starts stroking his cock, still slick with your juices. Looking you in the eyes, he moans and bites his lip.

You're struggling against the cuffs, moving your hips and opening your legs. Wanting him so bad, hating how he's teasing you, but loving it at the same time.

Another moan escapes his lips as you stare at him, your pussy is twitching watching him stroke his thick cock.

"Mark," you moan, pleading, "please..."

"Mmmm y/n you sound so desperate.. I love it." He spits on his hand and jerks his cock faster, looking at you.

Feeling your juices drip down between your ass cheeks, you pull so hard on the cuffs you feel like they're going to cut you. Your nipples are rock hard and your pussy is throbbing, aching for his cock. You rub your thighs together, desperate for just a little stimulation.

"Tell me what you want," he groans, his voice shaky, still stroking himself.

"I want you... to fuck me...." You say.

"Yeah? Beg me."

"Please... please fuck me...." You whine, wigging your hips.

"Mmm," is all he says in response.

"Fuck me hard.. please... I need your cock," you cry out, barely able to take any more teasing.

"Not good enough." He smirks at you, loving hearing you beg.

"Give me your fucking cock, Mark!" You yell desperately, like you're going to die if he doesn't fuck you.

"Fuuuuck," he groans, gripping his cock tight, drops of pre cum starting to leak from the tip.

"Fuck you Mark, you're doing this on purpose," you cry, closing your eyes, the throbbing in your pussy becoming too much to bare.

In the 2 seconds that your eyes are closed, Mark is on top of you, roughly shoving his cock deep inside your needy cunt.

"FUCK!" You yell, surprised, "fuck me, please, fuck me!"

His hands are spreading your thighs apart, his fingertips digging into your skin as he thrusts himself in and out.

He fucks you hard and deep, low groans emitting from his lips as his balls slam against you.

"Oh my fucking god... Mark... I'm gonna..." before you know it, an orgasm rips through your whole body. Mark had you really worked up, but you weren't aware of how much until he was actually inside you.

But he keeps the same pace, acting like he didn't even notice your whole body shaking or you screaming in pleasure or your pussy gripping his throbbing cock tightly. He just gripped your thighs harder and kept going.

"Fuck yeah y/n, cum on my fucking cock," he growled, not seeming to be the least bit tired.

A hand released your thigh only to squeeze your left tit, causing you to cry out in pleasure. The hand slowly made its way to your throat again, as he slowed his pace.

"Fuck," he moans, looking down at his cock, covered in a white fluid. Still pounding you, he leans over you kissing you deeply. You flex, tightening your pussy around his cock as your legs start to shake.

"Goddamn!" He yells, pulling away from the kiss. Spitting into his fingers, he reaches down and rubs your clit. You moan loudly, feeling another orgasm approaching.

Pulling hard on the cuffs, you lose total control and scream as you cum, this orgasm more intense than the last one. Mark pinches your nipples hard. The pain mixed with the pleasure leaves you overwhelmed as you wrap your legs tight around him, trying to slow him down because you're too sensitive now.

Reading your body language, he slows down. You know he would never do anything to hurt you, and he is great at reading you. He is a dominant sadist, but also quick to stop and comfort you the second you need it.

He takes that chance to catch his breath as he slowly moves his hips back and forth. Your breath is shaky as you come down, your legs loosening from his waist and resting on either side of you.

"Do you want me to continue?" He asks after a few seconds, seeing that you've calmed down.

You look at him, taking a few seconds to catch your breath, then nod.

He leans forward and kisses you as he starts going a little faster, at first, then gradually picking up speed.

"Fuck yes, mark don't stop!" You wail as he grabs your hair at the nape of your neck, pulling your head back. He's fucking you so hard now that the bed frame is banging against the wall.

"I'm not fucking stopping," he groans in your ear. You wrap your legs around his thick waist, raising your hips, taking in as much of him as you can.

"God y/n you feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock.. fuck..." he moaned in your ear. Even his voice makes you feel so hot.

"Fuck yeah Mark.. it's all for you..."

He puts his hands on the back of your knees, pushing your legs back. Your hips are raised and you can see his cock moving in and out of you.

"Watch me fuck your sweet pussy..." he whispers, looking you in the eyes.

You closed your eyes, drowning in the pleasure, and he quickly grabbed your hair forcing you to look.

"Fucking watch me pound your pussy!" He barked.

"Fuck.. mark..." You cried.

"Cum for me one more time y/n.. you know you want to..."

He knows your one weakness, hearing him tell you to cum usually makes you cum.

As he held your head with one hand, and your leg next to you against the bed with the other, you felt the orgasm creeping up once again.

"Oh my god.. cum with me Mark... please... fill me up," you whined.

"Beg me," he said harshly, "beg for cum."

"Please give me your fucking cum mark.. fill me up... please..."

He fucked you harder and deeper, his hips slamming against the back of your thighs.

"Fuck yeah y/n like that... fuck!" He hollered out.

Your whole body shake as you had an orgasm way more intense this time as you felt his hot cum shooting inside you.

You scream his name followed by a string of cuss words as he thrusts deep a couple more times to get every last drop of his cum out. Breathing heavily, he released your leg and your hair, collapsing on top of you.

"Shit, you're amazing," he sighs, kissing you deeply before reaching for the key to undo your cuffs.

You groan as you stretch your arms out, and he rolls over off of you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, rubbing your wrists and thighs where he held you down. His fingers tracing the deep indents from the handcuffs, "I didn't mean to make them so tight..."

"Yes," you reply, rolling over to face him, "you know I don't mind when you're rough with me."

"Then maybe next time, I'll put you in a trap," he chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear and kissing your cheek.

"Hey now," you playfully smack his arm, "...maybe later."

You both giggle as you pull the blankets over your sweaty bodies.

You cuddle into his chest and he kisses your forehead. Sighing happily, you wonder what he has in store for you tomorrow, as you both drift off to sleep.

#detective hoffman #mark hoffman #saw #costas mandylor #mark hoffman x reader #fanfic #smut #daddy

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boundinparchment · 4 months

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LV

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter on AO3 here. MC's dress || Waltz No. 2 by Dmitri Shostakovich, performed by The Dixie String Quartet is on the Spotify playlist.

You nestled the last pin in your hair and admired your handiwork in the vanity for a moment. Perfect. Nothing would interfere with your mask nor felt uncomfortable.

In the mirror, your eyes flickered to the doorway to your dressing room, where Zandik leaned against the doorframe halfway dressed. He’d been there ever since you began working on your hair, suspenders dangling, only moving his head to momentarily look at something else. Some might have found such moments unnerving, this habit of his to watch and look and listen; for you, his presence was akin to a hug or a kiss on the forehead. Just another demonstration of his affection.

Tonight, you would go without the extra headpieces to conceal yourself. Hiding your hair would only draw more attention, after all, and you were already at the mercy of entering the ball alongside Zandik.

To do anything else, such as enter apart but spend the rest of the evening with him, would only bring more questions.

Hiding you, shielding you and keeping you to himself made sense, once upon a time. Deep down, you were certain Zandik still wanted to. There was a flatness in his bottom lip about the topic and he often held you tighter when you were alone, savoring the private intimacy.

But he, of all people, knew the importance of freedom, of recognizing one’s true nature.

