#while i was working on this i actually stumbled across a second draft of this design from around the same time (august 24th to be exact) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bee-the-loser · 4 months

Text

──────────────────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────────────────

₊ ⊹☼ Pairing: The8/Xu Minghao x reader ₊ ⊹☼ Synopsis: Multiple chance encounters across lives, with a soul somehow fated to yours throughout ₊ ⊹☼ Genre: Reincarnation au, slight fantasy/historic au ₊ ⊹☼ Word count: 1.67k ₊ ⊹☼ Warnings: Mentions of death, loss and grief. Minor character death mentions ₊ ⊹☼ A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while as I didn't feel that the story was done yet. However, it's at a good point right now to post. Maybe I'll return to add to it further at one point though.

──────────────────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Loss is an emptiness that eats away at the soul, a metaphorical knife carving it’s design on the surface but leaving behind wounds deep enough to bleed. And the strange thing about loss is you let it. In a sense it’s a sickly beautiful thing to experience as the blood pours out staining over the pure memories and taints them to be forever red. A crimson red that’s the same as the heart that somehow still beats inside your chest, because while it feels like everything should be still, time moves on. Time still encourages hearts to beat and wounds to bleed.

And bleed they do…

Your first loss shouldn’t be considered that actually. There are so many factors that completely contradict it as “the first loss you experienced”. For a start, you had lost people before. A woman who never had the chance to be a mother, your mother, passing away before she got even a second with her child. A young boy, who once you considered a brother, starved under the night sky with his eyes locked onto the moon. After all, Grief was no stranger to your soul. He visited often and settled in your bones like a heavy sick reminder of life.

No, none of these was your first loss. A kind of deep grief, yes, but they felt inevitable somehow.

Your first loss came in a form you never expected. A loss of opportunity and the questions of what could have been. Leaving the first scar of many dotted over your skin.

You didn’t know his name the first time, you barely got to know him at all actually. It was a fleeting moment that stopped the world if just for a second. Even if it was just for you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The makeshift grave you created when Chan died was positioned out in a forest glade on the edge of town, giving him the privacy and peace he deserved. An ideal place for him to continue watching the night sky like he did when he was tangible, and now as a star, a place for him to look down on from above. It seems childish now thinking that was how the world worked, that he would stick around for you.

You know better now.

You had been spending the afternoon visiting him, after collecting flowers for your little stall, coming to rest up in the willow tree sheltering the glade from the outside view. The branches allowing you a raised position to look down below, which is how you spotted him initially. This dark haired beauty dressed in clothes that didn’t seem typical for that of normal adventurers. You assumed that’s what he must be, no one else tends to come out that far. Somehow, he had stumbled onto Chan’s clearing though, only the fates may know how, and came to a pause in front of the poorly carved headstone you placed on the first death anniversary. It didn’t matter that there was no body to bury, his memory would live on.

Something about that resonated in this figure’s mind. It wasn’t obvious at first but moments later when you got the first glimpse at his soul-bearing eyes and the way they scanned the words told you all you needed. He was memorising the words, breathing out his very essence into the world and immortalising this time. The phrase you had heard many times before bringing tears to your eyes as it was spoken out loud after a year again.

“The moon sure is lonely tonight”. He was just reading out loud that time, but maybe that’s why it left such an impact. There were no deeper connotations or commitments that suffocated the moment. It was raw and real.

If given the chance of every lifetime, you would chose to return to this moment eternally.

He left not long after that with a new print on his soul in the name of Lee Chan and the fleeting thoughts of a phrase once whispered. It wasn’t until afterwards that you saw the carefully placed bundle of forget-me-nots. Flowers that symbolise memorises and the concept of thinking of loved one ones while one is away. You don’t remember ever have crying as hard as you did that night as you allowed yourself to break down after having repressed everything for a long time. The hope that someone else would continue to think of the young boy and maybe one day return providing a sort of comfort you never realised you needed.

You continued with your routines and visits but never once saw the stranger again. Your first loss came unexpectedly and you couldn’t help but think of what could have happened if things were different. Had Chan been alive to greet him? Had you spoken out to him? Had you got to know him? But you didn’t and so the opportunity passed by and life continued until death came to claim you too.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What you didn’t expect was the life that came after and the memories that flickered back to you slowly. You could remember it all clearly at first but the more time progressed and lives were lived, the hazier things became. So you wrote to remember. Diary entries inked across pages depicting and detailing each moment and connection you continued to share.

It took you a total of three lives to realise you and your stranger were somehow connected. You seemed destined to spot him under the moonlight over and over again, each time bringing something new for you to note.

However, it was your fourth life that something truly changed, with an opportunity for the two of you to introduce yourselves. A night-time balcony overlooking the palace gardens providing a shared relief from the noise of the party inside. You had yet to see your stranger that lifetime and you certainly weren’t expecting to find him approaching you from behind on his own escape from the ballroom.

Your eyes had found comfort in the solitude of the starlit sky, with a faint recollection of a young voice discussing constellations in great enthusiasm. Your body curled up onto the stone edge with the coldness contrasting to the heat radiating from the party inside. There had been no mention of the balcony being off limits but it seemed abandoned in that moment similar to how you felt. Maybe that is why when you heard the small thuds of footsteps approaching you assumed it was a guard coming to bring you inside. However, as you turned around to face them, your breath stalled inside your throat.

There he was…

Face to face, the moments that followed allowed you both to subtly scan each other’s figures, sharing a second of joint solitude. His clothes reflecting his obviously high social status, yet you naturally found yourself focusing on his deep, knowledgeable eyes. The ones that both equally haunted and comforted your thoughts. Then he spoke and his light voice rung out in a whisper like he was afraid to break the silence.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you, but I needed some time away from the chaos and couldn’t help but notice you out here alone with only the moon for company. You both seemed rather lonely tonight. Would you mind me joining you?”

The paraphrasing of the familiar line rang in your ears as you couldn’t help but tear up and turn back to the full moon in an attempt for comfort.

“Not at all, feel free to join us.”

His figure stepping closer as he approached the balcony edge himself and admired the view before the two of you. It was a comfortable silence that followed, neither of you feeling the need to fill it with meaningless chatter at first. However, as you turned to gain another glance at him, wanting to capture every detail for your writing later on, your gaze fell onto the baby blue flowers that lay in his pocket.

“Forget-me-nots?”

As he turned to meet your eyes, he saw the way they lingered onto his flowers and then noticed the similar ones decorated into your own outfit.

“Hmm, there is something special about the resilience of these little blossoms which bloom in clusters throughout marshy harsh terrain. In a sense I admire the way they manage to preserve and grow with those tough conditions. It’s something I often see reflected in humanity, although, unlike the flowers, not often do people manage to make it full bloom I find.”

The philosophical answer was not one you had expected from him, but certainly wasn’t unwelcome. You had your own greater meanings to the flowers that you shared back with careful consideration, still unsure of if your stranger retained his memories like you. It was something you noted in a previous life where you tried to speak to a different Chan and was left alone once more, that not everyone had the privilege, or was it a curse, to remember like you do.

“For me, they symbolise remembering those who once were but no longer are. A promise to keep the memories of them alive for as long as you live. The stories you experienced and the thoughts you shared allowing a part of them to stay.”

Silence settled back down between the two of you, which is why you could hear the song that started to play out by the band. A slow dance of sorts. In some twist of destiny, he reached his hand out and asked for your hand before the two of you spent time twirling across the balcony. This moment shared only by you two and the sky.

As you came to a close and the clocks chimed to signal an hour passing, with you settled in your stranger’s arms, two names were breathed out into the universe before you parted ways and he disappeared back into the ball.

“Xu Minghao.”

A name meaning brightness and vastness, one that seemed to fit the person you came to spend time with perfectly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#bee's writing #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt fanfic #the8 x reader #the8 fluff #the8 fanfic #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao fluff #minghao x reader #minghao fluff #minghao imagines #fanfic writing

34 notes · View notes

agirlwithtoomuchf-ingtime · 1 year

Text

Disobedient - A Terminator x Reader Smut

[A/N]: Been dead for a while. Too many unfinished drafts to work on LMAO. I did that to myself, though.

Anyway- I'm not one to fall for robots or intelligent software. Wouldn't consider myself to be remotely near the category, but damn. This movie flipped a switch somewhere within me and now this story exists. Judge me all you want. I don't believe in God. (Please don't take that seriously lmfao I'm just fucking around)

LOL, hope some peeps enjoy this. I'm actually quite proud of it. I have some more works that are close to being finished, like a part two to the Mikael fic I have up (oh shiii-). Just a reminder that this is all purely imaginative and i wouldn't stand a chance against the characters I write about at all HAHA—

Warnings: heavy seggsy time (minors, dni.), oral (giving and receiving), angry sex undertones (if you squint. This is pretty tame tbh.)

Word Count: 5.6k (about average)

—

“Stay here.” The Terminator says firmly, pressing you against the white wall of the building. You’ve always found a way to get in the machine’s crosshairs when a fight breaks out and it’s clear he’s getting fed up with it. You hear Sarah yell out to John in the distance. There’s a frantic tone in her voice and you know immediately that you’re not staying wherever he’s placed you.

“Whatever.” You grumble, leaning against the wall. He releases his grip on you, synthetic blue eyes boring into yours before he looks away and stomps off. You hear him cock his shotgun as he turns the corner. You pull out your handgun and wait for the sound of his weapon firing. As soon as you hear it, you whip around the corner and shoot at the T-1000 steadily making its approach to the T-800. It reacts to your bullets, temporarily getting stunned as the metal explodes its poly-alloy skin. The T-800 immediately snaps his head in your direction, an angry scowl seeming to form on his face.

You ignore him as you spot Sarah running towards you in the distance, shielding her small son beneath her as they both sprint to the commotion. You make a break for them, popping a few more caps in the liquid metal’s ass as you pass by.

“This way! Follow me!” You shout, pointing them in the opposite direction. They begin to follow you through the maze of hallways, practically running up your heels as you burst through a side entrance.

“Let’s get in the car.” You say, fiddling the keys out of your pocket. You unlock it for the frazzled pair, letting them huddle together in the backseat. Just as you’re pulling out, you see the Terminator bust through the brick exterior of the burning edifice. He looks pissed. He quickly saunters over to the stolen vehicle, ripping open the driver’s side door and glaring at you.

“Move.” He orders, grabbing your left bicep and squeezing it painfully. You yelp when he yanks you out of the seat and stumble when you land, huffing at the cyborg as you rub your now possibly bruised muscle. The machine doesn’t spare a second glance, slamming the door shut behind him as he takes your place. You scoff as you walk over to the passenger side, quickly getting in to avoid engaging the T-1000 any further.

The ride back is eerily quiet. There’s an obvious tension in the air that nobody wants to question. You lean against the window, watching the moon in the sky. It disappears as you head into the shithole you’re all camping out in. He slowly pulls the car forward, turning it off when it’s completely in the abandoned garage. You swing the door open, walking away from the car and into the furthest decaying room in the decrepit building. You drop your empty gun onto the table in the middle of the room, sitting heavily onto the dusty couch in the corner. The dust flies up as you flop onto the old cushions. You listen as distant footsteps make their way to their respective rooms, rolling your eyes when you hear a particular heavy pair approaching yours. As the T-800 enters your space, you swing your legs up across the couch and cross your arms. This is going to take a while judging by his agitated stance.

He walks up until he’s right in front of you, blue eyes glowering down at you.

“You disobeyed a direct order, [Y/N].” The machine says sharply. You purse your lips, trying to bite back your frustration. It doesn’t work.

“I’m not useless you fucking idiot. I also have a gun. Just because you’ve had to swing in sometimes doesn’t mean that I can’t handle myself.” You snap, staring icily at the humanoid. You’re sick of him always pushing you away from the action. He narrows his eyes at you, a calculating look present in his gaze.

“Since my previous attempts to hinder you without harming you have failed, I’m going to enact a different punishment on you.” He announces monotonously. A look of confusion overcomes your expression.

“What does that mean?” You ask, curious what the punishment is. You gasp when he firmly grabs your right forearm faster than you can blink, hoisting you up to your feet with ease.

“I’m going to have sexual intercourse with you.” The machine deadpans, watching your [e/c] eyes widen in surprise and your cheeks turn red.

He didn’t just—

“Wh-What?” You sputter, feeling your face steadily growing hotter.

“I’m going to—”

“I heard you the first time!” You shout incredulously, swiftly cutting off the Terminator’s sentence. He simply stares at you, seeming to gaze into your soul. Unable to help yourself, you look down to where his crotch would be before quickly flicking your eyes back to his.

“C-Can you even- do you…?” You find it hard to muster the courage to ask, but the machine catches on to what you’re trying to say.

“Yes. I have very detailed files located in my CPU.” He looks down to his groin area, slowly looking back up at your flustered face.

“And yes. I do have the proper anatomy.” He tilts his head when your cheeks turn a shade darker due to embarrassment. His left hand comes up to touch your face, feeling the warmth.

“Why is your face so red?” The T-800 asks as he cups your right cheek. You swallow nervously.

“Embarrassment. You’ve caught me completely off guard.” You answer. His thumb strokes over your red flesh tenderly. He seems to drink in your features, memorizing the colors, temperatures and curvature of it all.

“H-How exactly is that a punishment?” You stutter anxiously, flexing your arm that is trapped in his firm grip.

“I will render you immobile by the end of it without having to seriously injure you.” The machine responds nonchalantly. Your eyes widen for what seems like the hundredth time.

“Aren’t there any other methods you can try?” You spout, leaning your head back when he brings his face closer to yours. His eyes flick to your lips.

“You’ve rendered all of my other alternatives ineffective, [Y/N].” He says firmly, his cool breath brushing over your face. You feel conflicted. Your body is heating up to his advances, but you’re also unsure about this. Sarah and John are just across the old house.

“Bu-But John an-and Sar—”

“They are not your concern right now.” He interrupts before pressing his mouth against yours, fluidly pressing a hot kiss to your lips. You squeak against his fiery smooch, clutching on to his shoulders as he grabs you by the waist to pull you flush against his body. His lips move expertly against yours, a shiver rolling up your spine from how good they feel. The machine’s fleshy exterior oddly tastes just like a normal human’s would, your discovery proven further when he nips your bottom lip to slide his tongue into your mouth. You moan when you feel it brush against your own. His fingers trail up your spine as he continues to kiss you breathless, making your body shake at the sensation. A gasp is ripped from you when the Terminator bunches your hair at the back of your head into a fist and pulls you off his mouth suddenly. His artificial blue eyes search your flushed face as you pant, your fingers clenching the material of his shirt in a death grip.

“What are you doing?” You ask in between your staggered breathing. The machine doesn’t respond, running his eyes down your body. His free hand slides up your side, cupping your left breast through your shirt. He tilts his head curiously, squeezing the soft flesh. As he kneads it, you can feel your nipples begin to press against the fabric of your shirt. Damn you for not wearing a bra. The Terminator notices, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive nub. You inhale sharply as he does and his eyes snap to yours. For a being that is unable to produce emotions he sure is staring at you intensely.

“I’m looking at your body reacting to me.” He says lowly, releasing his grip on your hair to grope your ass. He palms your right asscheek, the globe of flesh easily engulfed by his large hand. This presses your lower body against him harder and you find yourself letting out a small moan. Your cheeks burn as he looks at you again, seeming to process the noise you just made. His hand once again kneads your ass and he watches as you bite your lip. You’re finding it more difficult to separate from the T-800 as he continues to caress you, trying to figure out what makes you squirm. You can’t deny how hot it’s making you feel.

“I want to kiss you again.” He states, looking confused about why he is saying that. You smile, your right hand coming up to touch the back of his thick neck.

“Then kiss me.” You giggle, letting all your anxiety go as you meet him in the middle. You’ll admit that you have thought about the robot in an inappropriate light sometimes, but you always held back because it was certain he couldn’t reciprocate the feelings you had. You kiss him hungrily, guiding his hands to your hips and wrapping your arms around his neck. He grunts against your mouth, caught off guard by your sudden enthusiasm. His fingers dig painfully into the flesh of your hips. You roll yourself against him, feeling his muscled figure press against you. His usually rigid body softens for a second. The action is frighteningly human-like.

“What was that?” The android asks softly, always curious to learn. You run your hand up the side of his face, your thumb caressing his angular cheek.

“I think that was the tension in your muscles leaving, making you relax.” You murmur against his mouth, feeling the cyborg clench and unclench your hips as he deciphers what that means. As he’s distracted, you manage to swing him around and sit him on the couch, quickly straddling him before he can protest.

“[Y/N]—“ You interrupt him by pressing your thumb over his lips.

