#also: i haven't done any formal voice training or anything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emperor-palpaminty · 3 years

Note

Are you still taking requests?

What about a very jealous Crosshair or Echo pre-relationship and their brothers egging them on?

I haven't done echo in so long shdkdjsk!!! Baby BOOOOOY!!!!! Also he has actual prosthetic arms and legs because I am gonna pretend like he can change them out for formal events

warnings: major simping, pretty dresses, I cannot write anything else apparently, also mentions of wine (i don’t even like wine smh)

Echo wasn't a jealous man. Really, he wasn't.

At least, that was what he told himself when he watched her walk into the room, dripping in silk. The senator held her head up high, hair piled on her head, shoulders rolled back as she moved down the stairs, hand gently resting on the railing as she moved down. The train of her dress followed, pouring down the stairs.

He didn't bother hiding the way he sucked in his breath- she was glistening.

Crosshair laughed in the comm. "Someone's got it bad, huh?" Echo barely managed to get a hiss in towards the sniper.

"Boys," Hunter warned. "Keep your eyes out. We're here to make sure the senator stays alive." From a distance, Echo saw him perched at the roof, watching the exterior of the building. "Tech, anything?"

"Nothing yet." The clone muttered into the comm. "I'm watching all signals bouncing in the room."

“I’m keeping an eye out on visuals inside.” Echo skimmed the room, tearing his eyes away from the graceful senator. “No unusual activity.”

“I’ll bet you’re watching.” Crosshair’s snark was just as effective through the modulator of the comm.

“Shut up.”

“No, you.”

Echo gnashed his teeth. “Di’kut.”

“Hut’uun.”

“Boys!” Hunter hissed. “I will make you both hug and make up if you both don’t shut the kark up.”

“A fate worse than death.” Echo mumbled, drawing his eyes back to the senator, which wasn’t hard to do. She was currently talking very calmly to a man, smiling at him and his aid, bowing her head politely. Even so his heart throttled and twisted angrily, irritated at himself.

Crosshair snickered, his visor illuminated in the distant moonlight as he shook his head. “You’d rather hug and make up with something else.”

“I’m going to-”

“I’m picking up on something.” Tech spoke up suddenly, exasperation seeping through the comm system. “High levels of sass.”

Wrecker broke out in fits of laughter over the commlinks, pealing through Echo’s helmet abrasively. “Ha, ha! That’s what I like about ya, Echo.”

Echo scowled but fought off the urge to say anything. It felt like he had just assimilated into the small group of clones, and he didn’t want to cause any rifts. He bit his tongue, turning his eyes back to the gala below. “Look at all of these people. You think they know anything about the actual war?”

“Who knows?” Tech mumbled softly. It was a hum over the comm, but somehow every brother picked it up.

There was a moment of weight. The comms were silent for a moment with heaviness, a bated breath, and none of them dared to say anything about the weight of the galaxy that rested on the shoulders of a few men.

Crosshair’s voice slithered between the cracks of the fragile quietness. “Let’s go back to teasing each other.”

Echo wanted to agree, and he mumbled a half-hearted “Mm.” She looked up at him, peering down from the second-floor railing. She offered him a small smile, gentle, and it radiated, brighter than the lights and sweeter than any wine they were serving below. “You know,” He said, softly. “At least there is one senator out there who gets us.”

The others gave affirmations, Wrecker’s “Yeah, she does!” being the loudest out of them all. Echo grinned under his helmet as Hunter chuckled.

“Guys, go easy on him.”

“Why?” Crosshair giggled in the system. “It’s so sweet, watching him make googly-eyes at her.”

“I don’t make googly-eyes.” Echo muttered, stepping away from the bannister after scanning the room. “I make... regular eyes.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” The largest clone rumbled, still breaking with laughter. Echo winced at the booming of his voice. “You keep staring at her from your watch point.”

“To make sure she stays alive.”

At least... that was what he told himself. Just business, strictly business. Even so, his mind wandered to her, waning in its strict upholdings and tugging at the net he tried to use to constrain his thoughts of her- her airy movements, how she practically floated across the floor, her sleepy voice after being awoken abruptly by the Batch knocking on her door, or her ringing laughter that was fully free to run over him like waves. The net was broken and his soul was snatched away by her unwitting hands.

“Hunter to Echo,” The sargent’s voice sliced through his thoughts. “You see anything yet?”

Echo leaned back over the bannister, breath drawing in as he spotted a man coming in from the side door. “Yeah, I think so.” He hurried around, closer to the side door. “Someone came in from the side.”

Tech hummed in thought from the comm. “That’s odd. The representatives should be coming in from the main entrance.”

“On it,” Echo jumped up onto the edge of the bannister, balancing, watching and waiting as he perched. His heart thrummed as the senator turned, eyes sharp, landing on the man. She froze.

An obsidian barrel pointed out at her, and her eyes flickered up at him. Echo.