Make-up and hair finished, you rose from the vanity and made your way to the door. You pressed a hand against his chest, his once-soft dark navy shirt stiff under your touch from being starched and ironed. As you cupped his cheek, absently noticing his lack of earring, Zandik turned his head and took your hand in his, reverently pressing a kiss to your palm before his lips hovered over your pulse.

“Go finish getting ready, mon rêve.”

Zandik pursed his lips slightly, lowering his head before he pointedly kissed your wrist again and closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to go. It didn’t take being his soulmate to figure that out. Anyone of his caliber would prefer to be working and making progress over social formalities. As often as he carved out time for you, be it dinner or a training session or simply a quiet evening reading while you played, he sent letters explaining a delay or a missed meal.

“Am I not allowed to savor you?” he asked, his breath tickling your skin. “Before the trappings of formalities take us both?”

You certainly couldn’t argue with that.

He lingered only a second longer before a knock at the door broke the moment like a hammer to a mirror. Zandik gritted his pointed teeth, baring them for a second in a frustrated snarl, as he turned his attention to the sound.

“About time...took long enough...”

You parted, grazing your fingertips across his cheek in apology, and he left to address the interruption.

Left to your own devices, you closed your dressing room door and finished getting ready.

At first, you hadn’t been certain about the lace you picked out on a whim. Columbina sweetly terrorized the shopkeeper so you could browse in peace. Most colors would potentially show through the gown, leaving you with only a few options. The handwoven material was soft against your thighs and waist, the garter belt straps far easier to use than the ones you recalled from home (although perhaps that was simply the benefit of handmade anything).

It felt strange to be without a corset but the dress draped over you and took care of the structure and shape, as discussed with the seamstress. The neckline was twisted and asymmetrical, a swath of fabric covering your left shoulder while your right was bare, save a single strap as delicate as spider’s silk. Your back was bare down to the dip of your waist where a short train fell and pooled behind you.

The dress shimmered and sparkled with the faintest blush. It passed for a soft white, the slightest contrast to Zandik’s crisp and cool preferences.

Your satin heels were simple, as were your earrings. By other standards, including the Tsaritsa’s, you appeared quite plain. But anything beyond the mask in your hand felt excessive, given its prominence.

When you emerged, Zandik was in the sitting room, dressed and idly twirling something between his fingers. He wore mostly white, with the exception of a light blue satin waistcoat, cinched, and a blue and white feather pinned at his lapel. The usual gem worn in his harness was pinned to the center of his white cravat. His inanimate mechanical bird rested over his shoulders, shrouding him in a mantle of feathers. You caught a flash of light blue in the tails of his coat as they curved and fell past his knees.

His lips moved but you didn’t quite catch the sounds he made, the words foreign and low as his ears burned pink. For effect, you gave a small twirl, and it was impossible to miss the sensation of his eyes skimming across your bare back.

“I take it you like it, then?” you said, smiling softly.

Zandik closed the distance between you with slow steps and stopped only when he was just in front of you.

“You look like crystal stardust,” he replied after a beat, lips grazing your forehead. “Similar to when you activate your Vision in a fight. Quite striking.”

He took your hands in his and you felt warm metal slide over your ring finger. When he pulled away, you looked down and found a rectangular aquamarine roughly the size of your last knuckle.

“Zandik, what…”

“I did say it was not the Tsaritsa’s place to determine what jewelry you wore. A ring seemed...efficient. Wouldn’t get in the way of you playing but be enough of a conventional statement to keep others at bay.”

He took your hand in his and ran his gloved thumb over the edge of the stone. It glowed softly, similar to his absent earring and the various ornaments he wore almost daily.

“Whenever I think of you, it glows. It should also be able to carry short messages but that hasn’t been thoroughly tested.”

The glow faded slowly, reluctantly. Zandik let go of your hand and reached into his inner jacket pocket, seeking something.

“I modified the communications technology I used elsewhere. Gemstones prove more...difficult than liquids such as primordial seawater or Irminsul sap, naturally.”

“Presumably, it has a partner?” you asked, eyes flicking from his hand to his face.

You were rewarded with a raised eyebrow. “I can never surprise you anymore, can I?”

His mouth softened into a smile as he found what he was looking for. Zandik extended his hand and you reached out to pick up the cylindrical topaz earring, clear and without inclusions, the perfect shade of golden yellow.

Your power, you, in place of...

Zandik angled his head and you fed the wire through the piercing, securing it when it was seated properly. The curling tendril of his bangs wrapped around it. It didn’t look as out of place as expected, given the golden accents of his suit, but it would be striking for those who knew his usual appearance.

Last night’s dance swam in your head, overriding any remaining anxiety as the topaz in turn began to light up from within.

“Can’t surprise me? Absolutely not true and you know it,” you whispered.

Please with himself, he threw you a playful grin before he slid his mask into place. You did the same, fussing with the straps in hopes your hair wouldn’t be ruined.

Hand in the crook of his arm, the two of you made your way downstairs, ready to get this over with.

Formality dictated that, given you were not publicly known nor the spouse of the Second Harbinger, you were to enter the ball unescorted as any other guest. But Zandik was not one for convention and his enjoyment at the expressions on his colleagues faces was palpable as you descended the stairs together and joined the awaiting Arlecchino, Columbina, and another man with white hair and a single visible eye.

“You’re on time, Doctor. It’s a comfort to know someone can tear you away from that workshop of yours,” the white-haired stranger said.

He approached, his figure as imposing as the Captain’s from what you recalled. Even Zandik had to adjust his neck to look at the other man.

The introduced himself as Pierro and you curtsied, the gesture ingrained in your muscles; in turn, you received warm lips on your knuckles.

“I have not yet had the time to watch you play, as most of my subordinates and Her Majesty have. But hardly a day goes by without your music gracing the halls and I look forward to hearing what you’ve composed.”

“Thank you, Lord Harbinger,” you replied, reminding yourself to soften your smile.

“You’re familiar with the room’s layout, where the orchestra is set up, your cue?”

“Yes, I am, sir.”

He nodded, offered a kind smile, and then said something to Zandik in a tongue you’d never heard before. Your partner clicked his tongue, ears pink, and you caught something pass over Pierro’s expression when he thumped Zandik on the back twice.

“He was the stranger in the desert,” Zandik supplied quietly as Pierro walked away. “One of the few who can say they’ve seen my...evolution, so to speak.”

The rest of the gathering was a blur. Columbina hovered behind you, head on your shoulder as she asked Alecchino if the fabric of your dress was something she should consider next. You suppressed a shudder as you recalled the Third’s kaleidoscope eyes and tried to pair them with a fabric that looked like liquid stardust.

“You certainly would be able to hide not wearing shoes, my dove,” Arlecchino conceded.

To Zandik, the Knave said, “Interesting change, Doctor. I never thought gold was your color.”

“Of course it is, Arl,” Columbina chimed in. “It’s not like Regrator has a monopoly on a color. Besides, our Doctor looks quite healthy now, wouldn’t you say? A little less sallow? Happy, even?”

Zandik let a breath out of his nose. “Is that so?”

You stifled a laugh and were thankful that, not long after, you followed the expected protocol and found yourself in the center of the ball room. You weren’t the only guest (Capitano, Pantalone, and even Sandrone were not unaccompanied), which you were thankful for, but their faces were exposed, known.

Zandik flexed and you squeezed his arm in return as you settled into position awaiting the Tsaritsa. The Archon was escorted by Pierro, her dress as light as air despite the volume of the layers. The fabric whispered against the floor in the hushed silence.