“No. You know nothing sex and I don’t want you to hurt me because you definitely can. Let me teach you a little at least.” You say heatedly to him, carefully running your thumb over his plump lips. His eyes narrow, an ever calculating look in them. After a few more moments of tense silence, the T-800 lays into the couch, signaling that you have free reign.

“Fine.” He replies, watching as a smug smile crosses your lips.

“You have to learn to slow down and take in the moment.” You say quietly, lust lacing your tone. You lower yourself into his lap completely, gasping when you feel his hard lower anatomy against yours. You fist your hands around the shirt on his wide chest, pulling yourself tightly into him.

“It’s called foreplay. Stuff you do before the actual act.” You whisper against his neck, beginning to grind your clothed pussy against his clothed dick. Your resounding moan has his hands coming up to hold the tops of your thighs. His fingers are twitching erratically though. A deep exhale leaves his body. You cock your head and repeat the motion again. This time his body shivers, like he’s being electrocuted. The robot squeezes your thighs to the point that you’re certain there will be bruises. A grunt of confusion leaves his artificial voice box. You giggle, nipping his jaw line.

“Feel good?” You ask softly, resting completely still against him to entice him to do it himself. The male humanoid seems so confused, synthetic blue eyes searching yours.

“I don’t know.” He says flatly and you smile, carefully dragging his hands up to your hips. He grips them tightly.

“Then you try.” You mumble, resting against his chest while he tries to calculate his movements. He watches your face as he attempts to repeat the roll of your hips into his crotch. He nails it, pressing you deeper into him as his arousal rubs against yours. A growl rumbles through him and he continues to grind you against him as you moan.

“Ah- fuck.” Your grip tightens around the material of his shirt. His precision is unmatched and you couldn’t get the words out to tease him.

“Am I doing this right?” He asks in his usual monotone voice, though there’s the slightest tinge of strain in it. You glare at him, a hitched breath following after he successfully glides against you again. His toneless voice is getting on your nerves.

“You’re so annoying.” You manage to grit out, forcing yourself to take back over. The cyborg surprisingly lets you overpower him, his striking blue gaze studying your every movement. His eyes narrow scornfully as your words set in.

“I could say the same about you.” He snarks back, making you scowl at him. God– Why did he have to be so damn infuriating?! You tsk, moving to hop off of his lap. So what if he’s obviously stronger than you? It doesn’t give him the right to keep you away from danger you willingly throw yourself into. You grunt in pain when his fingers squeeze painfully into the meat of your hips, keeping you hovering over him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The machine asks menacingly, his stare reflecting his voice. You glare back, standing your ground.

“Away from you.” You hiss. “Let go of me.”

The Terminator curls back his lips. It’s an animalistic act and it catches you wildly off guard. He’s never done that. He must be pissed.

“Why are you so defiant?” He practically growls, his face looming closer to yours.

“Why are you such an asshole?” You spit back, freezing when he thrusts his hips back up against yours.

“You drive me insane.” He says hoarsely, like he’s almost sheepish to admit it. You open your mouth to retort back, but all that comes out is an unrestrained moan. The cyborg has latched his teeth on your earlobe, biting down with a bruising pressure that borderlines painful. It feels almost too good. He soon pulls away, softly kissing the same spot almost regretfully.

“It’s like my body knows what it’s doing before my mind does.” The Terminator admits quietly into your ear. You chuckle a bit at his honesty.

“Then stop trying to think about it.” You reply, arching your back when you feel him squeezing your breast again. He hums low in his chest, adjusting so he’s lying beneath you. His eyes seem to admire your body on top of his, his hand still kneading your right tit as he looks up at you.

“Show me how.” The machine asks softly, his contemplative gaze watching your every move. His voice is not as flat as it was before. You smile at him, planting your hands on his firm chest. Slowly, you begin by lazily rolling your hips against his own. His large hands traverse the expanse of your body, carefully squeezing each section to find what you like best. The cyborg finds you respond to your ass being touched the most. Squeezing each globe of flesh possessively, he begins to mimic your grinding with his own against your clothed pussy. You whine when you feel his hardness press against your clit with such confidence. He seems to perk up at that.

“Like this?” The machine asks gently, repeating the perfect roll of his hips yet again. It elicits another noise of pleasure from you and you nod your head.

“Y-Yes. Like that.” You tumble out, your fingers digging into his pectorals. He grunts in response, massaging your ass carefully into place so you’re now softly rocking against him in a more intimate rhythm.

“Oh!” You cry out, not expecting the sudden change in pace and atmosphere. You feel your body heating up quicker than you anticipated, the Terminator’s dry humping proving to be more sensual than you would’ve imagined. It’s difficult to form words while he has you in this new position now, your stomach winding tighter and your voice raising higher.

“H-Hey, y-ahn!” You moan when you begin to feel yourself on the edge.

“Hmm? You’re going to have to speak up.” He rumbles deeply. You frown at him and watch as the corner of his lips turn up teasingly, soon pausing his rhythm to allow you to get a few words out.

“T-Touch me, please.” You say breathily, watching as the robot’s eyes darken with thought. It’s interesting to watch his internal dialogue through his eyes. He’s obviously trying to learn as he goes. It’s kind of cute. You move with him as the Terminator shifts, laying flat on his back across the old couch. It’s weird to be the one sitting on top of the deadliest threat known to any human. He lightly pats your butt forward, like he’s asking you to move up to straddle his face. You look at him with wide eyes. He offers a smirk. Nibbling your bottom lip, you shift up towards his angular features. When you get closer, the machine helps you to strip off your trousers. You shiver when you feel his automated breath on your now exposed folds. You feel so vulnerable sitting above him like this. He has full access to your body in this position. Perhaps that was his intention. You shiver when you feel one of his warm thumbs brush over your slit, collecting some of the wetness there. He swipes the digit over his tongue, processing the new liquid. His eyes are sharp as they connect with yours.

“So aroused over practically nothing.” He states monotonously, but his face holds a smug expression. You sneer down at him.

“Now you— OH!” You damn near screech when the cyborg shoves his face right into your soaked cunt. He doesn’t waste any time, licking a methodical line all the way up. You shudder above him, one of your hands sliding down to grip his hair. He hums against your wetness. You can feel him experimenting, trying to find what makes you squirm the most. He’s succeeding. Your mind is in a haze, feeling foggy from the amount of pleasure this robot is steadily bringing you. Subconsciously, you can feel the momentum of his hips rutting into the air. Poor thing is lacking attention and even he doesn’t seem to know. Through your desire-filled fog, you manage to bend back and place your left hand over his impressive size.

The machine falters for a minute when he feels your smaller hand drag against his hard cock. Then he reacts. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as his loud groan is muffled by your pussy.

“O-Oh wow.” You pant, stroking him again. Another deep noise vibrates through you. It makes you realize just how close you are.

“Aaa- I’m gonna come.” You whine, pressing yourself harder against his face. A few more precise licks from him have you seeing stars. You hold on for dear life as you come into the awaiting machine’s mouth, your fingers tightly wound in his artificial hair. You can’t even hear the curses and moans slipping from your mouth as you ride out your high. Your vision is white for a few seconds before you can hear yourself panting and feel your hips twitching.

The T-800 is pressing gentle kisses to your sensitive pussy as you come down from your orgasm. A strangled whimper leaves your mouth when you finally process him doing so. You weakly raise yourself away from his face, shaking your head.

“T-Too sensitive.” You say airily, groaning when you feel him turn his lips to your inner thighs instead. He waits for you to calm down, languidly massaging your hips as you loosen your grip on his hair. Eventually you look down at him, a small smile on your face as he rests his cheek against your soft skin. He seems to be entranced by the sight of you. You sit back on his firm chest, wondering what’s going to happen next. The robot’s hands shift from your hips down to your ass, his fingers kneading the plush flesh. His tongue peeks past his lips as he licks your cum off of them. You swear you can see his pupils dilate. The action makes you feel unbearably hot all over again. His head tilts slightly, ever observant eyes studying you. He stays silent though, clearly waiting for you to make the next move. Interesting.

You decide you want to see what you were stroking earlier, so you adjust yourself to face his crotch. Your backside is in his face in this position, but he doesn’t seem to mind judging by the way his large hands immediately return to massage it. It’s quiet as your hands fiddle with his belt, the sound of the metal clinking the only sound that fills the air. You don’t waste a second when it’s unfastened, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down. You can feel the machine sigh deeply beneath you. The fabric must’ve been tight against him. You smile at the thought, your petite hands carefully pushing the material down to expose more of the T-800’s skin. He lifts his hips slightly to make it easier for you to do so. You gasp quietly when his hard length smacks against his stomach. Oh wow. The size is certainly intimidating. What intrigues you the most is how authentic it looks. The tip is an angry red with some precum already smeared atop it. The shaft is quite girthy with a few veins here and there. There’s a slight curve to it as well. You can feel your inner walls clench in excitement as you continue to stare at his anatomy. The pits of your lower belly are burning yet again. You flinch when you feel something poke at your entrance.

“What are you doing?” You ask, peeking over your shoulder the best you can to see what the Terminator is up to. His face holds an investigative expression. You shiver when you feel what you’ve determined to be his finger touch your wet pussy again. It doesn’t pull back this time, instead circling your hole. His silence is unnerving.

“I saw your muscles contract. Are you alright?” He asks innocently. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escapes your lips.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just excited.” You respond, returning your attention to the hard cock that rests against his defined abdomen. You gently take him into your hand, mulling over the fact that your fingertips just barely touch when wrapped around his girth. You give him an experimental pump, smiling in delight when his hips jerk in response. A quiet grunt leaves him. You repeat the motion, this time continuing to stroke him while adjusting the pressure. A low sound rumbles through the machine and you can feel his fingers squeeze the back of your thighs tightly. The muscles of his stomach grow taut as you continue your ministrations, watching in awe as precum slowly oozes from his tip. You dip down and run your tongue over the head, collecting the milky fluid that leaks from it. A sharp inhale emits from the cyborg as you drag your warm appendage over his sensitive flesh. You take a moment to think over the taste before swallowing. It’s slightly sour, but otherwise flavorless. It holds the same texture as regular ejactulate goes. Without any further hesitation, you wrap your lips around his cock and begin to suck on him while stroking too. The machine’s hips begin to shake beneath you, most likely feeling overwhelmed from the unfamiliar stimulation.

“Mm-mmpf.” A strained, breathy moan resounds from him and you hum against his length at the noise. That was hot. His hips still erratically twitch beneath you. It seems this is becoming too much for him at the moment.

“Wh-What is this? My systems ar-are–nngh.” His voice is tense as he attempts to speak. It’s clear he’s struggling to process what exactly he’s experiencing right now. It’s kind of cute, but he needs to chill out. His grip on your thighs is growing painful. In an attempt to make the cyborg relax, you smooth your left hand over the top of his muscular thigh and begin to lightly trace patterns on it. You also pull your mouth off of him, lazily pumping his cock instead while you wait for him to cool down a bit. His tremors eventually subside and you feel him kneading your poor thighs.

“You okay?” You hum quietly, looking over your shoulder to assess his expression. Judging by the way his eyebrows are furrowed, he appears to be deep in thought.

“Yes. Keep going.” He replies. You nod, resuming your task of overworking him. Until you feel a finger prod at your puffy folds yet again. Before you can say anything, the digit begins to slowly sink into your twitching heat. A shaky exhale leaves you as he reaches down to his third knuckle with ease. You struggle to continue stroking him as the Terminator gently rubs his finger against your walls, clearly trying to find your most pleasurable spots. A heady whine echoes through the dingy room as he manages to caress a part that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“You should lower your voice, [Y/N]. Sarah and John are still here.” The machine murmurs. You scoff, now determined to make him regret those words. Readjusting your grip, you begin to pump his dick in your hand with more fervor. His hips jump slightly and you smirk as a choked groan emits from him. You don’t let the robot recover from the sudden change, quickly engulfing the head of his cock into your mouth and sucking. A violent shudder rolls through the machine’s body and it only spurs you on. Taking a deep breath, you try to swallow the Terminator’s cock down your throat. A loud moan fills the air as you do, his hips snapping up on their own accord. You gag as the rest of his length is forced into your esophagus, your lips successfully pressing against his pubic bone. His hands are again wrapped around the backs of your thighs, a plethora of unintelligible words expelling from the T-800. You manage to relax yourself, starting to slowly drag your mouth up and down.

“Oh– I d-don’t– I think I’m–” His loud gasp is your only warning before you feel a gush of liquid spill down your throat. You choke, swallowing the best you can before you have to pull away so you don’t throw up. The machine is shaking beneath you, a final spurt of cum rolling down the length of his cock before he stills completely. You lick him clean, savoring it before you sit up and turn around. You’re seated comfortably on his defined abdomen, looking down at his blissed out expression. His cheeks are red and his eyes are dilated as hell, only a smidge of the blue irises visible. It makes you smile.

“How are you feeling?” You expected him to instantly remind you that machines cannot feel anything, but you’re surprised when he doesn’t respond immediately.

“Warm.” He murmurs quietly after a few seconds and you swear your heart melts at the simple, genuine reply. The T-800’s eyes flicker around your figure for a few moments, seeming to really take in the view in front of him. His lips twitch and you feel his right hand cup the back of your head.

“Come here.” He mumbles as he gently brings you up towards his face, meeting you halfway and passionately pressing his lips against yours. You feel his other arm slink around your waist as he sits up a bit, carefully pressing your body snug against his own. You gladly sink into him, rolling your tongue against his bottom lip in a silent demand for him to deepen the kiss. He seems to understand, a soft groan vibrating against your mouth as he opens his own. He allows you to explore, secretly enjoying the taste of you being processed through his overheated system. It gradually grows more raunchy and you only pull back when you feel his length twitch against your ass. You must’ve shifted down here at some point. His hands slide down to your plush backside, gently massaging the skin while he practically stares into your soul.

“Would you like to continue?” He asks softly, focusing on your face as you smile. You adjust your hips accordingly, sighing out an enthusiastic “Yes.”

The machine helps you adjust so you’re hovering over his cock, teasingly circling your entrance before pressing against it. He pauses, clearly continuing to give you the lead. Lightly biting the inside of your cheek, you begin to sink down on his sizable dick. A low moan expels from you as you slide him into you, relishing in the way he seems to pulsate inside of you. The robot shares your pleasure, sucking in a breath despite not having lungs. Strange…

“Mmm..You’re overwhelming.” He shudders, and you moan as you eventually press against his base. You feel extremely full, but it’s surprisingly super exhilarating. An erotic chuckle puffs from you as you adjust, your hands cupping his somehow rosy cheeks.

“You feel so good.” You admit breathily, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as you begin to set a rhythm. A sonorous hum is his response as you feel his hands run up your back. An intense, but intimate grind is kept in place as you both process what feels good and what feels better. You’re reduced to shaky moans and pants as the heat within grows hotter. The T-800 beneath you is in a blissed out haze, but is still unsurprisingly quiet as he watches your reactions the entire time. Ingraining it in his CPU files. A growl thrums from him as he suddenly hijacks your rhythm, forcing your hips down until you’re flush against him and keeping you there.

“I’d like to take over.” He grunts out and you whimper against his neck, loathing the fact that you can’t move in his vice-like grip. You brush your thumbs over his cheeks before nodding.

“Okay.” You whisper, adjusting your hands so they hold onto his broad shoulders. His fingers adjust their grip on your backside, aiding in lifting you slowly off of his length. He continues until just the tip remains inside, then he just as painstakingly lowers you back down. The motion allows you to feel everything inch by inch and it makes you feel warmer than you thought possible. A high-pitched moan erupts from you as soon as he bottoms out, the length of him perfectly massaging against a sensitive spot deep within.

“Right there?” He asks softly. You nod, your fingers digging into his shoulders. A smirk curls his lips at your response, mischief flashing briefly through his focused expression. You don’t have a second to question it when the machine grinds into you before pulling out to piston his entire length back into that exact, mind-numbing spot. A strangled gasp is all you can muster as you hold on to his broad shoulders, your head tilting back as the warmth from within your body slowly overwhelms you. The pressure builds as he sets a bruising pace, the smack of your hips against his audible now. Your entire body jolts against his powerful thrusts, but it isn’t painful. Not when his cock massages the inside of you perfectly every single time. An obscene squelching sound soon becomes audible. You can feel the pressure mounting, your fingers clawing his biceps frantically. His lips brush over your neck. The Terminator is quiet, but a quiet set of groans rumbles from him every now and again. He remains watchful of your face, looking on as you slowly begin to lose yourself on him. Because of him. He’s quite a sight to bestow, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks with his mouth slightly parted in focus.