Echo’s chest flared with anger, heat, and he pounced. He landed hard on the perpatrator, metal legs digging into his back as they landed hard. Party goers gasped, turning and staring at the clone, shocked, eyes darting between Echo and the unconcious man lying on the floor, blaster knocked a good amount away by the impact.

Except her- her eyes only stayed on him. Echo hurried towards her and took her hand, pulling her away from everyone. “Let’s get you to cover.”

She nodded, following him, stopping to kick off those heels of hers and following him with bare feet. She raised a hand to her ear and said, softly, “Hunter, I’m alright. Echo’s got me.”

Echo almost stopped moving, and his blood ran cold. “You’re connected to our comms?”

“Of course.” A smile tugged at her voice, and Echo groaned internally. “I can hear you.”

“The whole time?” Echo grimaced as Crosshair cackled in the headset. Echo reached up to his helmet and quickly shut the system off, ducking into the designated safe room on the side.

She chuckled, pulling in the trail of silk behind her as he shut the door. “All of it. Do you really make googly-eyes at me?”

Echo mumbled under his breath, feeling a sudden gently thud on the sides of his helmet. She stood in front of him, hands resting gently on the cheeks of his helmet and lifting it up. “I don’t mind your googly eyes, Echo.” She spoke softly, gently, resting his helmet in her hands. “I quite like them, actually.”

She was close- the only thing between them was his helmet resting in her hands. Quietly, Echo moved his hands to cover hers, and his words propelled from his mouth, shattering in his throat. “I... I’m sorry. I wish I could see you some other way, but-”

Her fingers pressed gently to his lips, moving his helmet under her arm. The silk was cool under his gloved hands as he pressed his fingers to her dress. “I can’t look at you any other way, either, Echo.” He smiled, quietly, feeling her lips brush his chin. “I don’t want to look at you any other way.”

He felt nothing, just the silk of her gown and the magnetic pull of her warm lips to his in the small, dark safe room, and a chapped mix of a moan and sigh escaped his throat as he wrapped his arms around her. She smelled floral, like open spaces and free planets, somewhere far from here. She broke away, the absolutely spine-chilling hum a musical sound to his ears.

“How is he?” Echo heard the tinkering of Crosshair’s laugh in the senator’s earpiece.

Echo reached out, taking the comm. “Shut up, Cross,” He hissed, turning off the comm and wrapping his arms around the senator. She laughed lightly, lips meshing and dancing with Echo’s.

#echo x reader #echo x you #bad batch reader insert #bad batch echo x reader #bad batch echo x you #minty writes #echo #clones #i did change up the reason for prosthetic arms in this one because it was a bad say for me to think

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candy-and-writing · 4 years

Text

What A Triple Lutz Can Do

Dark! Bucky x Ice Skater! Reader x Dark! Steve

Summary: Steve and Bucky have found each other again, after everything they've been through. When Steve meets you at the Winter Olympics, he decides you're the perfect little doll for their plan.

Warnings: non con/dub con, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, male masturbation, pet names—kitten, oral sex (female and male), fingering, poly relationship (m/m/f), somnophilia, light bondage, more to be added as the story goes on

A/N: This is loosely based off @henchry post about Chris Evans dating an ice skater. I read it and instantly had this idea, I’ve just never posted it. I think I unintentionally used bunny by @buckybarney as inspiration in making final edits. They also helped me figure out how to make this moodboard, so thank you! Please let me know if you enjoyed this, I had a lot of fun writing this!

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Before the war, before Bucky had fallen off the train and Steve crashed into the ice, before the Avengers and before and the world made Steve Rogers harder—colder—he liked to call himself a hopeless romantic. He wanted to meet eyes with someone across a diner and feel the fireworks explode in his chest. He wanted to buy a girl flowers, he wanted to walk down the streets of Brooklyn while it was snowing with her hand warming his. He wanted to buy his girl a ring, he wanted to get married, have a family.

He thought he would get that with Peggy, but he missed his chance. When he woke up in another century, he thought for sure he would never get his happily ever after. The women today were so. . . brash. A lady was supposed to be kind, polite, and dutiful. He understood that times were different, but that shouldn't excuse the ungrateful attitudes.

Then he found Bucky again, and the crazy world he had been forced into didn't seem so hopeless anymore.

Tony had received a call from the International Olympics Committee, formally inviting the Avengers to the Winter Olympics. They were in Italy this year, Milan and Cortina. It was the first Olympic Games to be held in two cities, according to Bruce.

The committee had asked Steve to conduct the medal presentations for ice skating and hockey. They wanted Thor to carry the torch for the opening ceremony, but he was off-world and unavailable.

So here Steve was, sitting in the Mediolanum Forum venue next to Sam so he could watch the ice skating events. He figured if he was going to be giving the winners their medals, he should see why they won.

The committee had given the team access to front row seating, and that's where he was when you came out.