She addressed the guests with a quiet but warm authority, not unlike how she first greeted you. Compared to the performances from Focalors in the Opera Epiclese, the Tsaritsa’s praise of Her Harbingers was grounded, full of pride and yet never reaching the fantastical exaggerations the Hydro Archon was prone to. The Tsaritsa’s eyes sparkled as much as the shining star on the sash, pinned over her heart as always, but there was a falsehood to it; a layer of ice that would never truly thaw.

You hoped your composition captured her oxymoronic nature.

Following your verbal cue, you stepped away from Zandik and passed through the crowd on the edge of the ballroom, escorted by one of your usual companions. Columbina floated ahead of you, her soft slippers gliding over the polished floor. A sea of familiar faces awaited you as you took your position and picked up the baton waiting for you.

You couldn’t use the one Zandik made for you, not without the risk of summoning your claymore over the heads of your musicians.

Percussion and strings came first to create a subtle yet solid foundation of the rhythm. A single woodwind picked up their cue, joined after a bar by the rest of their section for a warm, if melancholic beginning. Flutes picked up and carried the tune not unlike the birds that always welcomed the sun whenever it broke through the icy clouds every morning.

You wove the string section in, rounding out the composition. Grandiose in the middle, you gestured for a little more volume, listening carefully for any off rhythm or out of tune. Columbina’s harmonic vibrato rang through, an eerie chill dancing along the melody.

Everyone hit their climactic cue as practiced, as perfected, and relief flooded you. Halfway done.

Without an idea of what was happening behind you, you could only move forward and continue to pull everything together, beat by beat. Natural instinct took over, nerves steeled, and you let the notes envelope you as you moved everyone into the next section.

Your arms ached not due to exhaustion from conducting but longing. The last time you’d performed for an audience properly was lackluster, a shadow of your skills and heart, the strings on your cello more akin to sand between your fingers. A distant memory that felt so far away now. You felt full, proud, in the same way you did when you slashed your claymore through a mech and allowed your Vision’s energy to pass through you.

In this moment, every note, every gesture, was tangible, real. Coaxed and carried into the air, nurtured by the musician and by you, given a purpose and a place to exist.

You guided everyone into the final bar and closed the song with a flourish, the last of the brass section echoing off the walls of the ballroom. Applause exploded as everyone returned to rest position and you smiled, ushering everyone to stand and bow. Your success was theirs as well and when you turned to gaze out at the crowd, you caught a glassiness to the Tsaritsa’s expression that hadn’t been there before.

You turned and arranged the sheet music for the other conductor as you thanked everyone; there was little time for much else when you’d invigorated the crowd.

Expectations were shattered.

And now the evening was yours to enjoy.

Even when you were apart from Zandik, however temporary, the air felt charged. You half expected lightning to strike at any moment as eyes lingered on you. The Second was immediately swept up into conversations that were directly related to ongoing events. He was spared a single moment to congratulate you before his attention was divided, the vein in his neck prominent from annoyance.

Columbina pulled you along, Arlecchino never far behind, wine glass in one hand as the Third prattled away. The Dove kept most at bay, deterring only the brave or the foolish who wanted to ask about your education, your connection to the Doctor; what kind of person were you to write a musical composition and yet accompany a man so logical and cold that he often spent such events looking for a victim to toy with all evening?

Sandrone approached you only once, not deigning to look at your companions, and congratulated you in a tone you recognized as polite disdain. It was the same kind of placating that you received in Fontaine, a falsehood that exposed itself as the words were spoken. She, too, was among those who did not understand why, precisely, the Doctor would have brought you back with him. A musician with a talent for composition, who wielded a weapon on occasion, was nothing special.

There were others better suited to his interests, his passions, she said in closing; you smiled enigmatically into your glass and wished her a good evening.

The cognitive dissonance would disappear eventually once your soulmate finished his social rounds.

“Is she always like that?” you asked the two Harbingers.

“Weirdly possessive and thinking highly of herself? Yes,” Arlecchino replied. “Her mechanical knowledge is rivaled only by Dottore’s but she can never quite position herself to climb higher. I suppose that’s what happens when you shed your humanity and limit yourself to being a puppeteer of other marionettes though.”

Soon enough, however, the Third and Fourth had their own duties to tend to. Across the room, you watched Zandik’s earring glow faintly, and he turned to look at you for a moment. He nodded in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. You would be reunited soon enough.

You looked around and made your way to the perimeter of the ballroom, where tables and chairs were set up to allow guests to rest. Not far from you, you caught sight of a large figure overlooking the room, his black uniform cutting a striking contrast against the white and gilded décor of the wall behind him.

Greeting him with a curtsy, the Captain nodded to you in silence and then returned his gaze to the rest of the room.

“You are the talk of the evening, Maestra. I hope you do not allow common gossip to concern you tonight.”

The Captain was a man of little words and yet when he spoke, he always managed to make the most poignant remarks.

“I cannot recall the last time nasha Tsaritsa and her Jester smiled as they danced,” the Harbinger continued. “She lost her true ability to love when Celestia took her beloved Sovereign from her and froze him under the sea. The Doctor is not the only one affected by your presence and skill.”

His head turned and you saw nothing but an inky abyss through the opening of his helmet.

“You would do well to remember that, Maestra.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

He straightened and didn’t speak again, instead continuing through the perimeter, ever vigilant.

Your ring glowed and cast the slightest tint of blue against the glass of sparkling wine as you raised it to your lips. You looked around and nearly jumped when you found Zandik behind you. The Third and Fourth excused themselves with a biting comment about lovebirds and slipped into the crowd.

“I trust you were in good company in my absence?” he asked.

“I was,” you replied, an errant hand reaching out to straight the feather on his lapel. “Finished for the evening?”

“My obligations have been met and I have every intention of spending the rest of the evening uninterrupted.”

Zandik held out a hand in silent request. You abandoned your glass on the nearest table before placing your hand in his and breaking through the throng of people to the dance floor. A jolt jumped through his fingertips to yours and ran up your arm, your heart expanding of its own accord.

Just like the previous night, you fell into rhythm quickly, Zandik precise and in-step as he led. The sensation of eyes crawling up your back, skimming your joined hands and how closely you danced, was offset by the way his scent lingered and how perfect you felt against him. The closest feeling to this was stepping into a warm room on a rainy day or entering your favorite cafe. Being pressed to him, in his arms, was like being home.

Around you, the air felt charged again, only this time you were certain that if it struck, you would die fulfilled.

“You were right,” you murmured as he spun both of you around.

“Of course I was. But what about?”

“I missed it. All of it.”

The hand on your waist moved to your back, fingers pressing into the exposed skin at the small of your back. Words failed to truly encompass what you meant and the thumb stroking your spine reminded you that they weren’t necessary for the man dancing with you.

“You’re talented, rooh 'albi. You don’t need me to tell you that. There is a beauty, a strength, that only comes with wielding that knowledge and hard work. If the cursed principles were so dead-set on pairing me, I’m glad it is to you.”

You settled your head onto his shoulder as best you could, even if it wasn’t befitting of the dance, the bird feathers tickling your nose. His scent was intoxicating, sandalwood and mint and musk, and for the last movements of the song, you pushed out all other noise and sensations except for Zandik.

“Can we go get some air after this?” you asked. “I’m tired of being surrounded.”

Zandik pressed his lips to your ear, his breath hot.

“You read my mind. I’ve just about his my threshold for nonsense for the evening.”