“Y-You bastard.” You manage to grit out through your pants, a heated moan pouring out soon after. His teeth find your earlobe and all you can do is arch your back as a powerful wave of heat seizes you suddenly. His hand covers your mouth just in time as an unrestrained cry tears through your throat as the orgasm washes over. The arm around your waist locks up and you can hear him grunt as your pussy clenches around him, the cyborg burying his cock deep within you before he stills up as well.

“You’re so t-tight—nggh.” His artificial voice cracks before his entire body shudders, the feeling of his cum pumping into you following after. It only prolongs your ecstasy. The machine holds you tightly against him until both of you have recovered, removing his hand away from your mouth to join his other arm around your waist.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks after a bout of silence and you smile against his chest, shaking your head.

“No.” You mumble, a deep sigh leaving you as he moves to slide out of you. You groan lightly as he shifts so you now lay comfortably on top of him, the soreness of your body just beginning to set in by the movement. The humanoid’s fingers trail over your sweaty skin, mapping over the expanse over your spent frame.

“Good.” He says softly, and you snort at his response. The tips of his fingers trace down your spine as he hums.

“The goal was to make it hard for you to walk without seriously injuring you. I’m just making sure this solution is effective.” His usual monotone is back, but you pay no mind. You’re too busy falling asleep against his bulky form. Seems the robot wore you out more than you thought he could.

——

#smut #female reader #purely hypothetical #t 800 #terminator x reader

92 notes · View notes

canichangemyblogname · 1 year

Note

I've stumbled across the reblog with "tell me what you think about my fics". This ask may not be exactly how this is meant since, yes, I haven't read fiction by you, but I have read essays by you. Hence, I wanted to let you know that I find your writing thoughtful and smart, with strong strings of argumentation.

I appreciate that you compose these bits that are critical of the source material and fan behavior, especially for TBB. These posts look like they take a lot of time, energy, and consideration, and I suppose the reactions are not always rewarding since TBB fans are probably not too eager to hear what's wrong with the show.

Personally, your thoughts encouraged me to share my own thoughts, which I might not have done otherwise.

Thank you for that!

Okay, so... you sent me this ask on Feb 19th, 2023, and I'm just now getting around to posting my draft 😭. I feel so terrible about that, tbf.

FIRST, thank you so very, very much! I hope to live up to my blog's name: "I write essays for fun." I actually really enjoy analyzing characters, TV shows, books, and movies. It's a fun brain exercise. And it's one way I can utilize my education. I didn't know when I was 18 that my political science and international relations degrees would engender an analytical eye for media. I don't get to write about authoritarianism, free will, philosophy, societal structures, or democracy for work. But, given that our media reflects our sociopolitical and geopolitical conditions, I can explore how the things I learned are portrayed (or not portrayed) in books, movies, and TV.

It's also why I like writing, but I can't ever seem to get past the world-building stage 😂. I love exploring the conditions necessary to bring about a certain society. You start from one detail and extrapolate from there. For example, a writer wants to create a society with equal participation in public life between all genders. What conditions are necessary to achieve this? This question is inherently political.

SECOND, yes. My essays take a while to compose. The longer they are and the more detailed they are, the more time they take. My big essay Machines or Men: Moral Questions Regarding the Clones in Disney’s Star Wars took me a week or so. It took me several days to compose my first RW&RB critique and another day to compose the follow-up. And by "day," I quite literally mean from when I woke up to when I went to sleep. It might also take me a while (like a couple hours) to compose a commentary the length of some of my Andor commentaries or some of my Bad Batch critiques because the concepts I'm engaging with- like fascism, racism, or colonialism- are complex, so require a lot of revision to get the right words or to adequately convey my ideas.

THIRD, I am SO happy that my thoughts encouraged you to share your own. I hope you continue to share. I have really valued your contributions to topics like propaganda, TBB, and the fanfic-ification of modern media. I think you're positively cool and brave for sharing with us.

#it's like an object-permanence issue for me #I click the envelope with the notif #get excited #prepare to answer #and then as soon as I click out of my drafts or inbox-center...#I forget to answer or finish it #I had about 100+ drafts at one point #and got so overwhelmed that I just... didn't #and because I stopped answering the tag games and asks #I don't get sent as many anymore #leading to less interaction with others on here #which is why I came here in the first place!#Like... asks and tag games were my thing when I first started #and then I panicked

4 notes · View notes

kookaburra1701 · 2 years

Text

6 questions

I was tagged by @thana-topsy thank you friend<3<3<3

RULES: answer the questions then tag some folx you want to get to know better/catch up with.

Last Song: Because I am a cliche I pretty much exclusively listen to Synthwave while working (coding.) I was in the middle of listening to Casio Love by Paul Collider. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQcX6ih9tFk

Last Show : Cells at Work! Code Black - let me tell you I have NEVER been invested in a dude getting a boner as I was by the climax (HEH) of episode 3 and I write and read a lot of M/M fics.

Currently Watching: I'm working my way through all of Max Miller's Tasting History videos. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vlQZ3NPnoLk&list=PLIkaZtzr9JDkNXTsFck0w9CFVF0U-zPlV

Currently Reading: I have ADHD, so I'm almost always reading more than one thing. Non-Fanfic: I'm reading a fan translation of the BL LN "The Otherworld's Books Depend on the Corporate Slave." It's kind of a send-up of the isekai genre (which I usually avoid like the plague) where the main protagonist is a boring accountant who accidentally got dragged along when the Beautiful Magical Teenage Girl was sucked into a portal to the other universe. He's very genre aware and is very exasperated at the teenage girl who keeps falling for all the tropes of the isekai genre. He ends up saving the otherworld with his awesome accounting skills, and must have a lot of sex with the other love interest who in a normal isekai would be the one romancing the Beautiful Magical Teen Girl. It's absolutely bananacrackers and I'm having lots of fun reading through it. Fanfic: Hollow Men by @thana-topsy Tells the story of a Thalmor POW's escape from the clutches of the LDB, and his road to recovery. Like Lightning by JottingProsaist - this fic is single-handedly changing my mind about second-person POV. It's incredibly well-done, and gives the reader a fantastic, intimate insight into different characters' thoughts and motivations. The Prodigal Dragonborn by @ms-katonic-of-tamriel A delightful Lucien Flavius/Miraak romp around Solstheim and Skyrim. If anyone can make Miraak Be Better it's Our Dear Cinnamon Roll Lucien Flavius. Stumbled across this one while desperately searching for M/M fic featuring Lucien. The Bonds of Civility by @nientedenada - Just started this one, but super-enjoying the hasty decision-making by the LDB having massive political fallout, and all of the intrigue that goes along with it.

Current Obsession: The Elder Scrolls. Uh, if we're getting more specific I'm deep into plotting and outlining a massive Lucien Flavius/Kaidan Chivalric Romance trilogy. I'm also polishing up the first draft of a prequel focusing on Lucien and his first few days in Skyrim, so I guess Lucien is my current TES obsession?

Unrelated Obsession: Fiber arts - but this ends up being related to my TES obsession, lol, since I'm currently working on charting out some Elder Scrolls designs for knitting and Tunisian crochet, and also traditional embroidery samplers that might have been done by various cultures in TES. I also love history, especially Roman Empire history, but not in the weird "Julius Caesar did nothing wrong" crypto-fash way but in the "ha ha Diocletian's big naturals (are cabbages)" way. (shoutout to @dwellerinroots for that joke) Also in the "I need to figure out if subligaculae can be untied with one's teeth for historical smut purposes" way. I also have an entire subdirectory on my computer of all the dicks Ancient Romans drew everywhere they went.

Uh, I'm actually writing this while waiting for a pipeline script to finish troubleshooting so no time to sort through and see who's already been tagged, but if you want to do it please do! I love learning more about people. :)

#tag game

4 notes · View notes

tiredassmage · 2 years

Text

Okay, I cracked and wrote the angsty thing first. I swear, there are actually soft thoughts in my head for @captainderyn‘s prompts, lmao, so I’ll save them for when I figure out who I want to do it for, but, in the meantime, Savosta and Rhystyl’s no good, rather bad time in Asylum, rough first draft and part one of two.

I’m not emotionally prepared for part two and also I should be working on an art project for school, send help. Savosta’s also probably not ready for part two because that means confronting his feelings about all of this, so like. Win-win, I guess?

What are the particulars of how this works out? Fantastic question, I don’t have all of those answers and neither do either of them, so!!! That’s a not today problem, lol. I’m obviously terrible at hinting things because I couldn’t just keep sitting on this now that I mentioned it. F.

“Rhystyl!” Savosta scrambled almost blindly over the railing, trying to ignore the way his hands trembled and the way his lungs burned from the full-tilt run up the control spar.

All he could see was the Jedi collapsed on the platform, barely moving, weakly clutching where Arcann’s lightsaber had gone right through him as if it was nothing.

“Rhyst!” He grunted as his knees collided with the platform and hauled himself to his feet, rushing the last several strides to his comrade’s side and all but falling back on his knees. “Rhyst?!” He pulled the Jedi into his lap, cradling him as carefully as he could manage.

He swallowed harshly when he pushed Rhystyl’s hand away for a moment. Crimson spread across his fingers from Rhyst’s and warmth - no, heat - crept through as he pressed the Jedi’s hand back in place over the wound.

Rhyst hissed weakly. “S… Sav..?”

The Chiss adjusted his hold, trying to support Rhyst’s head with an arm while keeping pressure on the wound. “It’s alright.” The words came out thickly, but before he even thought. “You’re alright.”

A strained breath slipped between Rhystyl’s clenched teeth as his eyes fell closed. “Arcann-”

“Shh,” Savosta urged. “I handled it. You did it. You made it.”

I shouldn’t have let you go alone. Lana could have held the choke point by herself. He should have followed, should have-

“He should not survive.” A chill ran down Savosta’s spine as Valkorian’s voice snaked through his mind. A growl built in his throat. “Neither of you are strong enough to face my children yet. Here is your lesson.”

“Shut up!” Savosta snarled. “I cannot lose him…”

“He is unnecessary - a means to an end.”

The Chiss turned a glare on the specter of the illustrious ‘Immortal’ Emperor. “If you want even a fraction of my continued tolerance, he will live.”

A half-smile flickered across Valkorian’s lips as a chuckle rumbled out of him. The Sith struggled to squash the way it always made a shudder roll through him. “You know what you must do. We are bound together now, whether you accept me or not. Ask.”

Savosta closed his eyes tightly as the venom of panic drained out of him, leaving only the way his breaths echoed in his ears. His desperate grip around Rhystyl’s bloodied hand felt almost distant in this damned space between seconds Valkorian haunted in his intercession.

I’m sorry…

“Do it. Save him.”

Valkorian’s rumbling chuckle echoed as a haze descended over his mind.

Tora’s voice crackling over the comms was the next thing he was certain of. “The Gravestone’s free! Get back here or get left behind!”

Savosta panted as his gaze dropped to Rhystyl in his arms. His limbs weighed heavy, barely cooperative as he released the Jedi’s hand to check for a pulse against his neck. He still breathed, but it was shallow. Blood smeared against his skin from Savosta’s fingers, but life still hummed beneath his seeking touch.

“Don’t you dare give up on me now, Jedi…” he breathed. And with that, Savosta unsteadily stumbled to his feet, hauling the unconscious Jedi up with him. A wave of exhaustion rushed through him, nearly unbalancing him as he tried to accommodate his comrade’s weight in his arms.

“I am not leaving you behind,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Vortena could cover them back to the shuttle.

The galaxy needed this Jedi. Savosta needed him.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #the delavast legacy #ch: rhyst #ch: savosta #giving them so many problems your honor bc i love them #it's really savosta's no good terrible time in asylum tbh #like yeah rhystyl gets stabbed but savosta is dealing with all the consequences #they didn't survive 5 years in carbonite together just to deal with your bullshit valkorian #local sith running on desperation and trying to retain his spite more at 11

3 notes · View notes

praublem-child · 9 months

Text

Fuck my body. I want a different one. Idec what it looks like, but I hate this sack of meat that barely gets pushed into functioning on a good day.

(This was in my drafts from August? Idk why I didn’t post it but here ig)

I had a college event today that was mandatory for freshman, and I went despite my nonexistent ability to function. I felt like I was dying the whole time, and the scary fucking thing is that idk if I could have actually died or not. My next cardiology appointment isn't until Friday and idk what's safe to do and what's not. Keeping up with the group had my heartrate hitting 188bpm, and it didn't go below 115 a single time during the whole thing.

The "meet your success coordinator" section was right after it hit 188 and I was so nauseous and close to passing out that I don't even remember anything beyond being asked my name and giving it. The next thing I remember after that was me almost falling getting out of my seat and losing the teacher in the halls when I went looking. I was supposed to work out my plan with her for the coming semester today.

Everything after that is kinda a blur. I know I spent it with my best friend and that I lost my phone at some point, but I don't even know when I lost it. I didn't make it to the class picture because I had to stop before I puked and my vision was so blurry and spotty that I couldn't see the ground in front of me. I sent him ahead of me and I don't remember anything again until he was handing me my phone and sitting with me. Then I called my ride to pick me up instead of even attempting to walk back to the parking garage across campus. I laid down once I could move again and managed to get my hr down to 123 before my ride showed up, and the trip home was slightly more coherent.

I threw up once we parked at home, and idfk what came up. I can't remember if I even ate anything other than breakfast and the smarties I was basically forced to eat on the trip home. I know I didn't eat dinner because I remember being nauseous and when my friend went through line for me anyway my hands were shaking too much to hold the fork. I had a few sips of water at some point that made me gag, and I think he might've gotten a few bites of a cupcake into me? That was just after we sat down though and I wasn't thinking clearly enough to remember it.

I got almost shoved into the shower after I got sick, and I passed out on the couch with everything feeling like hell and a migraine that was keeping me from focusing on anything else. I was put for almost four hours, and while I'm feeling a lot better, there's a strong chance that's because my heartrate finally got back down below 100 while I slept and I just finished a sandwich and took some meds. My whole body is still shaking, I still have a mild headache, and everything is still sore, but I'm coherent and not about to collapse. I'm also still jumping between 95-110bpm, and I really hope that that gets back into the 80s range by tommorow, otherwise I'm in for a miserable rest of the week.

Also, fuck anyone who ignored me stumbling and shaking. My friend said I looked like I was dying the entire time and only one person even gave me a second glance, and apparently it was someone he asked about my phone that I almost collapsed in front of. He said he also had to pull me out of the way of others like three times because I couldn't think fast enough to move and they were walking directly toward me without giving enough space to not hit me, let alone my crutch that was keeping me upright.

I doubt he's ever going to see this because he doesn't have tumblr and doesn't even know this blog exists, but like, I'm so fucking sorry. Neither of us wanted to be there and you spent the whole thing babysitting me which probably made it even more miserable for you. Ily, and you're my best friend. Thank you for keeping me alive today.

#chronically ill #pots syndrome?#cane user #migraine #forearm crutches #college

1 note · View note

oreoambitions · 3 years

Text

Previous Draft // Ao3

The courthouse doors open with a bang, and the sound of conversation tumbles out of the atrium and onto the courthouse steps. Security flanks Lena on either side, two uniformed bodies ahead to break the crowd, two behind to keep it from closing in around her. Lena keeps her head up, confident in the knowledge that she will appear to take this all in stride. In truth, she crosses the atrium in a sort of daze.

There are moments in a person’s life when time sticks and stutters, moments that linger beyond their natural boundaries, that creep and haunt and niggle at the mind. As she steps out through the courthouse doors, she understands that this is one of them. Time hesitates for her even as she passes into the chaos of lights and cameras outside, towards the waiting crowd of journalists shouting over one another in a fashion not conducive to anyone’s questions ever actually getting answered.

For an instant she’s back on the witness stand: the defense is demanding Supergirl’s name, and the judge is not intervening; the words I plead the fifth are heavy on her lips. That moment has passed, and it hasn’t. There will be ripples. All Lena can do about it now is try to keep those ripples to a minimum, for Kara’s sake; she must say nothing to anyone until they’ve had a chance to talk alone.

“Ms. Luthor.”

The officer at her side encourages her forward, not quite touching her back with one hovering hand. Lena realizes with a start that she’s paused halfway down the courthouse steps. At the bottom, Supergirl drops out of the sky in a dramatic, press pleasing fashion. That soft warm smile is another echo of the courtroom, and Lena is reminded that Kara intentionally slipped out of the courthouse another way and circled back for the cameras. Lena has, rather uncharacteristically, committed a critical error in a critical moment, and now Kara is covering for her with theatrics.