You were the third skater, and the first American representative, to take the ice. Your hair was pulled into a braided braid low on the side of your head with a blue flower pinned above the bun. The little dress you wore was modest—the same shade of blue that matched your flower and a sleeveless neckline that connected to a sheer fabric for sleeves and a higher neck, the little flowy skirt stopping in the middle of your thigh. Lines of little jewels dipped along your bust, beads varying in size. You had makeup on, like all the previous girls, but yours was light and glittery—save for the ruby red lipstick, but even that looked classical on you. It reminded Steve of the makeup women would wear back in the thirties.

He was so focused on you that Sam had to elbow him in the ribs to get his attention. He shut his jaw then, listening to the way your name rolled off the commentator's tongue, the syllables lining and matching each other perfectly.

You were twenty-one, and this was your first time competing in the Olympics. You've competed in other national and international tournaments, and you've done good in them if he was understanding correctly. It made an odd sense of pride swell in his chest. You were skating to Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

You moved to the middle of the rink as the announcer informed the stadium who conducted and performed your piece. You had four quads set in your routine, two in the first half and two in the second. It got quiet in the arena as you raised your arm over your head and arched your back like a ballerina. Steve counted five seconds before the music started and you spun around slowly. You started to move your body and—

Oh. Oh.

Steve was sure his jaw had dropped to the floor. The way you moved was bewitching, beautifully languid yet articulate. It was like the music moved through you, coursing through your veins as you made it entirely your own, bringing something so utterly delicate and ethereal out of the melody. You made it show in your body, in your movements.

The first of your quads were coming up, something called a quadruple lutz. Steve didn't know what it was, but when you threw your leg back and jumped, spinning in the air before landing and the crowd erupted into applause, he figured you did it correctly.

Your feet glided across the ice as you skated backward, your muscles tensing—you were preparing for your next quad. You kicked your leg back and used it as momentum to jump, spinning and landing what the commentator called a quadruple flip. The crowd cheered again.

Your expression—the raw focus and determination hiding behind your eyes—was gorgeous. Your crimson lips were parted slightly, eyelids hooded as you brought your head up. The delicate expression, the way your shoulders tensed as you jumped and spun in the air once, twice, three times before you landed gracefully on your toes had the breath leaving his lungs.

It was art. You were a work of art. So beautiful he wanted to lock you behind a glass cage and put you on display. You commanded the ice as if you controlled it, with such a degree of intricacy that Steve thought if you jumped high enough or spun fast enough you would grow wings and fly away.

You were in your element. You kicked your foot back before bringing it forward, using it to start your jump. You spun in the air and landed on one foot, your other leg spread out and leading the twirl you used to end the jump. The stadium cheered, Sam said something about a triple axel.

Steve wished the song lasted forever, wished he could watch you forever, but soon there was a flute trilling and you slowed, circling back to the center of the rink and just like that—your performance was over. The crowd exploded into cheers, throwing flowers, stuffed toys, anything they had in their pockets.

You broke into a smile, your plump lips parting and bringing out your dimples. Steve swooned as you waved to the crowd, bending to pick up a rose. Your gaze met his, and he swore he felt fireworks erupt in his chest. You smiled at him before skating off the ice, hugging a man sporting a red lightweight jacket with the USA logo embroidered on the sleeve, his dark hair slicked back. Steve watched as you smiled at him, not missing the way he stared at your ass as you turned away.

Then, suddenly, you were in first place. Your eyes went wide and you jumped up, hugging the man in the red jacket—Steve assumed he was your coach. He heard your squeal above the rest of the cheers.

Even from where he was sitting, your eyes were bright, brighter than your smile. Steve was proud of you, pride swelled in his chest as he watched you speak with a reporter. His eyes stayed glued to you as you shook hands with the reporter, your coach walking you to the locker rooms. He watched you until he couldn't anymore.

A strange desire pulled at his heart as he pulled his Stark Pad out, looking you in F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s database.

After watching your performance every other skater seemed dull, incomparable, to you. The judges must have thought so, too. You stayed in first place, winning the competition.

According to F.R.I.D.A.Y, you grew up in Chicago, but you moved to Manhattan for college. You got a new coach, Adrian Tucker, who was a gold and silver medalist back in the nineties. You're a junior at NYU, majoring in Art History. You have an Instagram, some sort of social media Peter had been trying to convince him to get, and Steve created an account immediately just to follow you. You had pictures of yourself, of friends, of the rink, even a pair of ballet shoes.

So you did ballet, good to know.

The award ceremony couldn't come soon enough. The idea of being closer to you sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach. Ever since he had gotten him back, Steve and Bucky have been talking about settling down—creating a life with a girl and starting a family. But they haven't found the right partner, but maybe. . . ?