The song ended, and you resisted the urge to kiss him as you pulled away, your faces a hair width apart despite your masks. Not here, you reminded yourself, even though every part of you burned with something beyond pure need.

Your soul longed to feel his, connect and tangle and weave itself. It was more overpowering than any sensation you’d felt before.

And cut short too soon when a familiar voice sent needles up your spine and broke your reverie.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance, Maestra?”

In a stupor, you turned your head towards Pantalone, a congenial smile on his lips and his eyes closed; he wore the face of a host pleased with his guests’ experiences.

You hadn’t seen the banker all evening, actually, now that you considered it, o ther than the line-up at the beginning. It was only polite that you danced with Zandik’s closest colleague, regardless of your own sentiments. Your partner had yet to let you go and if you truly had a choice, you would have preferred to decline and stay in Zandik’s arms.

But there were eyes on you and gossip spread quicker than wildfire.

“My pleasure, Lord Harbinger. But only the one.”

Zandik relented and you took your position with Pantalone as the next song began. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched blue hair and bird feathers as the other Harbinger moved about the room.

Did he suspect his colleague, you wondered. You’d told Zandik of your experiences, how cautious you preferred to be around the banker as of late, and he was no stranger to Pantalone’s machinations, either.

The banker led you in the dance in a familiar tug that made your stomach drop to your feet. He was on beat, smooth in his steps, but he expected you to follow him. You stiffened considerably, grateful that his gloved hands never seemed to touch your bare skin other than your hand.

“A wonderful performance, as expected,” Pantalone said. “You managed to pull a smile from Her Majesty, one that hasn’t been seen in years. A testament to your skill.”

“Thank you, my lord. It wouldn’t have been possible without the musicians I worked with, however. A conductor, let alone the composition itself, is only as good as those playing the music.”

“Ever humble, Maestra. For every commonality, there is a corresponding difference between you and the Doctor. The further you ingratiate yourself, the harder this will be, you know, when those differences truly take root."

You followed his cue to spin you out and when you returned, you narrowly avoided stepping on his toe as a response.

“He forgets himself with you around. I remember what it was to be enamored, attached, bonded. They succumbed to illness long before their time. So long in fact that I cannot remember their face clearly. But I recall their touch, their presence, and you would do well to remember that your Zandik has centuries on you. He will outlast you, surpass you, because that is who he is.”

What was Pantalone getting at?

He dipped you backwards, so low you swore you intended to drop you. For a man with a lithe figure, he had more strength and reflexes than he led on. When you were upright again, you spat the first words that came to mind.

"I don't intend to go anywhere. Face the truth and set aside whatever bias you hold, Lord Harbinger."

"And watch my closest colleague suffer when he experiences the inevitability of the lies you've created? Watch my nation wonder about the mysterious woman who is not a Harbinger but managed to seat herself so closely to the Doctor that she has to be some fearsome entity, bewitching even the Tsaritsa herself? I think not."

The music swelled to a close and Pantalone stepped away almost immediately. He bowed only low enough to be polite, gold eyes glittering through his lashes with malice.

“Enjoy your evening, Maestra.”

You were shaking by the time you wove your way through the crowd, grabbed Zandik’s hand, and found the nearest exit from the ballroom. Both of you found a courtyard, dusted with frost, and stepped outside. The cold air was crisp against your hot skin and grounded you almost instantly despite the goosebumps breaking out across your arms.

“What did he say to you?” Zandik asked firmly as he cast off the feathery mantle and draped the bird over your shoulders.

“That you forget yourself with me present. That you’ll outlive me, that I’m lying to you, worming my way into the Tsaritsa’s favor.” You paused, rounding your shoulders to press your face against the metal bird. “None of it is true. How can he come to such conclusions, Zandik?”

“Whatever nonsense Pantalone said is unique to his situation, one I’ve studied extensively. He’s given me a mouthful of drivel on more than one occasion, rooh 'albi. One’s experiences always color their perspective and they always think they’re right; they cannot see beyond themselves.”

You turned and faced Zandik entirely when his hand reached for you. Instinctively, you cradled his face in both of your hands, feeling the slightest hint of stubble already beginning to grow despite his shave this morning.

“It would be more painful to be apart,” you whispered. “Than to not know what this feels like.”

“A conclusion that doesn’t have enough evidence to support. But it is the driving hypothesis behind why we agreed to explore this, isn’t it?”

“Will you outlive me? Am I condemning you to an existence of absence, mon rêve?”

“I’m hardly immortal. I’ve extended my life and with a handful of exceptions, I’m human. I’ll die one day, same as you.”

Your breaths came out in smokey puffs, the chill burning your nostrils and yet you didn’t want to go back inside. Trembling, you angled your head and captured Zandik’s lips with yours, finding nothing but steady warmth, certainty.

When you opened your mouth, his tongue found yours with reflexive ease, tasting you. You craved more, one hand slipping from his cheek to cradle the back of his head and give yourself a bit of purchase. Hunger, need, far deeper than mere carnality, swirled in your chest.

Zandik broke the kiss first, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip with a satisfying pop.

“Uncertainty and fear do not become you. Forget the rest. What do you want?”

He breathed the words against the skin of your neck and the courtyard spun around you as his teeth grazed your flesh.

“You. Us. Whatever we carve out of this world for ourselves.”

Zandik peppered kisses along your jaw.

“Then you shall have me, musiqaa ruhi. All of me. Even long after every last star in the sky is gone and we are free of the shackles of fate that tie us together.”

The words carried both of you out of the courtyard and deep into the night, never out of reach of one another.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #genshin impact reader insert #soulmate au

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sserpente · 1 year

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A/N: I’m just gonna leave this here without any explanation.

Words: 1070 Warnings: smut

Both Eddie and the Reader are over the age of 21 in my Imagines. If you’re wondering how that works if the Reader is still at school with Eddie… me too!

This one was on Eddie. You’d covered him after his chemistry teacher had found his cigarette supply and taken the blame because he was about an arm’s length from being suspended. After a nice and long scolding by both the chemistry teacher and the principal, you had sat in a silent room for over two hours, waiting for detention to pass quicker while reciting song lyrics in your head.

Oh, he owed you now. He owed you at least three milkshakes, a visit to Scoops Ahoy and a private D&D session—the latter of which involved the two of you going at it like wild animals but oh well.

“Hi, Wayne!” You didn’t bother to knock anymore, instead marched right in when you reached the trailer. Wayne nodded his head and lifted his arm in a casual greeting, a beer bottle in one hand and the remote in the other. He tore his gaze from the TV for a moment.

“Hey, kid. Eddie’s in his room.”

“Thanks!”

You kicked off your shoes, walking straight in. You were greeted by surprisingly quiet metal music playing in the background. As usual, Eddie’s room was a mess. Worn band shirts scattered everywhere, his school books one massive pile on his desk. His bed was unmade today and he had rolled the little shelf with his small TV away from it to face the desk chair that he was sitting on—naked from the waist down, hard and dripping cock in hand, pumping away to a porn movie playing on the TV.

Your jaw dropped, eyes widening—because as much as you wanted to draw your gaze away and leave him to his private little moment, you couldn’t. Fuck, he looked hot. Hot and shocked that you had interrupted him.

He called out your name with wide eyes, fumbling for the remote. His fingers were shaking so much—it must have been from arousal rather than his sudden nervousness—the exaggerated moaning of the female actress in the movie did not cease for a while. By the time he finally managed to switch it off and then almost fell off the chair in an attempt to cover himself with his blanket, you were on the verge of laughter.