It’s working. The cameras turn on Kara as Lena makes it down the last few steps and into her waiting embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, half stumbling as Kara pulls her close, closer than usual, one hand hot at the back of her neck.

Kara turns her shoulder to shield Lena from the bulk of the cameras. “Not here,” she murmurs, so low that Lena is almost not certain she’s heard it. And then Kara pulls back, not quite far enough, and Lena is acutely and self-consciously aware of the sound of camera shutters snapping all around them, the closeness of Kara’s body, the gut wrenching feeling that the eyes of the nation are on them and the stage lights are all lit up and she doesn’t know her lines.

The judge should have intervened. Her mind keeps catching on that point, on the heavy pause in the courtroom, Kara’s expressionless face, the pounding of her own heart, the irrelevance of the question. It feels as though if she stays in that moment long enough, pictures it clearly enough, the judge will step in and this story will play out another way.

Time, of course, does not work like that. It stutters and sticks only in her mind, while in the real world the press clamors and Kara’s cape flutters in the quickening wind.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kara is saying, her voice pitched so that the waiting journalists might catch words that, God willing, sound hollow to Lena’s ears only. “You were amazing in there.”

Lena is thinking about what the headlines are going to say tomorrow. Luthor and Super: Partners in More Than Crimefighting. Or perhaps, Luthor Makes False Marriage Claim on Witness Stand, Investigation to Follow.

Kara cups Lena’s face with one hand, and she snaps back to reality. She has about half a breath to catch up with what’s happening before Kara is closing the distance between them, and she hates to be a walking cliche, but oh. This is not how she has imagined their first kiss might go - not that she’s ready to admit to anyone except maybe Sam that she’s imagined their first kiss at all - and for a sickening second she feels nothing but regret. But then Kara’s lips are on hers, softer than her imagination has ever accounted for, and Lena is melting into her, kissing her back just at the edge of what might be considered chaste.

It’s an act, of course. If Lena’s heart flutters where she knows perfectly well Kara can hear it, can feel it, that’s just the nerves of the whole situation. Kara is, after all, kissing her on the mouth right there in front of God and everybody, shutters clicking all around them, reporters laughing and cheering in the background. It’s not unreasonable to feel a little something; her secret is still safe.

When Kara breaks the kiss, Lena chases after her mouth, and not for show. There’s that soft smile again, lipstick a little smudged, and perhaps she’s imagining things but Kara’s eyes seem warmer than they did before.

Kara drops a second kiss onto Lena’s forehead. “Can I take you home?” she asks, her voice still pitched for the journalists on the steps.

“Please,” Lena replies.

She tucks herself back into Kara’s chest as strong arms close around her. If anyone asks, it’s for the cameras. There’s a car waiting for her, and a driver who will have to be well compensated for the waste of his time, but it’s better if the press sees that she and Supergirl are leaving together, isn’t it? And nothing could be more memorable, more pressworthy, than flight.

And, Lena thinks, it’s better because, selfishly, she wants to prolong this moment of closeness. She wants to soak it all in: Kara’s smell, the brush of her hair across Lena’s cheek, the preparatory breath before takeoff. This is the moment Lena wishes would slow down for her, just this last moment when she can imagine to herself that what happened in the courtroom was a bad dream of little consequence, and that nothing between her and Kara will ever have to change.

///

Kara does not take Lena home. They fly instead over the wide arc of National City’s suburbs and into the foothills, and from there a little further still until they’ve reached the mountains above the city. Kara deposits them in a valley on the leeward side of a low peak dotted half with shrubbery and half with scraggled conifers, the names of which Lena has to admit she does not know. She rubs feeling and warmth back into her arms and resists the urge to ask where they are while Kara paces, the agitation and anxiety in the lines of her body a clear departure from the soft warmth on display outside the courthouse. When she rounds on Lena, it feels like the inevitable fruition of Lena’s mistakes.

“You told them we were married? Lena!”

“Technically I didn’t use those words.”

“Oh okay, so between my wife and my priest, which role did you think the court was going to assume you were alluding to?”

“What was I supposed to say? They had me backed into a corner.”

“It wasn’t relevant to the case! This was about Lilian. It had nothing to do-”

“It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t relevant, because the judge wasn’t intervening. I just- I panicked. I had to say something. I wasn’t going to lie under oath, and even if I were willing, what could I have said? Should I have thrown out some other name, thrown someone else under the bus? And what then, when it became obvious to the nation that I’d lied-”

“Oh, and you thought this was better? What are you going to say when they want proof? There’s no documentation. There was no wedding to document. Supergirl doesn’t exist as a legal entity, you can’t just-”

“Kara, I-”

“It’s just not like you not to think things through.”

They stand there staring at one another, Kara’s jaw clenched, Lena’s arms crossed tight across her chest. The sun is going to go down soon; Lena is already shivering a little in the shadow of the mountain. This is a mess, and it’s a mess of her own making, and she doesn’t know how to unmake it out here in the gathering dark.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I could have - I should have refused to answer. But then they’d have held me in contempt and thrown me in prison. And I’m willing to go to prison for you, Kara, believe me, but then you’d have broken me out because you’re a beautiful idiot, and where would that leave us?”

Kara’s mouth twitches up a little at the corners, and then she laughs outright. “I would have,” she admits. “What a mess that would be.”

“I know I messed up,” Lena offers.

“You were trying to protect me.” Kara scuffs one boot in the dirt. “They’ll try to hit you with perjury charges; you know they will. You might wind up in prison at the end of this anyway.”

Lena nods. She does know this. Some part of her knew it the moment the words I plead the fifth left her mouth, and yet, everything she’s protested to Kara is true. Those words were the only road open to her so long as that judge remained silent.

“Well,” Lena says, “You don’t grow up in the Luthor household without learning a thing or two about the loopholes of the legal system. Burden of proof lies with the prosecution; it would be very difficult to prove that a wedding didn’t happen.”

Kara tsks and turns on her heel to stare out over the valley. “Supergirl isn’t a legal entity. They could challenge you on the grounds that you can’t be legally married to someone who doesn’t legally exist. And if they found a judge more sympathetic to Lex than to you….”

“Not a difficult thing to find,” Lena admits. She stands in the fear and the evening chill for a long moment “I meant what I said, Kara. If I go to prison over this, so be it. Anything to protect you.” Anything for the woman I love, she wants to say, but Kara isn’t ready for that. Might never be ready for that. And neither, truthfully, is Lena.

Kara’s fingers have found the edge of her cape, and now she’s worrying at it in the fading light. She doesn’t look back at Lena for what feels like a long time, and when she does her expression is guarded. “I want you to promise me you’re going to hear me out before you say anything.”

“Okay….” Lena says. She tries to wrestle down her questions, her curiosities, her reservations. Anything for Kara, after all.

Kara takes a deep breath, looking for all the world like she’s readying herself to make a national address. “I have a terrible idea.”

#fake marriage au #redraft!#oreo writes

280 notes · View notes

the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo · 3 years

Text

Missed Opportunities | Helmut Zemo x Reader

Here's a little something I cooked up. Not sure what I want to do with it, but it was bugging me to be written. For better or worse.

This is a little Helmut Zemo/Female Reader moment. It has Sam and Bucky too. It's not fully developed, but hopefully you all can enjoy it for what it is.

OOOOO

You were in Germany when you got the call from Sam. He needed help locating the Flag-Smashers, and was hoping you could offer some assistance.

He just happened to call at the perfect time, because as it turns out, the person you went to visit was no longer around. So, since you had essentially made a trip across the ocean for nothing; you figured, why not? Might as well make something of your travels abroad and not make it a total loss.

Sam gave instructions to meet him at a residence in Riga, Latvia. He mentioned very little other than that. Technically though, that wasn't entirely his fault. You're pretty sure he intended to provide more information, but Bucky was shouting, "Hellos.", "You've been missed!", and her personal favorite, an exasperated, "Please save me from my tormentor."

After Bucky's outburst, Sam had seemed to have forgotten about you on the phone; so you were just listening to constant bickering in the background. All you could do was shake your head and laugh at this point. Truly, Earth's greatest defenders were simply children at times.

It was good to hear their laughs. It had been too long and the world was still recovering.

We all were.

Bucky, Sam, and you all disappeared when Thanos snapped his fingers, wiping out half the universe. When you all returned, there was love and there was loss all around, but it bonded the three of you in a friendship deeper than any of you could imagine.

Okay, perhaps, that's a slight exaggeration. You became extremely good friends with both James and Sam; however, the two of them are a different story altogether. They won't admit to their friendship, but you know they'll both come around one day. They're just being stubborn idiots. God, she missed those two guys. It's been months since she had laid eyes either one of them.

So, here you are, standing right out front the door Sam gave instructions to meet at.

You fiddled with the arm of the backpack strapped across your chest. You didn't think you'd be this nervous, but a combination of excitement and adrenaline had caused you to be a bit jumpy. You tried to shrug it off as you raised your hand to knock on the door.

Not even 10 seconds after you knocked on the door you heard the shuffle of footsteps, accompanied with the ever present response of, "I got it."

Only the footsteps halted abruptly and muffled discussions were faintly heard through the door. You couldn't make out what was being said, only that no further movement had been made to answer the door.

I swear to God, if they are simply having an argument about who gets to open the door, I am going to murder them both on the spot.

You were about to knock on the door again a bit more insistently, but you never got the chance as the door abruptly swung open to reveal Bucky.

As you stared back at one another, you couldn't help but noticed his tense appearance, which is not all that unusual for him, but it was a more strained posture. You assumed it had something to do with whatever was being talked about just moments prior to answering the door.

It couldn't have been too serious because seconds later he dropped all pretense and gave you a heartfelt smile before sweeping you up in his arms for a hug.

He all but dragged you inside, it only caused you to chuckle at his enthusiasm. Yeah, you had missed him a lot.

The hug continued to linger on, and you could hear the door behind you close. You were about to motion to Bucky to release you from his hold when you heard Sam pipe in highly amused, "Buck, give her some room to breath."

You could feel the glare James was giving Sam, but he did let you go eventually.

Upon the release from your hug, the sleeves of your blue hoodie had drifted past your hands; you pushed them up a bit where you could grab James's hand and squeeze it in silent thanks.

After letting go of Bucky, you turned around to face Sam, shaking your head and grinning at him with delight, "Never a dull moment around here is there?"

"Never," Sam replied. "It's my turn, now," holding his arms out, he smiled pulling you into a softer embrace, but no less enthusiastic.

You huffed out a laugh and hugged him back with equal fervor.

A few moments had passed, and you reluctantly untangled yourself from Sam. More pleasantries had been exchanged and small talk had filled up the space as you walked fully into open living space.

You did a turn about the room as you headed towards the kitchen area with the guys trailing behind you. You had grabbed the strap of your backpack and had lifted it over your head.

You were about to place your stuff on the kitchen island when you heard soft footfalls make their way from the outer hallway towards you.

The unexpected noise caused you to hesitate; you turned your head towards Sam and James with a puzzled expression on your face. You had opened your mouth with the intention to ask them who else was in the safe house with you, when you saw him.

The backpack you were holding had fallen out of your hands and onto the floor with a thud, but you couldn't tear your eyes off the man standing across the room from you now. Your face had gone completely slack jaw and eyes had widen in shock leaving you speechless.

You would normally have said something quippy in this moment, but your brain had stopped functioning.

The silence was finally broken from Sam's response to the situation.

"Okay, I know what this looks like. We can explain him," Sam cautiously said. "Actually, Bucky should be the one to share this story, since it was his idea."

You could hear the words Sam was saying, but they never really registered. You assumed he thought you were shocked because the man who stood in front of you once tore your friends a part. Because he was supposed to be in a prison in Germany. Any other number of reasons could potentially be listed. What Sam didn't realize, was that the man standing before you was the last person you saw before you disintegrated before his eyes, and this was the first time since that chaos you had seen him again.

Other than Sam's calm reply, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Perhaps it was because the same look of shock and awe was reflected on Zemo's face.

You tried to form a response, something, anything to say.

Neither Sam or Bucky knew you used to visit Zemo after he was imprisoned. Whenever you travelled to Germany, you would tell them you had a contact that only agreed to provide information face to face. They never put two and two together, but they also trusted you implicitly; so they had no reason to ever question your motives or who exactly you were going to see. You actually saw Zemo a fair amount of time. More often than not, it was always to learn about the inner workings of Hydra. While they may be diminished in capacity; they still had not been completely eradicated. And you were determined to locate and destroy every remaining Hydra base, and dismantle them once and for all. They took your parents from you, and you were going to make sure they couldn't hurt anyone ever again. So, Zemo had been the obvious choice to help gain as much information as possible in your quest.

So, over the course of 2 years, you had made several trips to see him. You could almost say you were on friendly terms, but mostly, you believed his kindness and willingness to provide information was a benefit to him. To interact with someone on the outside to remind him he's not completely alone in the world.

The last time you saw each other was a day like any other you would come to visit. You'd lean outside his glass cell and just talk. The prison only allotted an hour's visit. So you always had to make your time worth while.

This particular day was colder than usual for the time of year. And being left outside the prison hallway where Zemo's cell was located only caused the draft to further lower the temperature with the concrete walls. You had involuntarily shivered as a cold draft had blasted in from one of hallways. Zemo had taken notice and unzipped his hoodie, passing it off to the guard to hand over to you. In that moment, the realization came that things were no longer black and white between the two of you. When you asked him why, he simply shrugged and said it's what any gentleman should do. His expression had softened though and was no longer outwardly indifferent. You had put on the blue garment and zipped it up; tugging at the sleeves as the hoodie was much larger on your frame than his.

There was only about 30 minutes left of your visit when alarm bells started going off. Zemo had pushed himself against the glass to look down the closest hallway to try and see what was going on. You had tried to remain calm, but when the guard standing nearby had disappeared right in front of you both, you knew something was dreadfully wrong.

With visible panic on your face, you had whispered out the word Thanos to Zemo. You'll never forget what happened next or the expression on his face. There was a hitch in your lungs and a strong tugging sensation drifting through your chest. You stumbled into the glass and fell to your knees in front of Zemo. You had slumped onto your side trying to concentrate on what was happening to you. You peered up at Zemo as he had slid himself down the glass to your level gazing at you in concern. You could hear him shouting for help, but there was no one around. You placed your hand on the glass to get his attention, and only then did you realize, you had tears in your eyes.

He brought his hand up on the other side of the glass and placed it against where yours was. Funny how an instance can change everything between two people. You saw his eyes widen and that's when you noticed the right side of your body started to turn to dust. All you had time to say was, "I'm sorry," before you completely disintegrated before him, leaving him, no doubt, alone once again.

You would have laughed at the expression on his face now if you knew it hadn't been the first time he's seen you since....what happened. But there was nothing really funny about the situation.

You weren't quite sure what to do, but your feet made the decision for you as you slowly made your way to stand directly in front of Zemo.

It's the first time you've stood together without any glass between you both. He's a bit taller than you, but not by miles; you're chin roughly comes up to his shoulder.

You see him swallow as if he's also thinking of something to say, but instead you see him raise his hand up and start to reach out to touch you, but stops before actually doing it. Internally, you make your choice for him and reach up with your hand and grab the one he's left hanging in the air. It's just a light touch, almost as if you're both worried the other might not be real.

Zemo glanced down at you holding onto his hand and back at you briefly. He squeezed your hand gently and then you heard him release a harsh breath before gripping your hand tighter and yanking you into his arms.

You barely had time to think about what was happening before you were enveloped into the most emotional hug you've ever felt.

The reaction was unexpected, but then so were the circumstances you were in, so nothing should really surprise you, but you were. Your arms were slightly hovering over his back, not entirely sure at that moment what you wanted to do, as you were still in shock. But, after a brief pause you brought your arms firmly around his body and hugged Zemo back with just as much care and buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. You heard him mumbling words into the side of your head, but couldn't understand what he was really saying.

Time could have been standing still for the infinite period we were latched onto one another. It wasn't until the clearing of Bucky's throat that jarred us out of the moment. The noise wasn't loud, but the room had been so silent until then; it sounded like a freight train.

Realization must have hit us both at the same time that we weren't alone in the room, and we jumped apart as if lightning had struck us both.

At this point, you were looking at anything in room, but Zemo. You started playing with the ends of your sleeves in nervousness when Sam spoke up in a very slow and deliberate manner, "Would you care to explain to us, what is going on?"

"I thought you were going to have Bucky explain to me, why Zemo's not in prison!" you say back, not ready at all to try and explain things. You still needed to wrap your own head around it, before attempting to share your brief history with Zemo.

"Oh, no doll. This can wait," James answered. You could tell he was not happy, but maybe more confused than anything by how he responded.