When he stood in front of you, he swore he almost stopped breathing. You were gorgeous. Your hair had been taken out of the bun, cascading down your shoulders in loose waves. Your makeup was still done the same, but he noticed light freckles dotting along the bridge of your nose. Your eyes sparkled up at him—good God, you barely stood past his chest—your painted lips parted in a smile as you took him in. He placed the gold medal around your neck, congratulating you. You whispered a small, "thank you, Captain," and Steve felt a spark of electricity jolt down his groin.

Your voice was light, melodic, quiet. You were respectful, something he valued in people, in women. He could almost imagine you posed as the perfect housewife. With the perfect husband—or husbands—with the white picket fence, the kids. He could imagine your belly swollen, the little children running around calling you 'mama'. You were young, right at that age where women would start becoming wives and mothers back in his day. The thought only made his cock harder as he watched you on the platform, waving to the audience with the biggest smile on your face.

As he sat back down next to Sam, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up Bucky's contact and sent him a picture from your Instagram.

'I think I found her,' he typed.

Bucky remembered the first time he realized he was in love with Steve—he was sixteen. He had danced around with plenty of girls already but none of them ever really seemed to stick. He had saved up enough money to spend Steve's birthday at Coney Island, that was the day he made Steve ride the Cyclone, back when he was still skinny. He had bought Steve a hotdog, which a pelican attacked him over. Bucky was crying from laughter, face red and stomach aching, when he looked over at Steve. Something just clicked then.

The past couple of months, Steve and Bucky had been making plans to add a third partner into life. After all this time, fighting Nazis and being mind-controlled and saving the universe time and time again, they both agreed they deserved it—that they deserved a family. They had both been selfless for so long, was it so wrong to want someone to be selfless for them? To want someone soft that could share their love?

Steve and Bucky were great together—the love of each other's lives, in fact—but they shared an overwhelming need to dominate, to control. On and off the field. When they fucked they were ruthless, full of scraping nails and biting teeth. Fingertips that left bruises that lasted for days. They needed someone else, someone they could focus that control on, someone who could take them so gently and lovingly, a way they rarely took each other.

Then he got Steve's text. You were young, and it wasn't hard to find out almost everything he needed to know about you. Steve helped him use F.R.I.D.A.Y to figure out where you live—a small apartment that was close to your college campus. You could walk to class if the weather permitted it. It also wasn't too far from the ice rink you trained at. It was easy for Bucky to find a building across from your suite where they could watch you. You liked to keep your window open, let the sunlight in.

They took turns sitting on the roof of the neighboring building, looking through a pair of binoculars. They would watch you for hours—watch you do simple things like reading. That was Bucky's favorite, the way your lips moved ever so slightly as you read the words on the page. You enjoyed reading horror novels—Steven King, Mary Downing Hahn, an author named Chuck Palahnuik. A worn copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein sat on your bookshelf. At first glance, Bucky never would have pegged you as a horror kind of girl, you were too sweet and too timid. As he continued to watch you through the cameras Steve had him install, though, he saw that you very much liked psychological thrillers. You would watch a show on YouTube about true crime and haunted locations, a couple of amateurs who didn't quite know what they were doing. They were funny, though. Steve and Bucky would watch you laugh as you stared at your phone, smiling to yourself.

You trained at a ballet studio in lower Manhattan, worked out at a gym a block away from that. They were quick to memorize your routine once they started. You'd wake up at five-thirty every morning and make yourself some breakfast. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's you hit the gym and the studio; you'd go to whatever classes you had that day, grab a coffee at the campus cafe, then head to the skating rink for two hours. Two and a half hours max. You went home, studied, and then you were left to your own devices. Sometimes you read, sometimes you baked and God, Bucky almost couldn't stop drooling at the thought of tasting your cooking. You'd watch television in your small living room and be in bed no later than eleven o'clock every night to start your day again.

One Monday morning, Steve and had followed you to the gym. They'd been doing that the last few weeks. At first, Steve reasoned it was so they could watch over you, in case you got into some trouble. Some mornings they planned on running into you on the sidewalk, pretending it was an accident—there was a flower cart along your route you liked to stop and admire, sometimes buying a bouquet of daisies for your little bachelor pad—but the timing never seemed right. Steve was never wearing the right shirt, or Bucky's hair was always a mess from the wind.

You took a cab, which Steve followed a couple of cars behind on his motorcycle. The air was brisk, the first signs of spring coming into the city. Some of the trees had started growing their leaves again, vibrant greens against the grey winter sky. He parked his bike underneath a plotted tree that had just started to turn, the tips of the leaves a bright green as blossoms began to bloom, pastel pinks against vibrant greens with petals blowing in the wind. He bought a newspaper from a vendor a couple of stores down and sat on a nearby bench, catching up with the world as he counted down the minutes. You would be in there for an hour and fifteen minutes almost exactly.

Steve almost couldn't sit still. He was itching to get his hands on you, to feel you. He and Bucky have been watching you for a long time now, waiting for the right moment to get their hands on you. Steve was growing impatient.

At forty-five minutes, his eyes began to flick up at the building every few minutes. He knew it wasn't time yet, but there was always a chance you got done early.