You crossed your arms before your chest. “We need to teach you about the function of door locks,” you said, chuckling to yourself.

“Sorry, I-I wasn’t, I mean…”

“Don’t apologise. I will certainly never forget that view ever again.”

The look on his face was downright suspicious. “You’re not… mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” Finally, you closed the door behind you, locked it, and sat down on his bed.

“That I’m using porn to get off instead of making out with you?”

“I wouldn’t even be mad if you got off to Carrie Fisher. We all have fantasies,” you said with a wink.

“Huh. Steve said to make sure you don’t see this shit when I checked it out.”

“Steve? You rented this from Family Video?”

“Yeah… it was Steve who recommended that one to me, actually.”

“Okay. Okay, that I did not want to know. That’s dick talk between guys.” You chuckled once more. In the meantime, Eddie shifted a little on his chair. Oh, dear. Your boyfriend must have still been painfully hard after being interrupted so rudely. Good thing it had been you to walk in on in and not Wayne. Now that would have been awkward but you would have given anything to see it.

“You could have just asked me for help though, you know.”

“You weren’t here yet, I got horny.”

“I can see that. And, uh, yeah, I wasn’t here yet because I was in detention because of you.” Eddie grinned coyly and you slid off the bed again, falling to your knees right before his chair. “You owe me for that,” you continued before pulling away the blanket and tugging his hands away from his dick to take their place.

A moan escaped his lips and he threw his head back when you began to stroke him for a while. He’d clearly lubed himself up before he’d started. You didn’t know how long he’d been going at it already before you arrived but judging by the sounds he made, he wouldn’t be much longer.

You gave him a lascivious look, pulling your hair back so it wouldn’t get in the way and bent forward, closing your lips around his tip. Tongue swirling around it and teasing his slit, you watched Eddie buck his hips to push himself deeper into your mouth as both his fleshy taste and that of the almost minty lube hit your taste buds. You hollowed your cheeks out, bopping your head up and down in a steady rhythm until you had him writhing in his chair. It took him all restraint to not grab a fistful of your hair and fuck your mouth raw, you could tell by the way he hissed and breathed through his teeth. Instead, Eddie’s hands came up to caress your hair, his right thumb stroking your cheek, urging you on.

You moaned quietly then, hoping the vibrations of your voice would edge him on even more—and when his chocolate brown eyes met yours, he was a lost cause. He only managed to watch you suck him off for a few more seconds before his arousal got the better of him and he came down your throat with an animalistic grunt, forcing you to swallow his warm cum all whilst he was jerking against the roof of your mouth. Hungrily, you kept on sucking, not letting a single drop escape.

You licked your lips when he was all spent and on the verge of oversensitivity, releasing him with a plopping sound. Eddie’s length was glistening with your saliva now, your jaw aching from your rough movements, and your panties… your panties were soaked.

“Fuck… that was fun,” he choked out, panting and giving you a cheeky grin.

“Oh, yeah?” You wiped your mouth, standing up to climb on his lap.

“Yeah.”

“Better than porn, right? Anyway, you owe me at least a dozen orgasms for saving your ass today.”

Eddie feigned exhaustion and then grinned devilishly. “Huh, I better get started right away then.”

You laughed when he lifted you up and threw you on the bed. Perhaps you should catch him watching some filthy films more often.

A/N: Oh well! ;-)

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie stranger things imagine #joseph quinn

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yams-here · 3 months

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Wanted to try my hand at drawing the crater crew with casual clothes cuz I wanted to try to see what their personal styles would be

Juliana has this more preppy cute style for me, because I saw a lot of people going about how she looks like a good ol nerd and I said "they're so right" but I also gave her the LITTLELEST bit of a coquette influence because I gave her some bows on my redesign of her (this is based on that redesign ofc) and I can tell you, as a small person, every single one of us loves a big jacket. Loves an oversized sweater where we can just pull our hands back and go flopflopflopflop so Juliana, who is shorter than PENNY would absolutely love clothes that are def not her size

Arven gives me the vibes that he's more of a sweater and button up shirt type of guy. Kinda business casual tbh because I can imagine he'd want to be taken more seriously. He probably just buys whatever is cheap and looks okay enough without caring much for style. Although I can see him not knowing his size very well and not knowing how to adjust his suspenders so he keeps them down because otherwise they're too tight on his shoulders. He figured they looked slightly fashionable and kept them that way.

Penny lives at hot topic and buys nerdy shit, she's cringe, she's free, whatever

Nemona really struck me as a sporty type, prioritizing easy movement above all. How else is she supposed to run after someone to demand a battle otherwise? She def tries to at least match her clothes to her arm brace thing. Otherwise it sticks out a lot and she doesn't want other people to focus on that, they need to focus on her asking them to FIGHT

#art #digital art #original art #redesign #really soft redesigns #for everyone #pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon juliana #pokemon arven #pokemon nemona #pokemon penny

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manicpixiefelix · 2 months

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Thinking of our fae AU and okay, I know it's assumed Reader is also Summer Court like the Cattons

But! What if they're actually Autumn Court?

Thankfully, the Cattons still basically adopt them and they and Nate are inseparable.

The Castle of Reader's family is similar yet so different from the Cattons, suspended in perpetual autumn bathed in that warm golden glow of the setting sun giving it a dreamy quality. Leaves a fiery tapestry making the trees seem to be ablaze in shades of red, orange and yellow.

Sometimes, when they pass by greenery on the Catton estate, it will briefly change. Demifey!Oliver is fascinated by it and the way shadows shift in their presence.

Obsessed Obsessed OBSESSED!!

Autumn Fae!Reader is absolutely a spectacular concept, I love all of this.

Also I think that the changes that happen on the Cattons land because of/around them are pretty cosmetic because it's not Their Land. Which means instead, the grass turns pale and gold beneath their feet but it's still just as lush as the grass around it. Leaves on trees they touch briefly become a rush of red and orange and gold, but they'll never fall in the summer court. Some smaller plants will seem to bow to them in the way they shrivel and shrink, but give it time and they'll bounce right back to their full glory.

The opposite can be said for the one time Felix visited the autumn court to support the reader. He grabbed one of the many falling leaves from right out of the air and it turned green between his fingers. The grass crunches beneath him, no matter how lush and lovely it may look when he steps on it. Because he's Summer Court & because he's Felix, I fully believe he has this weird affinity with plants, like a lot of royal fae I want to believe have certain powers or effects on the world that they don't fully understand or realise. Felix discovered his when he touched a flower and it began to immediately move to turn to him more directly in the moment of contact. What Felix and everyone else has failed to realise is that every single flower on the Saltburn Estate is growing in the direction of his bedroom (because of sleep it's where he statistically spends the most time on the property). The flowers of Saltburn don't grow to the sun they grow to Felix.

Anyways so I love this and I think Autumn!Reader & Summer!Felixs magic has bled into each other over the years, and that's most noticeable when they're doting on Oliver.

Wreathed in vines and laurels whose greenery is gold and almost brittle, with leaves in red,yellow,orange so vibrant they're like gems, but they flutter, healthy and strong, and never seem at risk of falling.