Both were assessing Zemo to try and figure out if this is some sort of game to him. Bucky had reached out to grab your arm and pulled you gently away from the criminal mastermind and closer to them to instinctually protect you from him.

You outwardly sighed, knowing there was a long conversation about to happen.

Zemo took a step forward and James took a step back bringing you with him. Sam seemed perturbed over the entire situation, but Zemo spoke up first.

"Is that, what I think it is?" he said. Zemo cocked his head to the side and eyed you with amusement.

You silently shook off the hold Bucky has on you and raise an eyebrow at him to not try that again. You swiveled back to Zemo, placing your hands on your hips. Confusion was written clearly on your face as you answered him back, "Could you be a little less vague?" A small smile graced your face in reply.

Zemo pointed at your midsection and a smug expression appeared on his face.

"I must say, you look quite fetching in my clothes."

You were physically startled by his comment. You had forgotten you were wearing his hoodie. It's why you went to Germany. To return it to him, but when you found out he was no longer there, you realized you were going to have to either keep it permanently or track him down. Sam's call came in before you could make that decision. Fate really is something else.

Your hands grabbed the fabric of the hoodie as you closed your eyes and ducked your head. You could feel the embarrassment threatening to turn your whole face red.

You started to shuffled away knowing an immediate outburst was coming from both of her friends. What Zemo just said, implied so many different things. So, of course Sam and Bucky would start shouting without having any context to the situation of how you acquired a piece of his clothing.

If the floor could have opened up at that moment, you would have appreciated it.

Sam and Bucky were both visibly upset and clearly about to start a fight with Zemo, but thankfully Sam, being the more even tempered of the group, stopped Bucky from doing anything. He had shrugged off Sam and stared at you with hurt on his face.

You exhaled shakily as things started to calm down. You dared to catch a glimpse of Zemo, and of course, out of everyone here, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy causing the chaos he wrought with his sly comment.

If looks could kill, he would have been flayed alive.

"Enough," you said to everyone. It was time to clear the air. "Let's all just take a seat."

You had gotten exasperated by the entire situation and turned to Bucky and Sam, "Do you automatically have to jump to conclusions? Do you not think there is a perfectly logical explanation, somewhere?" You had slapped your hands down by your sides and turned to Zemo. He looked as if he were about to say something, but you cut him off pointing a finger at him.

"And you. Big trouble. Don't even get me started."

As you stared at Zemo; he at least had the decency to appear somewhat contrite at your scolding. You could still tell he was mildly amused about the whole situation.

You saw Sam had taken a seat and started to wave you over to where he and Bucky were.

"Start talking," he said.

"I'm not sure where to start," you answered, pacing back and forth.

"How about the beginning?" Bucky parroted out arms crossed in front of him, he was clearly still a bit defensive.

"The beginning. Right. Sure. I can do that," you stopped to think about how to start, but everything just seemed to be as if you were actually hiding something from them, when you weren't. It just never came up, and The Blip was emotional for everyone.

Truth be told, you would like to avoid this conversation at all costs. For many reasons, some you're not ready to deal with.

Zemo had spoke up while you were deciding how to broach the subject at hand.

"If I may," he spoke.

The three of us had answered him simultaneously, "No!"

Yeah, it was going to be a long day.

OOOOO

#helmut zemo #baron zemo #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #helmut zemo x reader #fanfic #my writing #oh god #this is probably terrible #i only quickly wrote this when i woke up #so i hope it's not too bad of a read

219 notes · View notes

bokettochild · 3 years

Text

Tired Feet and Nimble Fingers

Sooo.....

I wrote more Ravio fics. This is one of two, the second one still needs to be reread and checked for errors, but rest assured to whomever requested a fic for Ravio getting some fussing, I nearly killed the kid for you :)

Mr. Hero had nice hands.

Oh sure, they were rather thin, and a bit knobby at the knuckles, aged in a way most people their age would not understand for decades yet, but they were nimble, quick, and forever flitting from one thing to another with the easy grace of a person who’s done everything with their life except sit still and rest.

Mr. Hero’s hands were worn and aged but feather light in their touch and still impossibly firm when he’d grab Ravio by the scarf and pull him down the one inch that was between the two of them so he could glare at him for one thing or another. Honestly, he rarely really did anything questionable, but the ever irritated “Why?” that Mr. Hero always shot at him when he raised the price of an item or tacked on another fee, be it emotional repercussions charges for tending his wounds, or a petty increase when he’d been made to actually worry for someone else, or even in the rare instance when Mr. Hero managed to actually make him angry. Either way, soft or firm, Mr. Hero had nice hands, and on the rare instance Ravio had actually seen him remove his rings (Mr. Hero had complained of swelling, and had nearly had to pry them off) he always smiled at the sight of them.

Was that weird? Probably. But there was a lot you could tell about a person by their hands, and Mr. Hero’s told the story of someone who gave and fought for others since he’d been able, and even if the caring person hid behind the shadows of his bangs or the icy pain in his eyes, Ravio knew that person was still in there.

And at times like this, he got to actually see it.

“What are you doing?” The merchant shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the other end of the couch where Mr. Hero had been sitting since he’d stumbled through the door with a tired groan. He’d collapsed onto the couch not long after, drenched and covered in mud, and it had been all Ravio could do to convince him to shed his extra layers and change into something clean, at least. Sure, he’d had to actually dig through the scant wardrobe in the bedroom to find something, but once the over-sized tunic had been shoved in the veteran hero’s face, he’d agreed to strip off his wet things, and Ravio had given him the space to do so while he’d made some warm cocoa for the two of them.

He would have preferred cider, but Mr. Hero still refused to share the recipe with him.

Now, however, he’d flopped onto the couch himself, uncaring for the fact that he’d had to settle his legs in the lap of his friend. After all, if Mr. Hero minded, he would have pushed him off. As was though, the pink-haired teen was staring at his feet with no small amount of displeasure, and Ravio was half considering pulling them back to himself and resigning himself to just curling up on the couch into one corner so he could give the other boy his space.

Firm hands latched around his boot, tugging with a small grunt and surprising the merchant greatly. “Mr. Hero, I just-”

“No shoes.” The pink-haired hero huffed. “Not on the couch.”

“Says the one who trudges dirt all over my freshly cleaned floors!” Ravio huffed, trying not to wiggle too much as Mr. Hero not only pulled off his shoes but, after making a disgusted face at the smell of his feet, had also yanked his socks off, throwing them over to the pile of sopping laundry on the floor. Ravio made a note to pick that up and help wash it later.

“My floors.” Mr. Hero corrected him, tugging the towel Ravio had given him earlier off of his shoulders and wiping its wet ends over the merchant’s feet, making him stiffen. “It’s my house I’ll have you know.”

“Mr. Hero, are you- are you cleaning my feet?”

“It’s not like you ever do it, when’s the last time you bathed, you filthy bunny?”

“Two days ago.” Ravio huffed into his cocoa, savoring the taste and the thrum of warmth that bloomed in his chest both at the drink and the sensation of Mr. Hero’s nimble fingers helping to clean the grime from his, admittedly, filthy feet. “More recently than you, I daresay, Mr. Hero.”

“I just showered.” Violet eyes flitted up to meet his as Mr. Hero motioned to the door ad likely the stormy weather outside.

“That doesn’t count!”

“It does for me.”

“When did you last bathe? With soap?”

Mr. Hero didn’t answer, instead continuing to rub the dirt and dust off the bottoms of his house-mate's feet with the wet towel. Ravio hmphed. A fight for another day then, it isn’t as if he had the energy to draw a bath and push his friend into it anyways.

A delightful, rough sensation rubbed over the base of his foot, firm and still somehow incredibly relaxing, and the bunny merchant found himself torn between sinking into the cushions with a sigh as some of the pain in his limbs faded and staring down at Mr. Hero to see what had been done. In the end, he’d sunk into the cushions of the couch, lids fluttering as a heavy sigh pulled itself from his lungs. “What-”

“You’re as tight-string as my gran’s horses.” Mr. Hero drawled, and the sensation repeated itself, warm pressure sliding across the ridge of his foot. “This used to work on my uncle, relax.”

It took longer than necessary to actually realize that his friend was rubbing his feet, but Ravio was too warm and comfortable to really care, especially with how sore the appendages in question had been with scurrying here and there over the last few days tending to the shop.

Mr. Hero’s hands were miracle workers, and Ravio was hardly even awake when the veteran hero had finally stopped with his self-assigned task, pushing himself up and leaving Ravio to stretch out over the length of the couch. All the merchant could register was the increase of weight on top of him, the clinking of two empty mugs being placed in the kitchen sink, and the door creaking open.

He never felt the draft when Mr. Hero left back into the outside world to continue his quest, but when he woke the next morning, it was to find the hero’s favorite blanket spread out over the top of him and a fresh pair of fuzzy socks slipped over his clean and no longer painfully tense feet.

“Ravio, sit.” Mr. Hero groaned, leaning back on the couch and pinned in place by the sailor using his legs as a back rest. “If you don’t, I swear I’m going to have Twilight throw you at the couch!”

The merchant in question pouted, he’d been trying his best to tidy the living room, after all, Mr. Hero and his family had been quite unexpected that evening and the place was, unfortunately, a mess. One had to take inventory now and again, and the sad fact of it was that that required pulling everything off the shelves and out of storage and from around the house to count it up and figure out if he should risk attempting to return to Lorule or attempting to work Mr. Hero’s small smithy out back in order to restock his items.

He’d only counted up everything and had been working on cleaning and polishing his various items when the heroes had come knocking at the front door, and then he’d been so busy helping them warm up from the chill (they were all wearing the scarves he’d given them and it pleased him to no end) and making a meal with Mr. Hero that he’d been left unable to finish gathering the things that had been scattered across the floor. Of course, after dinner was finished, he’d set right to it, but now that everyone was settled around the fire with warm mugs in hand and fluffy scarves around their necks, Mr. Hero seemed to only be agitated by his puttering about and moving everything again.

To be fair, he hadn’t stopped moving for the last thirty minutes since the others had helped gather his things back up so they could sit, but there was so much to put away!

“Mr. Hero, I still-”

“Sit.” Mr. Hero squeaked grouchily, earning a few giggles as Mr. Rancher and Mr. Chosen Hero exchanged glances, smiles wide. “My feet hurt just from looking at you.”

Like it or not, Ravio’s ears were already pricking up at those words.

Since that first time, Mr. Hero had done him the favor of massaging his feet after a hard day many times, and as much as Ravio didn’t want to expect it of him, it was incredibly nice to have someone fuss over him, if only for a little bit, and if there was even a chance that it would happen again, well...

It was entirely intentional that he flopped onto the couch, feet resting easily in Mr. Hero’s lap as he stretched out. He could have sat down, he really could, but the fact of it was that he simply didn’t want to. Fortunately, Mr. Hero didn’t seem to mind, and too the merchants delight his friend immediately started pulling off his shoes with the same old familiar huff and wrinkling of his button nose, tossing the shoes as far away as possible to avoid having to remain in contact with them for long.

It was a practiced and much appreciated ritual that was Mr. Hero helping him relax after a long day. Just as cocoa or cider was prepared when either was having a particularly long or difficult day, or how Ravio always made sure Mr. Hero ate three meals a day and slept for at least four hours, taking care that his friend wasn’t positioned too uncomfortably wherever it was that he finally passed out. Mr. Hero touching his feet was normal, just like him playing with Mr. Hero’s hair once the other boy had settled down at last.

Perhaps though, it wasn’t all that common for the others.

“Vet?”

Mr. Hero blinked up from his work, violet eyes meeting the midnight blue of Mr. Rancher impassively.

“What in Ordonia are ya doin’?”

The veteran hero cocked a brow. “Foot massage, he won’t relax otherwise, and foot pains a-” Captain Hero Sir Jr. shot a look their way and Mr. Hero quickly amended what he’d been about to say. “Foot pain sucks.”

“You are touching feet.” Mr. Rancher wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that a bit... gross?”

“Says the man who eats bee larva.” Came the quipped reply. “I wash them first, pities sakes.”

“By my head!?!?!?” Tune started jumping up and away and shooting Mr. Hero a hurt look. “Like, yeah, sure, I help Granny on bad days too, but warn a fellow if you’re gonna be having feet by his head.”

“Don’t sit on my legs.”

Ravio chuckled, letting the noise and chatter wash over him.

Mr. Hero’s hands never failed to sooth the pains of the day.

The heroes had stumbled in time and again over the months, and Ravio had grown quite used to their presence. Time passed differently on both ends of things, but he’d since learned when abouts to expect that they'd appear, and the house was, thankfully, stocked fully for each visit.

Autumn had brought about harvest, and the heroes had darted in and out, occasionally offering help and other times only crashing wearily in the living room and Mr. Hero’s bedroom for the night before they had to return to chasing the monsters. Today was one of the longer stays, especially if how Mr. Captain Hero Sir was moving so stiffly was any indication.

“Do you need me to step on you again?” Mr. Smithy asked worriedly as Mr. Captain Hero Sir eased his way down onto the couch, earning a few looks both from the merchant and the other heroes while Sheerow flitted about the man's head, chirruping worriedly and earning a gentle word or so from the captain.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir was in quite the state, stiff as a board and moving as poorly as the old pump in the village. It made him worried, and try as he might, he couldn’t think of any of his items that would help.

Mr. Hero appeared to already have an answer though. “Tunic off, Cap, and on the couch.”

Sharp blue blinked over in confusion to where Mr. Hero was already shedding his boots and rolling up his sleeves with a purpose. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Massage. Works wonders for back pain. Hop to it or I’m rescinding my offer.”

It was one thing to be on the receiving end of matters, but another entirely to be one of those who watched. Mr. Hero put his full weight into his hands as he worked, kneading out the knots in his friend's muscles while Mr. Captain Hero Sir melted into the couch with little relieved noises.

Maybe it took the others realizing that the vet didn’t just help him, but after that it wasn’t at all uncommon for him to carry in his attempts at cider or his wonderful cocoa and see Mr. Hero standing over one of the others and putting his clever hands to work in soothing tensed muscles back into place, the heroes under his hands melting under his touch.

The first time he heard Mr. Hero humming under his breath while he worked, the other heroes had all looked incredibly surprised, but not upset in the slightest. It was a lovely tune after all, and Tune himself started playing with his baton in time the gentle music, swaying in his seat and waving the instrument while the others continued working on repairing and tending their various items and clothing articles.

There was a pattern. For Mr. Captain Hero Sir it was his back, although rather rarely, and the same went for Mr. Chosen Hero.

For Captain Hero Sir Jr. It was his neck and shoulders.

Mr. Smithy got stress headaches that seemed to ease when someone helped message his temples.

Mr. Rancher had problems with his left wrist specifically.

Ravio of course had poor feet, and while Tune and Wild seemed to be mostly left unscathed from the repetitive pains that the others did, they took every opportunity to cling to Mr. Hero with their whole bodies when they felt that they wanted pets or attention when their mentor’s/brothers were too busy.

He’d attempted to return the favor all of one time. The black eye and bloody nose he got out of it weren’t even made better with the nearly tearful apologies of his best friend as Mr. Hero had jumped to his feet and dashed outside to get some ice for the injury.

Once the blood was cleaned up, the vet had sat in shame as Ravio had joined the others in teasing him for his “killer reflexes”.

“I can’t help it! People touching my feet- It-” Mr. Hero tugged at his hair frustratedly, eyes turning to the sky hopelessly. “I’m sorry, Ravio. It was an accident, I swear.”

“I know, Mr. Hero, I know.” He’d giggled out the reassurance, but from that day on he avoided touching Mr. Hero’s feet in any way possible.

(Oddly enough though, that didn’t stop a few of the others from trying, and Mr. Hero’s sleep was interrupted many times by heroes that had been kicked in the nose or even the mouth because they’d dared each other to touch the teen’s feet while he slept. Mr. Captain Hero Sir had complained for days until his own black eye healed, and Mr. Hero hadn’t even bother apologizing, stating that the others shouldn’t have tempted fat so foolishly.)

He felt a bit guilty for not returning the favor, but he knew better than to try again where so many others had failed.

And then winter had sprung up. Winter with its harsh gales that blew in half frozen heroes that tracked ice and snow across the floor as they bundled in front of the fire, wrapped head to toe for the weather. Winter when he’d brew hot cocoa to warm them all up, letting Mr. Hero tug down blankets to wrap around their on-and-off house-mates (guests no longer applied at this point). The mugs offered were warm, and Ravio smiled as each hero offered him a word of thanks as his tray grew lighter and lighter until he only had the two mugs left.