At an hour, his gaze hovered just above the paper. Ten more minutes, he told himself.

At an hour and twelve minutes, you emerged. Steve watched as you hugged your coat to your chest and began walking. The studio you danced at was only a block away, so you wouldn't have to be out in the cold for long. Still, Steve couldn't help but chastise you for not wearing something warmer. All you had on were a pair of thin leggings—that hugged your ass beautifully, he might add—and a compression tank top under your lightweight sweater.

Steve rushed to his bike, folding the newspaper in his hand and revving up the engine. He drove down the block, parking in front of a cafe across from the ballet studio. He watched you enter the studio and sat at a table, ordering a cup of coffee. He saw you through the floor-to-ceiling windows, your let stretched up over your head. He reached for his sketchbook and pencil, laying it out on the table before him.

The night of the Olympics, the first time after Steve had seen you, he stayed up all night drawing you. He found a video of your performance on the internet, watching it on repeat as he drew you in different positions. The first sketch he did was of you with your arm over your head, just before you started skating. He found he loved drawing the shape of your lips, so the next sketch was a portrait of your face. Your long lashes were hooded, eyes downcast and your lips parted slightly as the pencil scratched against the paper, your plump lips etched in charcoal. The expression Steve caught you in was oddly ethereal, the kind of innocence that Steve found absolutely breathtaking.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Steve sighed, pulling the device out of his jeans. Cursing, he reread the message Sam sent, looking back up across the street. You were still in front of the window, leg propped up on a bar with your upper body reaching for your foot. He sighed, closing his sketchbook as he stomped toward his bike.

Steve and Bucky trudged back into the Compound, exhausted and irritated. Not only have they been unable to see you for a week and a half, forced to watch you through the cameras hidden throughout your apartment, but the mission had been a complete bust. They had been sent away to Northern Peru, where Fury had given them intel about a group of HYDRA smugglers shipping illegal weapons into the country. Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky spent twelve days in a cramped, boiling building across from the target's warehouse and managed to find nothing before Fury called them back.

Steve was sweaty, Bucky hadn't taken a shower in a week, and they missed you. Bucky wanted to touch you, he wanted to kiss you until you were breathless. He watched you on his phone when he could, often opting to watch the camera feed than to sleep.

Once they were in their suite, Steve stripped his uniform off, leaving it in a heap on the floor to pick up later. Right now he just wanted to feel clean. He turned the shower on and peeled his boxers off as Bucky undressed, Steve stepping below the showerhead. The warm water felt nice against his taut muscles, his shoulders relaxing under the water pressure. He watched the dirt and grime from the mission get washed away, down the drain in muddy-grey color.

As he massaged shampoo through his hair, his thoughts wandered back to you, fingers itching to run against your skin. The way your lips always looked so soft, how utterly delicious you would look with them wrapped around his cock. The sweet little noises you would make as he forced himself down your throat—you were so small, it wouldn't take much to make you choke on him.

Steve groaned as his fist wrapped around his length. Almost two weeks without imagining you on your knees, imagining your mouth on him and he was oh so sensitive. He cursed, running his thumb over his slit. He pictured your tongue dragging against his girth, your wrecked expression as you struggled to take him deeper, as Bucky struggled to fit himself in behind you. He fisted himself faster, gasping out your name.

"Yeah, baby," he mumbled to himself. "Just like that. Fuck."

He could only imagine how beautiful you would look when you came. Your skin sweaty, hips bucking, your innocent little eyes rolling to the back of your head as you squealed. Oh, you were definitely a squealer. They would make you cum over and over and—

He bit back a moan as he came, hot white spurts coating his stomach as he slowed his movements, nerves on fire. He sighed, rinsing himself off before he turned the water off. He was still hard, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get himself off.

The tips of his fingers buzzed as he redressed himself and Bucky hopped in the shower. Steve didn't know if it was the stress of the mission or the adrenaline you gave him, but he couldn't wait anymore. He didn't have the patience to wait anymore.

He was watching the camera feeds in your apartment when Bucky came out of the bathroom. All it took was one look from Steve—they already had it all planned out, they just had to put it into motion.

You struggled to unlock your door, twisting the key in the lock a few times, cursing as you pushed your shoulder against the door, stumbling as the door swung open. You managed to catch yourself before knocking over your vase of daisies, straightening as you waited for your world to stop spinning.

You knew it had been a bad idea when you agreed to go out tonight. You're such a lightweight and after just three shots and half a glass of wine, you're going to have a killer hangover in the morning. God, and it's three a.m. But Annie had begged you to come with them. You haven't hung out with her in so long, you were desperate to see her again. You just wished she hadn't dragged you out to a bar.

You dropped your handbag on your little dining room table, opening the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of orange juice. You drank half the glass in a couple of gulps, letting out a sigh as you set the glass down. As you moved to pull your phone out of your purse, you heard the floorboards creak, like someone was taking a step.