Chainmail carefully created with so much love by the reader and Felix together, the plants woven and grafted together with such great pains taken to make sure Oliver could wear it without himself getting pricked by thorns inside the garment. The garment itself has your trademark colouring, as if it had spent a long time cut from the roof, almost as pale as Oliver's skin, drawing little attention to itself when something is worn over it, even a plain t-shirt. Still, it's very much alive, cool, comfortable and flexible to wear and fight in. The thorns grow back on their own, but you have a hand in those too, as they grow in at the point of death; dehydrated and sharp as a tack. When he wins, and he always does, the whole crowd will see small roses bloom in triumph across whatever is left over and visible of the tunic, up his arms, across his back and chest, always just where the thorns are. It was Oliver's request specifically, to soften the spikes since he didn't want to hurt either of you in the excitement of his celebrating.

Other things Oliver has noted about the ways your two courts have effected you and Felix that neither of you seem to think about but that he finds endearing;

Sometimes he'll be stroking Felix's hair and he'll find a little autumn leaf in there. Not even because they'd been around Autumn leaves or rolled in any, being so close to you manifests leaves in Felix's hair. Oliver wonders with hope about when there will be leaves found in his hair.

Oliver has helped you garden before. You can only ever garden at Saltburn because you know that even if the plants look half dead when you place them, they'll be fine the next day on the grounds of the estate. Sometimes, however, you're surprised that a few of them look healthy and green and strong, even compared to the ones you did a few minutes before that. Oliver wonders how long it will take you to figure out that plants literally bloom in your hands when you talk so lovingly and fondly about Felix.

Anyways, enough rambling from me for this ask. Yes to Autumn Court Fae Reader is the point. 💖💖💖

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #head heart hand fic #fae au #it shouts back

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

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congrats!!!! im so happy for u! i love ur writing sm and u deserve every single follower!! for your celebration i'd love to request

I got love in my tummy and a tiny little pain with Joel with Royalty AU! king joel sitting on that throne mmmm lmao

hi my friend, thank you so much! i had way too much fun with this one lol

The Feast

king!joel x f!reader

join the celebration!

warnings | 18+ references to smut

a/n | in my brain, this is set in like, high medieval times, just fyi

............................

“His majesty requests your presence, milady.”

“Tell him I will be in his chambers shortly.”

“In the banquet hall, milady, he requests your presence in the banquet hall.” Oh, it’s going to be like that tonight. She dismisses the page with a curt nod, finishing her ministrations, rich oils soaking into her skin beneath her shift. Tugging the heavy satin of her robe over her shoulders, she slips out of her bedchambers, candelabra in hand to light her way through the dim, drafty halls of the palace. It had taken much getting used to, the roaming expanse of his castle, the high-arched walls draped in lavish tapestries, threads woven of stories of his conquests. But it is the banquet hall that is the most extravagant room of the palace.

A table that could seat over two hundred guests, richly carved wood beneath the hazy glow of candlelight, glints and glimmers catching in the arcing, stained-glass windows. And at the head of the table, the throne, gilded and glittering, gemstones suspended in imposing gold and silver, spoils of his victories upon which he sits, slumped down, thighs spread wide, his head propped in his hand.

“What took you so long?” She pads silently across the room to him, clicking her tongue at his petulant question.

“Patience is a virtue, your highness, you would do well to remember it.” She steps between his legs, his hands immediately coming to her hips, fingers squeezing just a tad unkindly into the flesh.

“I have no use for patience, my wife, not when it comes to you.” His wife, his queen, the woman he sent for across many seas. The woman he loves. It’s true what they say, what King Joel desires, he is sure to get.

She brings a hand to his cheek, nails scratching lightly at his scruff as he gazes up at her, dripping devotion and dominion all at once. Her other palm rests on his chest, laid bare by his loose shirt, his regalia long discarded for the evening. She can feel the thrum of his heartbeat, and though his eyes are dark, power in the set of his jaw, she revels in her ability to make his pulse quicken.

“You called for me, and I am here. What is it you want, husband?” She can feel the vibration of the grumble he lets out, more of a growl really, as he pulls her closer by her hips.

“Something to eat.” His words crackle with his grin, and she can feel her own lips curling as she steps out of his hold, letting her robe fall from her shoulders. Her nipples harden in the cool draft of the room, the sheer material of her shift useless to the chill of the night, and his eyes darken at the sight. She knows how he wants her, and she is happy to give it to him, shifting back up onto the table, resting on her elbows as she draws her feet up to rest on the smooth wood, legs spread wide, her shift rucking up and bunching around her hips.

Exposed to him, she can’t help the tremble that skitters up her spine as he leans forward, the heat of his breath washing over her cunt.

And now, when the court has all left, dinner long over, the real feast can begin.

#joel miller angst #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller au #joel miller one shot

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inkformyblood · 4 months

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alone with you (CWFKB #14)

Loving kiss fill, Canon Era @codywanfirstkissbingo

Cody tugs his bucket off his head, placing it carefully onto the empty surface next to him, the screens deactivated hours ago but the air just above them hums with static. It crackles against his skin, the bare sliver at his wrist between the heavy fabric of his gloves and the thinner lining of his bodysuit, and he presses his hand down, just letting himself breathe. He exists in the hollow between the base of his skull and the curls that hang heavy with sweat, the hum of the air recycling accompanying a chill washing over him, and he pulls himself away from the table. The stations are empty on the main bridge; a skeleton crew stationed a couple of levels down and Cody is alone here. He turns the empty eyes of his helmet away, directing the face towards the wall as he has already experienced the strange disconnect of seeing a brother’s helmet discarded on a table but somehow, still watching him. One of the chairs squeaks as he draws it back, spinning it from side to side by rocking his palm over the back. Some of the covering flakes off and sticks to his skin and he picks it off as he returns to the table to retrieve the other items he had brought with him.

He just couldn’t be in his room any longer.

His caf is still warm, a faint curl of steam spilling from the top of the mug as Cody removes the lid, knocking the condensation back into the mug and wiping the remains on his trousers. Peeling off his gloves with his teeth, Cody cups the mug, ignoring the notification flashing on his datapad for the moment. The ping from his helmet is dull, echoing strangely in the vast space, and Cody hears it several seconds late and still ignores it. He just needs a moment, a single solitary moment before reality can break into the fragments between his armour and begin to rot him away once more. He doesn’t need to do this, but he wants to. Obi-Wan had mentioned the pile of reports he had to look into several hours earlier and sleep is still several hours away so Cody has taken the datapad and a handful of supplies to work through them. He can be useful like this when he can not do anything else.

The hours slip by slowly, every minute drawn out to the breaking point before it passes. Cody sips at his caf, the liquid cooling into near-enough sludge that Cody scrapes his teeth against as he flips onto the next report. The door slides open behind him and Cody starts, his knee impacting against the underside of the console and his cup falls from the side as he knocks it with his elbow when he turns. The smash he is expecting never happens.

“Hello, love.” Obi-Wan’s hand is extended, his first two fingers pressed against his thumb and he moves his hand, sweeping it in a delicate circle. Cody’s mug, suspended in midair, taps against the desk, sliding across the surface until it rests a handspan further in than it had previously. “You’re here late.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” Cody scrubs his hand against his knee, the pain a dull pulse that is swiftly lessening from the initial bright burst of agony, and looks over at Obi-Wan, grinning up at the other man. “How did you know it was me from over there?”