Mr. Hero had pulled together his usual nest before the fire. His huge blanket and a few spare pillows all bundled together into a comfortable place to sit for the younger heroes in order to make up for the lack of a second couch, and the vet sat in its center, still working to arrange the cushions with stiff fingers and chattering teeth until Ravio had pulled on his friend’s tunic and urged him to sit down.

When he offered the mug though, Mr. Hero had fumbled it and nearly dropped it, a hiss of irritation whishing from between his teeth and he glared down at his stiff digits. “Blast! Din’s sake, why does the freaking cold always freaking-”

Warm hands, worn from housekeeping and smithy work, wrapped around the vet’s as Ravio gently rubbed some warmth back into the stiff fingers. Mr. Hero started slightly at the touch, but didn’t complain as the merchant continued to press his into the rises and against the bones of his friend’s gnarled hands, offering warmth and relief against the pain and the cold both for a few short minutes, and Mr. Hero melted into the touch, as he always inevitably did, letting Ravio have his way for the moment and leaning to sit back-to-back with Wild while the merchant worked.

When he’d released his housemate, it’d only been to press a mug into the vet’s hands, but then he’d been settling across from him on the blanket nest, stockinged feet coming to rest in his friend’s lap as he’d pulled his own mug close for a sip. Violet eyes offered a begrudging smile that was returned in rupee green, but no words were spoken between the two as they enjoyed their cocoa.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir however wasn’t about to let it pass. “So, hand holding now, uh? Should I be talking to Fable about a wedding day?”

Ravio was certain that the only thing keeping some very rude signs from being exchanged as the fact that Mr. Hero wasn’t willing to stress his hands further or release the warmth that he held in them. The pink-haired hero did shoot a very disappointed look towards the captain though.

#do not tag as ravio/i #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu legend #lu ravio #fluffics #ketto's cottagecore collection #idiot writes fluff #idiot writes cottagecore

77 notes · View notes

starlitangels · 2 years

Text

DnDnD

I have had this sitting in my drafts since, like, the first month I got into the Redacted fandom. And... yeah I just barely finished it. Enjoy! 2.1k words

—

“Hey Saul, can I DM a one-shot next week?” Roxanne asked eagerly.

“Sure. Whatcha thinkin’?” Saul replied.

Roxanne looked at me, brushing that long hair out of her face. It was rich mahogany brown but she dyed streaks of it with bright purple. “You know I’m a Dreamwalker, right Freelancer? Lasko told you? I know we don’t really talk about that kind of magic while we’re here.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know,” I said.

She beamed and looked back to Saul. “I’m thinking DnD—and D.”

Huxley snorted. I gave him a warning look.

“Meaning what?” Saul pressed, humoring her.

“Dungeons and Dragons—and Dreamwalking,” Roxanne said.

“Oh, my God—please tell me you’re going to build us all a shared dream that is the one-shot!” Lasko exclaimed.

“That’s the plan!”

“Sick, dude!” Huxley said.

“That sounds awesome,” I added.

“We can meet at my apartment next week. My roommate’s going on a trip with her girlfriend but she’s hoping to work with the Department in the warding division so our apartment is, like, the most warded place in the city since she practices on it. No one will hear anything or know how much magic is being expended. All our human neighbors will be none the wiser.”

“I’m down. I’d especially appreciate the break,” Saul said.

“Same time next week, then? Just at my place?” Roxanne looked around at everyone for confirmation. “I’ll make my best cookies and we can order pizza.”

“Count us in,” Lasko said, gesturing to me and Huxley. I nodded.

—

Lasko, Huxley, and I arrived at Roxanne’s complex, piling out of Lasko’s car. He led us up to her apartment and knocked on the door. It took seconds for her to open it. Seconds during which I felt like I might get knocked over from the amount of wards surrounding the apartment. When she opened it, she smiled. “You guys made it!”

“Are we late?” Lasko asked.

“Nope! You’re actually the first ones to get here. Which means you guys can have some of the leftover cookie dough,” Roxanne said.

“Sick,” Huxley said.

She let us into the apartment and went to the bowl of a stand mixer on the counter. “Here,” she said, splitting a small blob of cookie dough into four chunks and passing one to each of us, keeping one for herself.

“Chocolate chip?” Lasko asked.

“Yep. With a little Roxy flair thrown in,” Roxanne replied with a playful wink.

“Like what?” Huxley asked, having already bitten into his chunk.

“Caramel,” Roxanne replied.

Huxley pulled the cookie dough away from his face, a string of caramel hanging in thin air. He chuckled. “Sick,” he said again. He chewed on the bit in his mouth before shoving the rest in. Lasko tentatively nibbled on his. Roxanne’s was already gone.

All of our phones buzzed in quick succession as a text came through the group chat. “Saul’s on his way,” Lasko announced, being the first to get his phone out.

“Sweet,” Roxanne said. “Any objections to ordering the pizza now?”

“Nope,” Huxley said, echoed by me and Lasko.

“This is delicious, by the way,” I said to Roxanne, pointing at the cookie dough.

She laughed. “Thanks. Mom taught me to bake chocolate chip cookies, and after some trial and error I started adding caramel.” She stumbled over a word. “Not—not homemade caramel, mind you. I don’t have the patience to melt sugar in a saucepan.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

—

“Everyone’s okay with me putting them to sleep for this, right?” Roxanne asked, taking a seat in an armchair across the coffee table after we finished dinner and moved to the living room from the dining table. “I just want everyone to understand that if you get hit in combat, it will still hurt. Pain is in the mind. When we wake up, it’ll be dull aches that’ll fade quickly. And we’ll be adventurers, tough enough that pain won’t bother us quite so bad. But I want everyone to be aware.”

“I’m fine with it,” I said. Nods from the rest of the group, even though Lasko’s hand curled into a fist in his jeans. I set my hand on top of his reassuringly. He swallowed but nodded resolutely.

“Okay. Let me lay the scene, before I drop us all.” She stood from the armchair, behind her DM screen. She raised her arms and lowered them slowly. The lights dimmed.

Lasko grinned and glanced at me and Huxley. “She’s good at atmosphere whenever she DMs. One of the only ones of us risky enough to use magic during DnD,” he whispered. Roxanne smiled at him warmly.

“Thanks, Lasko,” she said. The lights were low. “Picture, if you will, a dark night. A quaint village tucked into a valley between two mountains. A few torches burn outside, giving the village a bit of light. Your adventuring party has been traveling for quite some time and is absolutely exhausted. But you’ve heard there’s promise in this town. Some treasure no one has ever been able to find, but everyone whispers about. But, they say it’s guarded by an adult red dragon. A jealous hoarder, like all chromatic dragons. No one has seen this dragon, but your party is pretty sure you can figure it out.”

The apartment started to shake. The plaster fell off the walls in powdered columns.

“What the hell?” Huxley demanded.

“Hux, is this you?” Lasko asked.

“I’m not doing anything!” Huxley replied.

I looked over at Roxanne. Her hair was trembling with the tremors. She gave all of us in the group a playful, smug, amused smirk—

And vanished.

The apartment walls crumbled, leaving us standing on a dirt road, looking up a mountain pass toward the flickering torchlight of a village.

“When did she put us to sleep?” Lasko asked, looking around wildly.

“No one remembers falling asleep or waking up,” Saul reasoned. “Besides Dreamwalkers. She could have done it right after dinner. We wouldn’t have known.”

I shook my head. “She did it as she lowered the lights. After she asked if we were all okay with it.” I rolled my neck, stretching it out. “I thought I felt her magic flare up, but I was too distracted by her words to pay attention to that. I think my mind just assumed that was her magic lowering the lights.”

“That little trickster,” Saul joked.

“She-she-she can probably still hear us,” Lasko said.

“Damn, dude! Sweet outfit!” Huxley exclaimed, practically punching me in the shoulder. I looked down.

I was dressed like my sorcerer. Fancy, showy, nobleborn outfit with gold embroidery in the grey robes. I lifted my hands to see the flaming red skin of a Fire Genasi. Black-and-red hair spilled down over my shoulders. “Wow,” I said. “Thorough.”

Huxley still looked like himself, for the most part, when it came to facial structure, but his Earth Genasi green skin and crystalline red hair were very fantasy.

Lasko looked a bit shorter, as Reardon. Not quite as pale as Lasko usually was, with somewhat darker hair.

“This is sick,” Huxley said, admiring the greataxe made of crystal his barbarian wielded gleaming in the moonlight.

“We should get moving,” Saul said, looking up the pass toward the village.

I took a deep breath and nodded. We started to ascend the dirt road. It became clear, quickly, that Huxley needed to help Lasko and me a lot. I was a sorcerer, so my constitution was fantastic, but my strength was abysmal and my legs started to ache after only a few minutes of hiking. Lasko was just shorter than he was used to and had to constantly half-jog to keep up.

After a bit, Huxley swung me up onto his shoulder. I sat there with minimal grumbling and complaining, holding onto the leather straps of his bag and weapon sheath.

“So…” I said. “We’re supposedly going up against an adult red dragon,” I said.

“Mmhmm,” Saul agreed.

“The same adult red dragons that are immune to fire damage.”

“Mmhmm,” Saul agreed more emphatically.

“I’m a Fire Genasi,” I said.

Huxley burst into laughter. “Dude—your fire spells aren’t gonna do anything!” he exclaimed.

“B-b-but,” Lasko pointed out, “y-you’re also resistant to fire damage. So if… if you pass your Dex save against its breath weapon then it will only do a quarter damage to you instead of half. And-and-and you have damage spells that aren’t fire-based, right?”

“Yeah, but Firebolt is my only real damaging cantrip and I don’t want to waste spell slots when I don’t have to,” I said.

“Good thing you’ve got your daggers then,” Saul reasoned.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s gonna be useless against a dragon with a high AC,” I muttered. “If I’d known it was going to be a red dragon, I would have rolled a different character instead of playing my usual one.”

“Like what?”

“I had a fabulous Aasimar rogue I wanted to try too.”

“Is that how you pronounce that?” Huxley asked distractedly.

“That’s how I say it,” I replied. “I don’t remember the official pronunciation, though.”

We finally reached the village.

In our minds, but seeming to emanate from everywhere, Roxanne’s voice came. “You’ve arrived at the village. What do you do next?”

Saul glanced at Lasko, then me, then Huxley. “Well, it’s late. Do we wanna camp outside the village for the night or see if the local tavern is still open?”

“Let’s camp out here,” I said. “I’m Clockwork Soul. I got Alarm for free. I can ritual cast it around our camp and make it sound off loud if anything attacks. I’ll be on first watch while I cast it.” Whatever magic Roxanne had done when she put us all to sleep, I really did feel like I’d been traveling for days or even weeks.

Huxley set me down and we settled in on a campsite just outside the village's excuse of a city wall, using said wall as the fourth side of my Alarm spell’s cube so our backs were protected on at least one side.

And we settled in for the night. I ritual casted Alarm as I kept watch over the night around us. In the distance, I could hear a deep rumbling sound. Almost like Huxley’s earthquakes, but more distant.

“Think that’s the dragon snoring?” Huxley asked, plopping down next to me.

“You should be sleeping.”

“I’m taking next watch.”

I shrugged. “Okay.” I paused. “Maybe it is the dragon snoring. I, uh, the sound reminded me of your earthquakes.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I can see why.” His smile caught the torchlight from the village gate. Bright as always. “You probably think it’s a bit ridiculous that I’m an Earth Elemental and I’m playing an Earth Genasi, huh?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “Stick to the familiar. I picked a Fire Genasi because I’d been studying with Damien for four days straight before finals when Lasko invited me over to make a character.”

“I can tell you try to emulate him when you play your character,” Huxley said. “Driven, sharp, but calculated.”

“Something something ‘imitation is the sincerest form of flattery’ blah blah blah,” I said.

That earned me another quiet chuckle. Then we were silent. “Nervous?” Huxley asked.

I ripped out a few blades of grass. “Little,” I admitted. “But Lasko’s right. Fire resistance when we’re supposedly going up against a fire dragon isn’t the worst thing.” He nodded agreement, staring out into the darkness. Beyond the torchlight, I could see a fair distance into the darkness. But a Fire Genasi’s darkvision was different from a normal race’s darkvision. Mine was in shades of red, rather than grey, like Lasko’s would be as a half-elf.

“Roxanne knows what she’s doing. She’s a dope Dreamwalker. Especially for brewing all this up. Makin’ us look like our characters and all. It’s pretty sick.”

“Yeah. I’m excited for whatever this one-shot’s gonna bring, but that doesn’t stop the nerves.”

“Well… try to relax, dude. Tomorrow’s gonna bring whatever it brings. And it’s gonna be dope. Just trust that Roxanne doesn’t intend to kill any of us in this dream with the dragon fight.”

“Yeah… thanks Hux.”

“You done casting that spell?”

“Yeah. Finished a bit ago.”

“Well… you can put your head in my lap if you want. Trust me. I’ll keep you safe,” he said.

“I know. You always feel safe to me, Hux. You, Damien, Lasko, Gavin—you’re all safe.”

“You’re safe to me, too.”

“Goodnight, Hux. See you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning, Freelancer.”

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Huxley #Redacted Freelancer #Redacted Lasko #Lasko Moore #Huxley #Freelancer #Starlit Fic

12 notes · View notes

dorotharry · 3 years

Text

tiny dancer ; chapter two

Pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: torture, nightmares, angst, let me know if there's anything else :)

Summary: After being drafted for the war in 1942, Bucky goes to the ballet a week before having to leave with his best friend Steve. There he becomes infatuated you with the prima ballerina of the show, and he just has to meet you before his last week in Brooklyn is up. He hopes one day you would meet again; little does it know it will be 72 years later.

A/N: honestly I have no clue where I’m going but I’m hoping you’re all still following. There’s still soooo much to go into readers past and yep, it’s gonna take a while but I hope you enjoy this. Please feel free to give feedback, like and repost it would mean a lot! :)

MY MASTERLIST

*gif not mine

1943

Your head felt groggy, as you woke up. Not enough energy from an ounce of your body to open your eyes for the time being. The more your body woke up from the darkness of slumber the more the pounding of aches and pains became less subtle and started to fill each and every muscle. You weren’t sure where you were or what had happened, but you suddenly became aware that your surroundings weren’t familiar. The air was too cool and there was an eeriness from lack of noise.

Finally, you were able to pry your eyes open. The colours swirled around you into one, until they became to create recognisable shapes. Although this wasn’t somewhere you recognised, just as your mind had thought even before getting to look around.

You were laid down on a metal ‘bed’ if you could even call it a bed. The coolness of the metal began to get to you a shiver running down your spine and you attempted to get up. Only to be restricted. It was now when you noticed you had straps holding your ankles, down, but not only this; there was a limpness to your form. In fact, you didn’t have any real connection to your muscles. As if a switch had been turned on in your head you realised, this wasn’t a bed. It was a table.

Suddenly your anxiety rose. In an ill attempt to do something you turned you head groggily to the left, only to be met with machines, and hospital devices. You took in a sharp breath. This definitely wasn’t a hospital so why the machines? Rolling your head to the right with just as much difficultly as last time you were met with darkness. The faint sound of feet shuffling in the distance, and the whirring of more machines.

Almost as if whoever it was had realised you were awake, a bright white light turned on above you causing you to groan from the sudden contrast to the previous darkness. The footsteps became louder, as whoever it was approached you from their hiding spot.

“Ah you’re awake,” the voice started, “you know you gave our men quite a difficult time back there. Are you going to behave this time?”

Your voice barely was able to respond, only a hushed whisper came out, “Who are you? Where am I?” This worked to rejog your memory as you saw flashes of men running after you, as you had leapt from this same table. You had gotten pretty far and fought back fairly well but this place… whatever it was; was a maze. Realising now that amongst being kidnapped and knocked unconscious. Your first attempt to escape was probably why you were in pain all over. A vision of a few men jumping on top of you and beating you unconscious. Again. That must have been why you were tied down this time.

“I think you know the answer to that.” the small man with glasses responded appearing finally out of the darkness. “…We’re HYDRA, and you y/n...” He spoke reaching under your chin in a condescending manner. “…Were firstly going to be a pawn against your stupid Captain America. But you’ve shown promise, something our other soldiers don’t have. Neither your American ones. My guess is it comes from your ballet training.” He shrugged as he moved away from you, turning and looking for something. Suddenly his hand was on a switch and machines began to rumble.

“Please,” you responded choking on your own words, “please just kill me!” You knew something was coming, otherwise why would be so aloof.

He chuckled at your words as he stood behind you. “The red skull doesn’t want me to do that, he needs more soldiers, and that’s exactly what we’re going to make you.” And with that you saw a metal machine slowly being dropped down over your left eye, and below your right jaw, causing your panic to rise. As quick as the unbearable pain started, so did darkness.