You froze, looking down the hall. The boards in your bedroom creak like that when you step down on a certain spot, but you've been in the apartment long enough to learn where it is exactly and step around it.

As quietly as you could, you made your way down the hall, checking the bathroom. You've seen enough horror movies in your life to know never to close the shower curtain when you weren't using it, so with a quick glance you knew the room was empty.

Your bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door cracked open. You walked in, carefully looking around. Your closet door was open, the windows were closed, you turned and looked towards your dresser mirror and—

You saw the figure behind you before you could react. Your eyes went wide, their hand coming up to cover your mouth before you could muster a scream. Your hands flew up to the hand, legs kicking out as the intruder dragged you out of your bedroom. You screamed into the hand, thrashing as you felt a sharp prick in your neck.

"It's alright," they cooed. "Shhh, it's okay, doll. You're just gonna go to sleep for a little while, okay?"

You shook your head frantically, tears streaming down your face as you felt your body getting tired. You blinked furiously, trying to fight the sleepy feeling. Your muscles felt like dead weight, you stopped kicking your feet as your grip on the man's cold hand went slack.

"That's a good girl," he crooned. "Just relax, kitten. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Your vision blurred, and then everything went black.

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 4 years

Note

Oo oo could u do a thrawn nsfw head cannon? If u haven't already?

A/N: You’re actually the first. Let’s see what we can do for my favorite Grand Admiral.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Thrawn is always so careful with you. His voice becomes low and soft, praising you as he helps clean you up. He doesn’t want you anywhere else, but by his side. He doesn’t care if you’re room is just down the hall, you’re staying with him for the rest of the night.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your eyes. He loves catching every stray emotion. He loves the way they shine when you smile and gloss over in want when he fucks you. He could cum just by looking in your eyes alone.

As for himself, he likes his arms. He knows they’re strong and he loves how easily he can lift you into them. He knows how you watch them while he trains and you cling to them as he takes you. He has every reason in the galaxy to appreciate them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves to cum inside you more than anything. For one, he doesn’t like leaving a mess and prefers an unimpeded view of your skin. But, more importantly he feels it’s a way of truly prooving you’re his. He’s the one making you feel this way. It’s your body clenching around him, begging for his seed. And don’t even get him started on the sight of his cum leaking out of you pussy when he finally pulls out. It’s enough to get him going all over again.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Thrawn takes great pride of having control over himself and his body. The one time he fully lost control wasn’t long after meeting you. You had gotten close too him. He could smell the sent of your hair and detected the infrared glow of heat from your cheeks. You had spoken formally, but softly in a tone that was leaving him reeling.

He all but ran to his quarters at the first opportunity and ran a cold shower. But, even that couldn’t stop the different scenarios of your legs wrapped around his waist. He had to take care of himself then and there or else he was going to burst.

He felt some shame at that, not from his thoughts of you, but his lack of reserve.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He actually has a rather limited experience. My personal headcanon is that the Chiss are pretty culturally strict when it comes to sex. So, having sexual relations outside of marriage is a bigger deal. He’s had only one or two partners before you. But, he doesn’t go into anything without doing at least some research.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he can see your eyes. Even if he takes you from behind, he’ll make you turn your head to look at him. He wants to know what you’re feeling even if you can’t voice it. He wants to see what he’s doing to you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Thrawn is always serious when it comes to your pleasure. His full concentration is on you. He’s not going to be the one to break the tension. Although, he’s not one to pass up an opportunity at a smug dry remark.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Hair is kept to a minimal, manageable level. And yes, the carpet does match the drapes; all dark blue black down there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As I’ve said in previous headcanons, Thrawn has an extremely difficult time being vulnerable around people. Sex is by it’s nature a vulnerable act, it leaves you exposed. So, the fact Thrawn even wants to have sex with you is a huge sign of trust, and he wants to show you how much it means to him. He makes love to you every time you’re together, plain and simple.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As I’ve said before, Thrawn takes pride in having control over his body and impulses. So, he keeps the jacking off to a minimum. Even after years of not having a partner, he doesn’t really feel the urge to. And when he’s with a partner, he wants to save his lust for them, not his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Mirror Sex. It has everything he loves with the added benefit of you being able to see yourself as well. He loves watching your eyes widen at the sight of his cock disappearing into your pussy. God, the sounds he makes.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His quarters on The Chimera. It’s a place where he feels most comfortable and in control. It’s where his own power comes from with the added benefit of no interruptions short of imminent attack. Nobody is going to disturb a Grand Admiral unless someone was literally dying.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Competency. Any time you can prove just how capable you are, whether it be intellectually or physically, sends a thrill down his spine. He cannot wait to get you back into his bed to show you just how awe-inspiring you truly are.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Verbal humiliation, from either him or you. Insults to him and his capabilities are only going to get him frustrated and not in a sexy way. And he cannot bring himself to humiliate you. He’ll tie you up if you like it. Spank you if you ask, but he’s not going to degrade you in anyway. He doesn’t get it and he doesn’t like it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves giving. If I haven’t made it clear, he takes pride in your pleasure. He can get off just at the sounds you make under him, knowing he’s the one making you feel this way. He’ll stay between your legs for hours, making you cum again and again until your trembling and begging him to stop. He might not have much experience, but he learns fast.