Obi-Wan chuckles, tipping his head to one side as he folds his hands together over his stomach. He is dressed in soft layers, a pale robe belted over a darker shirt and trousers, and everything flows as he walks over, curling his arms around Cody. He leans down, pressing his cheek to Cody’s, his beard scratching in a way that prickles and aches and Cody leans into it all the same. It would be so easy to kiss Obi-Wan like this, to turn his face and lean in impossibly closer. They have done so much together, lived a thousand lifetimes in the space between battles when they can be just men instead of a Commander and his General. He loved Obi-Wan before he had the words for it.

“You shine in the Force, my dear. I could find you amongst a sea of your brothers, even without your stripes on your armour or your scar. I know you.”

Cody flushes, leaning into Obi-Wan’s touch and tapping the side of his head against Obi-Wan’s temple. The other man hums low in the base of his throat, squeezing Cody even tighter before he stands, sliding into the chair next to Cody. He props his head onto his hands, scratching idly at one cheek, and Cody picks the datapad back up, opening the next file. “You don’t need to stay. I can do this for you.”

“No. I want to stay.” Obi-Wan slumps forward with a sigh, stretching his arms across the console until his palms press against the wall. He blinks up at the dark screen and then turns his gaze towards Cody. “You don’t have to do this for me either.”

“I want to.”

Obi-Wan carefully rises to his feet, the chair sliding back on its rails as he does so. “I’ll get us both something to drink. Would you like caf?”

“Please.”

Obi-Wan leans down and Cody turns his head without a thought to kiss him. It’s quick, a barely-there brush of their lips before Obi-Wan draws back, blinking. “Yes?” he murmurs, his lips parted and his breath is sweet, a lingering floral scent from his tea several hours ago.

“Yes,” Cody answers and leans forward to kiss him again.

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #cwfkb2023 #cwfkb #my writing #fanfic #cody x obi wan #star wars

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cmmdrkote · 9 months

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codywan reverse bang team #13: i should tell him i love him

The words fell away as Obi-Wan raised his head. He had been expecting another visit from Cetius only to find his Commander standing in the doorway. He blinked a few times, fearing he was merely hallucinating. “Cody?” “General.” The Commander stared for a moment, trying to think of what to say. I’m glad I found you in time. I’m glad you’re alive. I missed you. I was worried about you. I think I love you. “Did you need a rescue?” “Do you know, Commander?” Obi-Wan tried for a smile and a laugh that turned into a groan as his broken ribs made themselves known. “I just think I might.”

So, I'm unfortunately late (life and death happened) but here is 2/3 of my piece for CWRB '23! Obi-Wan has gotten himself into a situation, and Cody is annoyed and using that to cover up how worried he is.

i would like to thank the mods of @codywanreversebang Serie and Anon for their endless patience, my friends for getting me through a difficult time, and of course my amazing writers Kay @foreverchangingfandomsao3 and Mia who have written a fantastic story for this prompt that you can read here.

I'll see you all soon for Part 3....a Keldabe kiss is imminent 👀 Notes and close-ups sans shadows under the cut:

A consistent light source? Who? I've never heard of her in my entire life.

I swear I didn't mean for there to be Christ-like undertones (I'm not even Christian) but once I had Obi's pose laid out and the light focused on him, I was like "fuck I gotta commit to the space Jesus now".

I originally intended for this to have a much more cartoony style, but the shading on Cody's face got away from me and then I needed to match that level of realism for his whole body, which drastically increased the time taken and I had to scrap all my plans for Obi.

The pose/prompt and Obi's outfit are inspired by Crossfire by Brandon Flowers, a whumper's dream of a music video and also a bop. I had sketched something out about two years ago and ended up adapting it for this idea.

Obi is wearing suspenders and a dress shirt because 1. I hate drawing clothing and knew robes would suck 2. Brandon is wearing that outfit in the video which made an easier reference 3. Suspenders are hot 4. I needed to show the hairy chest

Clip Studio Paint can eat my ass, I'm never upgrading to their bs subscription model.

Ewan and Temuera are some of the most handsome men I've seen in my entire life and no I will not be taking questions.

Here are some close-ups because I want to show off what I did before covering it up with dramatic ass shadows:

#codywan #star wars #the clone wars #star wars art #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #obi wan whump #my art #my post #tw blood #tw implied torture #tw injury #i dedicate this art to the codywan reddit refugee and the user who called obi wan the pillow princess of warfare

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chirp-a-chirp · 2 months

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Ikemen Vampire: Revolve

Isaac Newton • Isaac x MC (Mitsuki) • Tags: Fluff; wearing significant other’s clothes; teaching; star gazing • Word Count: ~1850 • Triggers: None • Rating: PG (one tiny PG-13 scene for our beloved wolf in sheep’s clothing) • Brief appearances by Napoleon and Arthur

Description: A meaningful exchange of gifts for Isaac and his love. For @fang-and-feather in the My Ikemen Valentine Gift Exchange (thanks again @ikemenlibrary for hosting 🥰)! Quotes from Isaac’s route are in bold text.

Fluff Rating: *Carefully measures a teaspoon of sugar, promptly discards it and dumps entire bowl of sugar into mouth

…

Revolve: To move in a circular or curving orbit around a central point.

Alternate description: To think about or center on with singular focus.

…

The children were more rambunctious than usual this week. Several small hands clung to Isaac’s clothes as he knelt, drawing in the dirt. A stick made circular paths around a yellow ball with colored marbles in each dirt trail—a crude but effective solar system appearing before everyone’s eyes. A nagging feeling at the back of Isaac’s head told him the lesson should have been over long ago, but he was too engrossed to truly notice.

Isaac’s hands moved dramatically as he launched into the lecture, calculations running in his head. “And so you see, the Earth ROTATES on its axis but REVOLVES around the sun—“

“What’s THAT?” A blonde boy poked at Isaac’s neck, gesturing at two redden marks dotting his skin.

Isaac hastily fixed his shirt collar, a fierce blush creeping past his ears. His mind instantly recalled the evening with Mitsuki that caused those marks, and the soft sweet voice that accompanied it. His hand gravitated towards his pants pocket at the thought of Mitsuki, and the gift he planned to give her nestled within it. He wasn’t sure how to properly express what he felt for her—it was too encompassing, too vast to be explained with words. But the gift was a start.

The blonde boy continued to poke Isaac’s neck, pulling him from his musings. “I-it’s a rash William!” Isaac prayed the fib would deter the boy’s probing.

“There’s a mark on the other side of his neck too!” William’s younger brother pulled back Isaac’s collar, revealing a third blossoming mark. “Is it contagious?”

“No! Could you politely NOT do that?” Isaac adjusted his tie and shirt so all of his neck was covered. He pressed his hand to his temple and gestured to the yellow ball, desperate to get back to the lecture. “The sun here is—“

“I hope Miss Mitsuki doesn’t catch that rash.” A doe-eyed girl stared at Issac. “Professor, will Miss Mitsuki be alright?”

“I hope so Nicole,” another girl chirped. “Professor Isaac’s life revolves around her.”

“That’s not the revolving we’re talking about here!” Nicole tittered.

“Napoleon!” Isaac’s blush reached peak intensity. Instinctively, he curled into a ball while crouching over his feet. His eyes lowered to the ground that he wished would open up and swallow him whole. Not that he was embarrassed about his relationship with Mitsuki. On the contrary, what Isaac had with her was everything he’d wanted but thought was out of reach—warmth, acceptance, understanding. He just wished particular aspects of that warmth weren’t so noticeable to others.

“Sometimes you have to fight your own battles.” Napoleon lowered his wooden sword, signaling to his students that the lesson was temporarily suspended. He walked over to Isaac and ruffled his hair. “However, I see the enemy has you greatly outnumbered.”