Present day ; 2017

You woke up screaming as the pain of what had happened almost a century ago shot through your entire body. You fumbled out of bed in a sweat like you did most nights. Heading towards your small kitchen in your small apartment. It was filled with greys, no life within in, you felt there was no need, why celebrate a life with no life?

Your life had changed in so many ways after 1943. You were one of HYDRA’S many toys, the many men that surrounded you called you tiny dancer, but not in a kind way, in a misogynistic arrogant way. Most people at that time though saw you as a weapon, something to be feared of, and they should have.

After you had stumbled upon the Winter Soldier on a mission in 2014 working as a freelance agent having cut your ties with HYDRA mere months before hand, it was only a few months when so had Captain America. From what you had heard amongst assassins under the radar living in Madripoor like you, it hadn’t gone well for HYDRA and now the Winter Soldier was nowhere to be found, invoking fear within many who had made themselves enemies to him. But you were sure his best friend would be looking for him. Whilst you had decided to go against helping him, Steve was not that kind of person.

Time had not been kind to you, you were no longer the frail girl who could fall in love in a week. In fact, you weren’t sure if you actually could feel love anymore. HYDRA had to make sure there was no collateral. Still once you saw him that night you wondered how amongst your many years with HYDRA, how you had never run into Bucky: The Winter Soldier. You had heard of the winter soldier, but you never knew it was Bucky behind the ghost of a person. Probably on purpose, HYDRA had been in your mind. Tthere was no doubt they knew who he was to you back then.

Not only did it invoke these thoughts, but it had led to your retirement. Well not your retirement, you were still about 25 years old on the outside, and though nor Steve or Bucky knew you were alive you knew how it felt to be in their position.

Hiding out in your small apartment in Madripoor was where you had spent most of your life since 2014, staying on the down low in case HYDRA somehow re-emerged, looking for revenge on a project they had wasted so much time on. You.

You weren’t sure why they were so surprised people like you hated them with so much anger. They had taken your life, Bucky’s life and made you weapons against your will. You didn’t hold their values, it was forced upon you.

You shook yourself from your thoughts again. You only got sentimental after nightmares, and the nightmares had been pretty continuous after seeing Bucky those few years ago, so really you were sentimental most mornings. You think it had something to do with seeing him and how it brought back memories you didn’t even know you had.

Reaching for a bottle of water, you took a sip looking over at the clock that read 3am. You groaned, knowing that you’d probably never have a good night’s sleep again. Terrible payback for a terrible past. No sleep for the wicked.

You shuffled yourself back to your room getting into bed and turning on the tv as a way to mindlessly distract yourself until you actually had to do stuff.

A few hours past until it was 7am, and you decided you could at least go for a shower before your day at work. Working at a bar that opened at 9am wasn’t exactly high class living; especially when you had to deal with drunks so early in the day, so it definitely required more motivation than most jobs. You couldn’t do what you were originally good at, dance. And you’d decided you probably shouldn’t be doing what you were trained for. Killing people.

Turning on the shower to allow it to warm up, you rid yourself of your clothes, suddenly aware of how stiff your muscles were after another bad dream. Stepping in you let the water try and wash it away, and though it did help you knew it would only reappear tonight in another form of a nightmare. You closed your eyes sighing in content, and it did last for a brief moment until you heard banging on your front door.

At first you tried to ignore it, but it got louder and more aggravated and suddenly your heart had fell to your stomach, resorting to thinking of the worst that could be behind that door. Getting out you threw some clothes back on. You reached under your bed grabbing your shot gun, holding it close to yourself as you slowly walked towards the door that had started banging again. Times like this you wished you had a peep hole to look through.

You turned on your best poker face and opened the door abruptly to be more hostile. Only you were met with someone you didn’t know, though for some reason you felt you recognised. On the other side of the door stood a woman all in black, her hair was in a blonde bob and for a brief second you thought you saw a reaction flash across her face like she knew you too.

“Is this y/n?” she spoke firmly and with poise.

You raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

“Is it?” she returned her poker face staying on her face.

“Yes.” You huffed, the half-amused face falling from your face, returning back to the glare you constantly wore. “Who are you?”

She raised her hand for you to shake her face accompanying it with a small smile, which you hesitantly took.

“Nice to finally meet you y/n, I’ve been looking for you under Fury’s instruction for a while, my name’s Natasha.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be tagged)

@maybe-a-marvel @thatredlipped-classic @flightsandfantasy @7minutes-tomidnight @rebelemilu

132 notes · View notes

slafkovskys · 4 years

Text

the way you do / t. emberson

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

my masterlist!

title from fireproof by one direction

warning(s): swear words, mentions of a concussion, jealousy, accusations of cheating, also written in a no covid world :)

word count: 5.8k

you cheer along with only a portion of the crowd as the goal horn sounds, signaling what you knew was the first and last point of the night for wisconsin. while david gets to work on updating the instagram account from his spot beside you, your fingers rapidly type out a tweet to send out that would update the people who were following along there.

badgers are on the board thanks to tyler inamoto! the score is 3-1 arizona state with 0:10 left in the third period

“what are you doing after this?” david asks, looking back out onto the ice while you start a new tweet, just in case something were to happen in the next ten seconds. “i’m sure we can find some bar to sneak into. are you up for it?”

“i don’t know,” you sigh, focusing on the opposing team’s player as he takes the puck and shoots down the ice, attempting to beat the buzzer. you frown when the horn sounds, signaling the end of the game and a win for arizona, which you quickly update on. “it’s my turn to do the interviews and i don’t know how long that’s gonna take. i always have to chase someone down and i also said that i would help cole with his biology, but i think that’s going to be a plane ride home priority.”

“well, at least they’re all going to be in the same place for at least the next twelve hours or so. it shouldn’t be that hard to find who you want,” david stands up and you follow suit, making sure that you have your phone in your back pocket before following him towards the locker room. “besides, they like you more than they like me. you’ve got that midwestern charm and i’ve got an annoying southern accent.”

“your accent is not annoying. tell me who told you that it was and i will gladly humble them,” you look at the younger boy who smiles.

it was no secret that the boys were more acquainted with you rather than david as you had two years on him. while you were a senior, david was only a sophomore starting out with the team. this was your third year with them and you had taken him under your wing because he was going to be taking over for you next year when you were gone.

you make your way through the arena, taking a route that was closed off to the general public to make it back to the locker room to catch the boys before they got caught up in granato’s post-game speech.

“who am i talking to tonight?” you mumble to yourself as you tug at your bottom lip. you look up at david who was leaning against the wall across from you, “do you remember who i talked to last week? don’t look at me like that. so much has happened between now and then…”

“trouble in paradise?” he’s quick to joke, but the look that you send him causes the smile to drop from his face. his eyes widen, “please tell me-”

“we haven’t broken up, if that’s what you were going to say,” you look back down at your computer screen and shrug, “it’s just- he’s been acting weird since we landed. he’s so touchy and, yeah, we’ve had our moments. hell, we were long distance for two years, but this is- it’s just weird.”

“i mean, i’ve never been in a serious relationship, but you definitely need to talk to him. you’ve been together too long to let it fizzle out. you’re the only couple that i can tolerate,” he rolls his eyes and you send him a grin. “it’s true. you and ty are, like, royalty at wisconsin. i’m pretty sure that you’re the couple that has been together the longest.”

“maybe second longest. i met a girl last year who had been with her boyfriend for six years and we’ve only been together for five, so they have us beat,” you leave out the fact that both of them graduated last summer.

the boys trickle back quietly. you give them a moment to get settled before taking a deep breath and walking towards the entrance. you peek your head in and granato spots you immediately, waving you inside. “you’ve been spared for two minutes, boys. listen to the lady and don’t give her a hard time.”

you send him a nod in thanks before looking out over the room. you had all of their attention except for one and it was the person who you cared the most for. you send a soft smile as your eyes scan the room, “i don’t love any of you any less. you played a great game boys and you’re going to kill it tomorrow.”

“did you get any more stickers?” owen asks and you turn to look at him.

“i did, actually, but you can blame your captain for stealing them all before i could distribute them,” you look back at ty who looks at you with a cold look. you swallow the lump in your throat and quickly look towards the other ty who speaks up.

“do you think you could find those dinosaur ones again? those were badass.”

“i still have mine on my water bottle!”

“i missed the dinosaur pack.”

“that’s why you have to score, mike.”

yes, you were aware of how childish the stickers were. you used them as an incentive so that when they came to talk to you, they got to pick a sticker. the boys enjoyed them and even stuck them on their equipment sometimes when they could get away with it.

“okay, back on track,” you look down at your computer. you tap your nails on the keypad before clicking your tongue, “i need to see tyler, roman, and brock’s brother-”

“hey!” cole shouts from beside you while your joke provokes some of the boys to laugh.

“just keeping you humble, caufield,” you wink and he rolls his eyes, sinking back into his stall. you shake your head, “i’m not going to make you talk to me tonight because honestly, i’m drained and i know all of you are too. but please do come find me during breakfast tomorrow because i do have deadlines that i have to meet and that’s stretching it far enough. if you decide that you want to be mean and not come, i will be even meaner and snitch and you can find yourself being worked overtime in practice. are we clear, gentlemen?”

“yes ma’am!”

“thank you and good night,” you wave your hand around as you exit the room, shaking your head at the claps that followed you out. you and david gather your things and head toward the bus, knowing very well that it would be a while before the boys would begin to file out. you flop down in your seat and sigh, “one down, one to go.”

even though it wasn’t often, you loved when you got the opportunity to go on road trips. you usually got to go on the ones that were just bus trips, but it was a rare occasion when you got to go on trips that had to be made by plane. once or twice during the season, however, you got to pick a trip that you wanted to come on and this year you had picked arizona. before ty had gotten drafted, you had never been nor had you ever really wanted to go to the state. after coming to see ty during his first development camp, you had pretty much fallen in love with it and had taken every opportunity to come and visit since.

“your future home,” david chuckles and you roll your eyes. “what? do you know something that i don’t?”

“there’s a lot of things that i can’t talk about, david and those that pertain to my boyfriend’s future career are ones that are at the top of the list. you aren’t getting any insider news from me, buddy,” you point an accusatory finger and he holds his hands up in surrender.

“you could be my anonymous source?” he suggests, smirking when you flip him off.

it’s relatively quiet for the next half hour until the doors of the bus open and the boys start stumbling on. you close your laptop and leave it on the empty seat that ty usually occupied and stand up, pushing your way to the front. brock pats your head as he passes and you shove an elbow into his side, “dick.”

“he’s in a mood, princess. tread lightly.”

his warning makes you raise an eyebrow. you don’t have time to ask what he meant before ty rounds the corner. shay moves to the side to let you step off of the bus and you send him a grin. you meet ty in the middle, wrapping your arms around his neck, “i‘m proud of you.”

“are you?” he spits. his hands stay glued to his sides and you pull away, dropping your own. “cole’s on his way. wouldn’t you rather see him instead?”

“what are you talking about?”

“you seem to be real fucking close these days. you’re with him more than you’re with me, so is it wrong for me to just assume that you’re fucking him too?” your mouth gapes at his words.

“are you accusing me of cheating on you?” you lower your voice, very aware of his teammates that could definitely hear your conversation. he shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest. “i know how you get after losses, but for you to go as far as to accuse me of cheating on you with a member of your team-”

“it’s fucking obvious, y/n. you’re so flirty with each other, sitting next to each other on the plane, and that shit in the locker room. i’m not oblivious.”

“fuck you, dude. i have given up so much for you and the fact that you can stand there and accuse me of doing that to you after everything that we’ve been through over the last five years, makes me wonder if it was even worth it.” you turn on your heel and march towards the bus, leaving him standing there looking shocked. you make your way up the stairs and the bus goes quiet as they stare at you, obviously having heard what happened outside. you swallow, “i’m sorry about that.”

you make your way back to your seat and grab your computer, propping your feet on the empty seat and shrinking against the window. the tears threaten to spill out from your eyes, but you don’t let them. once everyone is accounted for, the bus pulls away from the arena and heads for the hotel.

you run your fingers against your temples, trying to soothe the headache that had developed in the last five minutes. you could feel eyes on you and you look up to find jack sitting in the row of seats beside you. he opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head, “please don’t.”

you grab your phone and quickly go to your messages, finding david’s contact and shooting your fingers across the screen quickly:

do you still feel like going out??

we have curfew

and after what just happened it doesn’t seem like a good idea

curfew is midnight and it’s not even ten yet. we’ll have a couple hours and after what just happened, going out seems like a great idea

are you in or not? because i’m going even if i have to go alone

let me go to my room first and i’ll meet you in the lobby

when you woke up the next morning, you were still tired. you had barely slept and the last thing you remembered before you were able to slip into unconsciousness was the sun slowly starting to peek through the window of your hotel room.

it took a few seconds for it to register that someone was pounding on your door. with a grunt, you throw the sheets away from your body and stumble towards the door. you look out of the peephole and your stomach sinks at who is standing on the other side. you undo the deadbolt and pull it open, “you should not be here.”

“don’t worry, he’s the one who sent me here. he also sent this and,” he pulls out a bouquet from behind his back, “these.”

“that’s not going to make me forgive him,” you shake your head and accept the flowers and the coffee cup from cole anyway, gesturing for him to come inside.

“believe me, we all told him that,” cole takes a seat on the spare bed and you look at him with a confused gaze. he raises an eyebrow, “y/n, you have the entire hockey team behind you. we’ve been giving him hell all night. dom even bunked with brock and jack in protest. also, i’m pretty sure that coach found out and brought him back down to earth, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“did he-” you can’t even say it.

“no, he didn’t lose the c, but coach was very adamant that what happened was not captain behavior and that he’s on very thin ice,” he pauses for a minute and then grins, “ha, thin ice.”

you shake your head and lean against the desk in the corner of the room, “that’s good then.”

“he accused you of cheating on him and you’re worried about his letter status?”

“you don’t understand, cole,” he looks at you in a way that says ‘well, help me understand.’ you sigh, “we’ve been together since we were sixteen and seventeen years old. we’ve known each other even longer. i’ve watched him work his ass off and sacrifice so much to get where he is. the thought of him losing that over him saying some dumbass thing because he was pissed off breaks my heart in more ways than one. do i think that he’s an absolute asshole right now? absolutely. do i want to look at him? not really. but i still love him, cole. and i always will.”

he looks at you for a second before he pretends to wipe a tear from his eye, “really tugged on the heartstrings there, y/n. love is a crazy thing.”

“indeed it is. now get out of my room. i need to get ready for the day and i’m slightly hungover and hotel breakfast food sounds amazing right now,” you follow him towards the door.

“oh and just so we’re clear,” he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he faces you, “i made it very clear that you are way too old for me.”

you shove his shoulder, “considering that he’s the only exception for dating someone younger than me, you are way too young for me, cole caufield.”

“glad that we have an understanding,” he holds up his hand and you smack yours against it. with a grin, he makes his way towards the elevator and you close the door behind him.

you take your time getting ready, trying to hide the fact that you were recovering from a little too much alcohol you had practically inhaled at some bar downtown the night before that you couldn’t even remember the name of. you make sure all of your things are gathered and together because you knew that you wouldn’t want to do it when you returned.

you grab the things that you would need for the game and head downstairs. you walk into the conference room that had been set aside for the team and immediately head to grab your food. once your plate was piled high, you turn to find an empty and immediately your eyes lock with his. just by looking at him, you can tell that he hadn’t slept and even if he did, it wasn’t much.

your attention is pulled away from him by a shout of your name. owen is waving you over and shay is pointing at an empty seat, “we called dibs on you this morning.”

“too soon, lindy,” robbie shakes his head as you take the seat between owen and dylan. he looks at you concerned, “you good?”

“don’t worry about me boys. you have a game to win today and that’s what you should be focused on,” you try and distract them but none of them are buying what you’re trying to sell. you twist the cap off your water and take a sip before grabbing your fork, “seriously boys, i appreciate your concern, but i’m okay. i promise.”

“if you want us to beat him up for you, just say the word,” dylan offers and the table agrees. you raise an eyebrow, “we discussed it last night and we also have first dibs on defending your honor if you asked us to.”

“his roommates are next in line,” ryder points his fork at you and you smile.

“i’m glad to know that you would beat up your captain for me, boys.”

“he may be captain, but no one disrespects our y/n and gets away with it. who would give us stickers then?”

“we can’t have anything because of you, shay. she’s more than just the damn stickers.”

three o’clock comes quick and before you know it, you’re making your way down the tunnel to cheer for them as they come out, just as you always did. you clap as they line up in front of you. you avoid looking at him until you feel a tap on your ankle. you look down just in time to see a hockey stick being pulled away. you look up to find its owner staring right back at you, apologetically.

he nods his head, “i love you.”