That all being said, there’s something about you on your knees, looking up with him, praising him for all that he’s given you and asking if you can give him something in return.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual is his general M.O. He wants to make the experience last for as long as possible. But, if you ask, he’ll take you as roughly as you like. It’s all a matter of what will give you the most satisfaction.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not his thing. Like, really not his thing. He doesn’t want to risk a quick escapade in his office and he’s not going to degrade himself to a supply closet. It’s either your room or his, and if you’re already there, you might as well take your time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Thrawn is willing to try different things, so long as he’s given the time to prepare and read up on whatever it is you want to try. And so long as it’s not anything degrading either for you or for him. And if it’s private. He has a reputation with his crew he needs to uphold. His private life is private for a reason.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man has amazing stamina. He might only get off once or twice, but he can go for hours, holding off his own climax while he gets you off an average of three to five times between his tongue, fingers, and cock, if not more. You’re not sure if it’s a Chiss thing or a Thrawn thing. Either way, he’s not done with you until you either beg him to stop or pass out.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No toys unless you explicitly talk about it before hand as part of an experiment. Call it pride, but Thrawn wants to do all the work himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He tries to tease you. He really does. He tries to keep you on edge, but as soon as your moans and pleads leave your lips, he’s gone. He has to give you what you want.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not that noisy, unless his whispering praises in your ear in a mix of basic and Cheunh. Mostly it’s heavy breathing broken up by grunts and soft curses.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Thrawn never really thought of having children before you. His mind was always focused on what the Ascendeny required of him and then the Empire. The idea of having something for his own never occurred to him. But, there are times after you make love with you in his arms he wonders what might happen if you got pregnant. The thought of you carrying his child is almost enough for him to wake you up and try for one in earnest.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The man is hung and you cannot convince me otherwise. Again, unsure if it’s a Chiss thing or a Thrawn thing, but he’s certainly longer and thicker than the average human. Not to mention completely blue with his cock turning a kind of purple at the tip when aroused. It’s going to be nearly impossible to go back to humans after him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not very high. He’s able to keep his more erotic thoughts to a minimum and even if he can’t help it, he’s able to put them safely away until later. However, when he does get in the mood, you better clear your schedule.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a while to fall asleep. He doesn’t need that much sleep period and sex doesn’t exhaust him the way it does for others. You’re more likely to dose off first before his eyes are even heavy.

#grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn x reader #thrawn x reader #star wars #sw rebels #timothy zahn #lemon

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sweetcherrypie1967 · 3 years

Text

Halloween Gala (pt 2)

"Granger?"

"Malfoy?"

The two both stared at each other speechless, and what could they say? Neither of them had so much as seen one another since the Battle of Hogwarts and that wasn't the best memory for either.

Hermione didn't even know how to react. She was on the verge of running out of there as fast as possible but at the same time she wanted to stay, he was still the same charming man she had been talking to all night after all. Truth be told, she paid attention when hearing someone mention the name Draco Malfoy or even seeing it in the Daily Prophet. Hermione knew he had changed, but how much?

Draco, on the other hand, wasn't sure whether to let her go to give her some space, in case she tried to punch him like she had in their third year, or to simply wait for her to react first. While he no longer had little to any qualms with the mysterious woman turning out to be Hermione Granger, he had absolutely no idea how she's going to take him being Draco Malfoy. After all, he had tormented her the most during his stay at Hogwarts.

He waited for some reaction, any reaction, but it didn't seem to be coming and it was starting to get awkward just holding her like this with people staring so he gently let her go. She was just looking at him with those big brown doe eyes of hers and Draco knew he had to say something. The anticipation and urge to break the deafening silence was killing him. He blurted our the first thing he could think of.

"Wow I, uh, haven't seen you since..." Draco began but then realized he'd better not go down that road, "..well a long time."

Hermione seemed to snap out of whatever trance she was in as she shook her head and fumbled out a, "yeah."

Draco looked around for anything to talk about when he remembered where they are. "You work at the Ministry?" He asked and noticed others began to stop staring and go on with the party.

"How's you know that?" Hermione asked genuinely confused, though coming back to her original self.

Draco simply gestured around them.

"Oh! Right, yes I work in the Auror Research department," she informed him.

"Really? I'm an Auror, how on Earth have we not bumped into each other sooner?" He asked.

"I have no idea! I have heard Harry and Ron say that you work with them occasionally though," Hermione said cautious about bringing them up. She wasn't sure where he stood with them anymore.