Isaac groaned as the children laughed. He unfurled his body and was about to resume his lecture until he looked at his watch and jumped up. “It’s way past time. I have to go!” Isaac made his excuses and left quickly, promising to pick up the lesson next week.

As Isaac trotted away, William sought Napoleon. “Did we do a good job?”

“You did wonderfully, mon petit soldat!” Napoleon beamed at William and the other children. “You all did. Professor Isaac doesn’t suspect a thing. You kept him here an extra 30 minutes. That should give Mitsuki enough time.”

“Is Professor Isaac ok?” Nicole worried her lip. “His neck looked awfully—“

“Mitsuki will take care of him.” The corner of Napoleon’s mouth quirked. “Rest assured.”

…

Isaac raced back to the Mansion. As he made his way past the front door and towards his room, he thanked his lucky stars he encountered no one to bother him.

“Newt old boy!”

Never mind. Arthur strolled by Isaac, his tongue wagging. Arthur’s eyes trained on Isaac’s furtive movements—Isaac didn’t bother to hide his desire to leave as he continued walking.

“You’re not the only one who’s eager! I just passed by your room. Our Mitsuki awaits with anticipation.”

“Not OUR. That’s enough from you.” Irritated, Isaac brushed past Arthur.

“Yes, yes, you should make haste. She’s quite in a precarious position. All for your sake, old chap.” Arthur’s eyes sparkled.

There were endless possibilities to what Arthur could mean. Isaac tugged a lock of hair and moved faster, not bothering to reply back.

“Oh, you’ll appreciate it Newt.” Arthur’s chuckled quietly as he watched Isaac hurry down the hall.

When Isaac finally made his way to his room, the first thing he noticed was the partially open door. He opened it fully before closing it quietly behind him. What he saw next made his mouth drop in complete surprise.

In the center of the room was Mitsuki, standing on an A-frame ladder. Her eyes concentrated intently as she took a paint brush and pressed the brush’s tip repeatedly on the ceiling. Though she clearly dipped the brush in a nearby paint-can, no visible paint appeared on the ceiling.

She wore one of Isaac’s old shirts he thought he’d thrown out—a sort of makeshift paint smock. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and the top two buttons were undone, unveiling a trail of love marks from her neck towards her chest. The shirttails barely covered her hips and upper thighs.

“There! It’s finished!” Mitsuki clapped her hands in satisfaction. Her joy was so apparent that it made Isaac want to bask in it for as long as possible. Mitsuki began to make her way down the ladder when she suddenly slipped.

“Waaaaah!”

Mitsuki closed her eyes and braced for impact. Instead, she found herself in the arms of her very anxious lover. Isaac stumbled awkwardly and tumbled with her on the bed. The ladder and paint-can somehow remained upright.

“What in God’s name were you doing?!” Isaac’s voice was breathless as his hands roamed Mitsuki’s body, checking for injuries. Both laid on the bed on their sides in a heap of tangled limbs. Arthur’s previous comments echoed in his brain. “And wearing JUST this with the door open!”

“I was finishing your gift.” Mitsuki pouted, mildly embarrassed. “The door was PARTIALLY open due to paint fumes. I only needed 5 minutes more to surprise you completely.”

“I’m ALREADY surprised! Why must you always risk yourself?” Having found no obvious injuries, Isaac pulled Mitsuki towards him, huffing against her shoulder.

“I always seem to worry you.” Mitsuki carded her fingers through his hair to soothe his nerves. “It’s not my intent, I promise.”

Isaac pulled back slightly, his eyes roaming up and down her body. “Why are you wearing this?” There were plenty of paint smocks available that Vincent could have easily provided.

“It’s yours.” Mitsuki looked at Isaac with heat. “I wanted to feel you. It even smells of spring and black tea like you do.” Mitsuki curled a finger under the collar of the shirt Isaac wore and loosened his tie. With a smile, Mitsuki added. “Although, I much prefer you in the flesh.”

Isaac’s heart leapt at her words. “You, you really are so—“ The remainder of his words were forgotten as her lips pressed against his, a rush of warmth and pleasure flooding them both. Isaac’s mouth quickly poured everything into these kisses, open and eager. Mitsuki’s moans electrified him, her mewls driving him to seek more. He groaned against her lips as she hooked his hip with one of her legs to pull him closer. Mitsuki’s hand began to traverse down his chest towards the waistband of his pants when she noticed a bulge…not where she expected it.

“Isaac?” Mitsuki gasped in surprise—both at Isaac’s fingers as they crept up her thighs and at her discovery. “Is there something in your pocket?”

Pink dusted Isaac’s cheeks. A muffled groan left his lips at Mitsuki’s knowing chuckle. He lifted her wandering hand and laughed softly.

“If you want to be reminded of me, perhaps you should wear this instead.” Fishing inside his pocket, Isaac placed a watch on Mitsuki’s left wrist.

The watch’s band was leather, a dark brown reminding Mitsuki of the bark of cherry blossom trees. The clock face was pure white, with a series of three raised white dots in the middle that looked similar to the buttons of Mitsuki’s everyday blouse. The hour and minute hands were the same tint as Isaac’s eyes. Isaac nuzzled his cheek against her palm before kissing it gently.

“You are the first Mitsuki—first I’ve ever laughed with, first I’ve felt at peace with, first I’ve felt possessive of. My life revolves around you. I cannot imagine a life without your presence. So please—share what time you have with me.”

Mitsuki interlaced her fingers with his, kissing each in turn. “I told you once before and I’ll say it again. My time? You can have all of it.”

Isaac buried his face in the crook of her neck, overwhelmed by her response. A shuttering sigh escaped his lips as he left a trail of kisses across her neck and shoulders.

“Wait, wait! Before we continue, let me show you my gift. Keep lying down, but look at the ceiling.” Mitsuki got up from the bed; Isaac reached out towards her, missing her touch. “Don’t worry, I’m staying in this room. Just…please close your eyes until I tell you to open them.”

Isaac complied, quietly baffled but very curious. He heard window curtains moving and lights being adjusted. The bed sheets crumpled around him as he felt Mitsuki lay next to him.

“OK, open them.”

Upon opening his eyes, Isaac was stunned. The room was now encased in mostly shadow, but the ceiling was littered with tons of bright illuminated dots. In the darkened room, the ceiling appeared to be an inky black sky, surrounded by the heavens.

Mitsuki turned to Isaac. Though the room was dark, she could see Isaac’s outline and features up close. “With your recent university position, helping Napoleon with his students, and your own independent research, we haven’t had time to stargaze like we used to.”

“So,” Mitsuki tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “I decided to bring the stars to us.”

Isaac stared at the ceiling in wonder. “How did you do this?”

“Leonardo created the paint. It looks nearly invisible in the daylight. But in the dark, you see this.”

“I can’t believe you—“ Mitsuki placed a finger on his lips.

“You’re Isaac. And you’re worth it.”

Her words sunk in, enveloping him in a winding warmth. He repositioned his body, his forehead resting on hers. “One thing about stars—however pretty, they remain far away. But you—you’re always here.”

Mitsuki squeezed Isaac’s hand, hearing his unspoken words. “You aren’t alone. Not anymore. I’m here to watch clouds, stars, constellations—anything that brings you joy.”

With a soft, boyish smirk, Isaac cupped her face before leaning closer. “Then let me watch you instead.”

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