Draco smiled, to her utter shock, "the blokes have been gossiping, have they?" He said amused. As if on que, they appeared.

"Us? Gossiping? I'm offended Malfoy," Harry said.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," Draco said to which Harry chuckled.

"Oi, is 'Mione alright? She looks like her head might explode," Ron joked.

"I-I what? Am I missing something here?" Hermione stuttered out.

"Only a lot it seems," Draco said.

"How and when did this happen?" She said gesturing you the three of them.

"Well after the three of us here finished our Auror training, Malfoy started his. At first none of us liked it but when we had our first assignment, we all had each other's back and it all seemed to change from their," Harry explained.

So why didn't either of you tell me?" Hermione asked and her two closest friends gave her an apologetic look. She vaguely noticed that the music had started again.

"Sorry 'bout that, we just weren't sure how you'd react to it. You don't go out into the field much so we didn't think you'd understand," Ron explained.

"I also asked them not to, I wanted to talk to you myself," Draco said with a sheepish smile, "I didn't know you bloody well work so closely to us and I would've expected to run into you a lot sooner than now."

"It's better late than never, right? And by the looks of it the two of you've really hit it off tonight so it works out just fine," Harry said given both of them a knowing look to which both blushed at their very public kiss.

"Yeah.." Draco said rubbing the back of his neck, "at least I found out where I recognized you from."

All of them laughed.

"Oh, by the way, have you seen Ginny? I haven't seen her since our...talk," Harry asked a bit embarrassed at how unsuccessful it had gone.

He was trying to apologize for how they left things and before he knew it, they were arguing and she stomped away. Harry felt awful and wanted to make sure she was ok.

"I think I found her," Draco said amused as he pointed off to the other end of the dance floor where Ginny and none other than Blaise Zabini were dancing. They looked like there was no one else in the world, similar to how Draco and Hermione had felt. People were starting to leave as most of the excitement was over so it wasn't hard to see them.

Harry's face grew pale at the look on his recent ex girlfriends face, he felt a pang in his chest that she was apparently moving on so quickly but he knew that it was for the best. After all, he was the one who broke up with her and it was a few months ago. He tried not to let it show.

"I'll just..talk to her later then," Harry said not able to keep the sadness from his voice.

"It's alright, Mate, now you can ask out that girl," Draco said trying to be helpful but careful not to say her name.

"Girl?" Ron and Hermione questioned simultaneously as Harry's face turned red from embarrassment at the blond's words.

"I-uh-think I'm going to turn in, it's late and-" Harry started before being cut off.

"Harry," Hermione said gently, "you can tell us, who is she?"

Harry looked at Ron but he nodded in encouragement, "it's Luna," Harry said quietly.

"Luna Lovegood?" Hermione questioned, at his nod she smiled, "oh that's lovely! I did have a feeling there was something special between you two awhile back."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes, she understood you better then well any of us could and I think she suits you, Harry," Hermione told him. Harry thanked her and the attention went to Ron.

"I mean I'm surprised but Hermione has a point, if she'll make you happy then why not? You don't need our approval," Ron told him.

"Thank you guys," Harry said then yawned, "but really, I'd better get home."

They all said their goodbyes to Harry and then Ron decided to leave also, Hermione suspected that Harry had something to do with Ron's sudden decision so the two would be alone. Hermione loved them and knew they were just trying to help, but now she was alone with him and didn't have a clue what to say.

"Since they're gone, I'd like to formally apologize to you. I've been nothing but awful to you at Hogwarts and I know an apology won't change the hurt I've cause but I really truly am sorry, Hermione. For all of it. I've worked hard to change into a better man and I'd like to think I've done a good job so far,," Draco told her as searched her face for her reaction, "I understand if you can't forgive me, I probably wouldn't forgive me either, but I've really had a wonderful time with you tonight and I hope that perhaps we could start over?"

Hermione didn't expect such a apology but she could tell he meant every word, besides, if Harry and Ron could forgive him and even be friends with him, then that's enough for her. She had thoroughly enjoyed her time with him as well, and Hermione didn't want it to end here.

"Thank you, I think that's a wonderful idea. I'll never forget what happened, it's helped to shape who I am now, but I'm willing to give you another chance and forgive you," Hermione told him with a smile.

Draco was so happy that she had forgiven him and accepted his offer to start over that, without much thinking, he had lifted her up and spun her before putting her back on the ground. After he had lifted her he worried that might not have been the best move, however she simply laughed at the action with a bright smile on her face. He set her down and dramatically held out his hand.

"Would the lovely Miss Granger care to have one last dance to end the night?" Draco asked.

Hermione giggled and took his hand, "why yes indeed."

At this they began to dance to the music, they laughed and had danced more than once before finally parting. This Halloween night would be one to remember for many, many years to come.

#dramione #harry potter #dhr #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #hermione granger #blaise x ginny #dhr fanfiction #post hogwarts #blinny #ministry of magic #blaise zabini #ginny weasley

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