“i love you too, twenty-one. don’t do anything stupid,” you cross your arms over your chest and give him your best ‘i’m not joking look.’ it was part of the routine that you two had developed over the last couple of years, and even though there was still some obvious tension between the two of you that had yet to be resolved, he hadn’t missed his chance to continue it.

he chuckles right as the announcer booms to the crowd to welcome them to the ice, “no promises.”

you watch as they file out, the cheers for them were not as loud as they were when you were on home ice, but you made sure to scream as loud as always. you and david make quick work of getting to your seats and he wasted no time in sending you a look, “are you-”

“we haven’t talked yet, no. we probably won’t even have time until we’re back home, but just because he’s being an asshole doesn’t mean i love him any less,” you defend yourself and he hums, looking out onto the ice.

when they get in position for puck drop, an uneasy feeling develops in your stomach. you try not to think about it as the puck hits the ice and the game begins, but unfortunately, it didn’t last long.

it was some freshman lineman known for being a menace. he’d been practically on top of ty every time that he got on the ice, shoving him when he didn’t have the puck, almost tripping him once, and of course, the refs were in their own little worlds and hadn’t called a penalty for anything.

eight minutes into the game was when it happened and when it happened, it happened quickly. you barely had time to blink before their gloves were off and their hands were tangled in each other’s jerseys. you stand up, watching as your boyfriend loses the upper hand quickly. in a matter of seconds, his helmet is somehow knocked off and he’s hitting the ice and-

he’s not moving.

“get the fuck up ty,” your hand covers your mouth as the trainers rush out onto the ice after they pull the guy off of him. you can see on the screen that he’s smirking as he’s led off the ice and down their tunnel. david grabs onto your arm as you stumble, “please get up baby.”

“y/n,” he says, but you don’t respond.

you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding when ty moves, taking a minute before he gets up with a lot of help from the trainers. you watch as he’s led off the ice and you swallow at the blood on his jersey. you turn towards david, “i have to-”

“go, babe. i can cover this. go check on him,” that was all that you needed before you scoot out of your row and quickly make your way down the stairs.

you wind up outside the locker room where you're stopped by a security guard. you hold up your badge that showed that you had permission to be there, but he gave you a disapproving look as he shakes his head. you pull out your phone, but anna walks out just in time, “anna!”

“i was just coming to get you,” she sighs, glaring at the security guard as he finally lets you pass. she wraps a hand around your arm as she leads you back to the room, “we’re pretty sure he has a minor concussion at least. paul’s giving him a check-up now and he’s going to decide what to do from there.”

“has he said anything?” you ask, mind running wild as it thinks of the worst.

“the only thing he asked for, even when he came to, was he wanted to see his wife. i told him that you weren’t married, but he wouldn’t hear it. it was just ‘my wife, my wife, my wife’ and that’s why i was coming to get you. he said if he has to go to the hospital or anything, he’s not going if you’re not there with him,” she says and you take a deep breath. she squeezes your arm as you stop outside of the closed door, “just don’t be too loud. he’s very sensitive to light and noise right now.”

“of course,” you nod and she opens the door. the lights were dimmed just a little, but you still easily spot him in the middle of the bed. paul stands beside him, checking on him while he sits up. he pulls away from paul’s hands and moves to get up, but you quickly get to his side, placing your hand on his shoulder and grabbing his hand, “don’t move, ty. let him do what he needs to do.”

“baby,” he whimpers and you squeeze his hand, pulling it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the skin. throughout the entire process, he doesn’t let go. he answers what he’s asked and when paul moves away, he pulls you close, “baby.”

“i know. i’m sorry,” you wrap your arm around his neck and press a soft kiss to the side of his head when he tucks his face into your neck.

“the good news is that i don’t think that you need to go to the emergency room,” paul announces, leaning against a table backed against the wall. he looks at the two of you, “but i don’t feel comfortable sending you back out there. you’ve got a minor concussion and if they aren’t treated right, they can go bad quick.”

“i know,” he says, squeezing your hip.

“so, what do we need to do?” you ask.

“i’m gonna see if i can get the bus to drop you guys back off at the hotel. he needs rest right now and it’ll be hard to get that in this environment,” he shakes his head, “who are you rooming with, ty?”

he winces at the sound of a muffled goal horn and you answer for him, “mersch.”

“if i give you a list of what to do, do you think that you can watch over him?”

“of course,” you nod and ty shifts.

“great. i know that he’s not supposed to be in your room after certain hours, but i think that coach will agree with me that in these circumstances, it’s necessary,” he says and you hum.

after he tells you the basics and makes sure that you have his phone number if you need something, you pull away from ty, “i’m gonna go and grab you some clothes, okay? i know you don’t want to be in that on the bus.”

“please don’t go,” he pleads, holding onto your hand as you go to step away. “you’re gonna leave me because of what i said.”

you look at paul briefly who looks concerned. at least there was someone who was out of the loop.

you shake your head and rub at his cheek, “no, baby. i’m coming back i promise. i’m just gonna go get your clothes from the locker room that’s right across the hall.”

“i’ll come with you,” he insists, moving to stand up.

both you and paul are quick to push him back down as gently as possible. paul pats his chest, “you can stay here with me big guy. i still have a couple of questions for you.”

hesitantly, he lets your hand go as you promise him once more that you were coming back. you make your way across the hall and find his stall, digging through his things to find some clothes for him that were not his suit.

once you find some sweats and a hoodie, you turn on your heel just as the boys start to file in. jack is the first to speak up, “is he okay?”

“minor concussion and as of right now, he doesn’t need to go to the emergency room, but paul’s pulling him for the game. i think we’re getting sent to the hotel where he’s going to be on mandatory rest until he gets checked on again before we leave tomorrow. so, please, i love you all so much and he does too, but just let him sleep. we don’t want this to turn into something major,” you give them all pleading eyes and they all nod.

you walk back across the hall to find coach talking with paul and ty laying back on the bed. instantly, he reaches out for you. granato looks at you, “you’re going to make sure he’s okay?”

“i’m going to try my best,” you assure him and he nods.

“i trust you a hell of a lot more than i trust mersch when it comes to these types of things,” he looks over to ty and pats his leg, “the bus is taking you two back to the hotel where you’re going to rest, got it?”

“yes sir,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

granato and paul leave the room as ty gets dressed. he does need some assistance and when he’s finally out of his gear, he sighs, “i never realized how extensive all of that was.”

“tell me about it,” you mumble. you look at him, “are you ready? do you think that you can get to the bus?”

“if you’ll go slow. you always walk so fast,” he complains and you grin. he throws an arm over your shoulder and you wrap an arm around his waist. you walk out of the door and he pauses, looking into the locker room, “can i-”

“you’ve probably got a minute or two before they have to go back,” you say and he nods. with help from you, he limps over to the doorway and the room goes quiet.

“boys,” he says, standing in front of you, but reaching out behind him for your hand. you take it and squeeze, “what’s the score?”

“we’re leading with one,” the other ty says and he nods. “you good, cap?”

“minor concussion, nothing i can’t handle. plus, i’ve got a good babysitter for tonight,” he turns to look at you with a grin and you send a small smile back. “win it, boys. don’t worry about me, just win.”

“tough speech, eh?” dom calls and some of the boys chuckle.

“did you miss the part about the concussion?” ty asks and dom rolls his eyes. “love you boys.”

there’s an echo of his admission before you finally began the trek to the bus. you take up a row in the middle, ty taking the seat by the window and resting his head on your shoulder. you trace the veins on his hand as the bus takes you back to the hotel, the entire trip spent in silence.

once you get him inside your hotel room, he wastes no time crawling into bed. he looks at you hopefully, “will you lay with me?”

“let me get out of these jeans,” you find a pair of shorts and a too-big t-shirt that belonged to him at some point before you slip in beside him.

he presses himself to your chest and you card your fingers through his hair, “i’m sorry about what i said, y/n.”

“not now, ty. you need to rest.”

he sighs, but he doesn’t argue. it wasn’t long before his breathing evens out and he goes limp against you, leaving you to your thoughts.

“rise and shine,” you mumble, poking at his cheek. he groans, curling his fingers in the fabric of your t-shirt as he shakes his head. “baby, you have to get up every few hours. aren’t you hungry?”

“do you have food?” he asks, not opening his eyes.

“i can order some, but you have to tell me what you want. i can’t read your mind,” he rolls over then, stretching his arms out over his head. “how do you feel?”

“my head hurts and my body’s sore,” he says. “i didn’t break anything, did i?”

“do you think that you did?” you raise your eyebrows, ready to reach for your phone to call paul.

“no, no, i just- i remember hitting the ice and not much else after. i remember when i came to that anna was standing over me and i wanted you, but you weren’t there. i was looking for you in the stands, but i couldn’t find you. i- i thought that you were gone.”

“i was there ty. they just moved our seats tonight because someone had those already. i’m not leaving, i would never leave,” you assure him, running your hand along his cheek. “we don’t need to talk about this right now. you need to eat and rest-”

“i want to talk about it though. it’s been eating me up inside ever since i said it,” he looks at you pleadingly and you sigh. “i was an ass.”

“you were,” you agree and he chuckles. “the thing is, it’s not even really so much that you think that i would do that to you. yes, it obviously hurt, but it’s more so the fact that you would do it in public. the entire team heard you.”

“i know and believe me, i’ve already had my ass chewed out about it by everyone in that locker room, and i mean everyone. you have an entire hockey team behind your back on this one.”

“they told me. they’re also forming a line to beat you up if i needed them to which is nice,” you smile. it’s quiet for a moment before you speak again, “why did you do it? that’s what i want to know.”

“because i was angry. i was angry about the game last night and i saw you and cole. i know you’re just friends and that you’ve been helping him with his school stuff or whatever, but when you were on the plane, you were just so giggly or whatever. than that in the locker room-”

“we were just playing around, ty. he’s literally like my little brother.”

“and i know that. he made it very clear last night that you are too old for him.”

“we have an understanding,” ty presses his lips to your shoulder and you swallow. “i’m still mad at you. i forgive you, but i’m still mad.”

“you have every right to be. what i said was out of line and uncalled for, i’m surprised that you’re talking to me right now,” he chuckles, wincing as he presses his fingers to the side of his head. “oh yeah, that’s why.”

“i can’t give you anything for another couple of hours. ‘m sorry, love,” you push his hair away from his face.

“can i ask you something?” he asks and you hum. “last night, you said that you’ve given up so much to be with me and i don’t doubt that you have, i know that you have, but is there something that you’re not telling me.”

“it’s not important,” you shake your head.

he sits up then, staring down at you, “what is it, y/n?”

“do you- um, do you remember when i applied for that internship for digital marketing the summer after you graduated? after my freshman year?” you ask, pushing yourself up and scooting back against the headboard.

“yeah, you didn’t get it,” he looks at you confused. you look down at your hands and he takes a deep breath, “y/n, you didn’t-”

“they wanted me to fly to new york on draft weekend and i explained that i couldn’t then, but i could on monday. i wasn’t going to miss hearing your name being called or watching you put on that jersey, ty. they told me if i couldn’t be there on that saturday to just not bother,” you explain, “and instead of getting on a plane to new york, i got on one for dallas with you.”

“that would’ve given you so many opportunities, y/n. why would you do that?”

“because i love you and we’d been talking about it for years, you getting drafted. there was no way in hell i was going to miss it,” you shrug. “it’s fine though. i got the hockey gig and now we spend an almost unhealthy amount of time together so-”

“but that would’ve been so much better for you. you could’ve gone anywhere with that. europe, australia, anywhere. working for a college hockey team won’t look as good on job applications as that internship would have.”

“it’s in the past now. don’t worry about it. i’m happy where i am,” he reaches out for your hand and you curl your fingers around his. “wherever you are, that’s where i’m happy. fuck new york, europe, australia, or wherever. wisconsin is good for me right now. me and you, that’s all that matters.”

“it’s me and you, baby,” he mumbles and you smile, “me and you against the world, just like we’ve always said.”

#ty emberson #ty emberson imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #college hockey imagine #wisconsin badgers #arizona coyotes #my work

167 notes · View notes

zet-sway · 3 years

Text

Spiritual Shrios Summer - EMBRACE

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow’s Spiritual Shrios Summer!

PROMPT WORD: EMBRACE - | - WORDS: ~6100

Rated: “E” for “Awkward but Spicy” [NSFT] AO3 Link: "Too Much and Not Enough” Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

A/N: This fic is a god damn hot mess, and yet I have literally *never* revised anything so heavily in my entire life. Was supposed to be part of a slow burn but I'm impatient. I literally can't tell if this fic is worth reading. You decide lol

Thank you @quietonewisp for your feedback on my first draft! It's unbelievable to be in the same fandom with such talented writers after all these years. Thank you also to everyone who shared encouraging words while I was pulling my hair out over this fic :) this is my first attempt at writing Shepard as a thought out character of my own creation. As a result it's pretty awkward.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"I don't know how you do this," Shepard grunts through clenched teeth.

Every third day is yoga. And today, she thought it would be a good idea to try a headstand.

Thane guides her feet into the air, resting her knees against her elbows. Her hands are planted on either side of her head, elbows bent at a right angle to form three points of support against the floor. Truthfully, he hadn't thought she would struggle so much with this pose, given her strength.

"Push with your hands. Distribute your weight."

Slowly, he releases her calves and repositions himself behind her as she pulls in a sharp inhale, holding her balance.

"You better not be staring at my ass, Krios."

He raises a brow ridge. It's hard not to stare at her ass, thrust in the air as it is.

"You forget that I have perfect recall," he says dismissively. "I can reflect on the image of your backside at any moment of my choosing."

"So you admit you've been looking?"

"Shepard," he admonishes, "Just because I've seen your ass does not mean I consciously seek to see it." It's a stone cold lie, but an easy one to sell, especially when she makes a point of training her glutes every day during their morning PT.

Slowly, she lifts her knees into the air, shaking with the effort to retain her balance. "I bet you're an ass man," she grits out, one leg finally pointed straight into the air.

Thane sets his hands on her calves to steady her as she wills through the pose.

"I'm unfamiliar with the term."

She huffs, swallowing down a breath before speaking. "A man who prefers ass over breasts."

Only humans would have a word for something like this, he thinks. "As you know, women of my species do not have breasts."

"Yup," she hisses, slowly and carefully straightening her other leg. "That's why you've gotta be-" another shaky breath, "-an ass man."

Well… she's not wrong.

In truth, he finds breasts no more desirable than any other mundane part of the human body. The appeal, he suspects, comes from actually touching them - something he hadn't considered at all until she'd launched herself at him in the airlock weeks ago. He's replayed the experience in his mind hundreds of times by now. The insistent press of her mouth on his, her smooth human hands clutching at his shoulders... and the soft crush of her body against him. He hadn't pulled away, but he hadn't kissed her back either. Right now, he wishes he had.

There's a curious connecting thread between his return to the Normandy and her sudden urgency to speak to him - frequently. Even more curious - neither one of them has broached the subject of her impulsive kiss before his procedure.

With a relieved sigh, Shepard finally manages to straighten both legs and complete the pose. Toes pointed toward the ceiling of the shuttle bay, she trembles. It's all he can do to not close his hands around her thighs to feel every rippling muscle under her skin.

"Excellent work," he says, voice perhaps lower than he intended.

"My head hurts."

Thane shakes his head. "You're not distributing your weight through your hands. Push down, and lower your knees slowly."

She makes a strained sound, tenses her legs, and the motion is just enough to pitch her center of gravity backwards.

He catches her, but not before the rounded curve of her ass is pressed with distracting persistence against his hips. If he could have blushed, he very well might have. Looking remarkably contorted beneath her splayed hands, she grins at him.

"How's your perfect recall going to handle this one?"

He should say something, but he doesn't. With steady arms, he lowers her to the mat and she flops against it, sighing heavily. There's a familiar quiet about her, something he's come to recognize as the silence before a storm.

"...can we talk about this?"

His deflection comes instinctively. "Your mastery of the headstand will take some practice, but-"

"No," she says firmly. "This." She waves a hand between both of them. "I kissed you goodbye and we're both acting like it never happened. It was inappropriate of me. Did I upset you?"

This time he needs a minute to think.

"Shepard, I… no, you did not upset me."

"But...?" She sits up, knees drawn in a loose spread against her chest, arms looped around them. The same focus he'd seen in her face on Tuchanka is there now. But this time her expression is uncharacteristically open, visibly hanging on his next words.

She's not even trying to hide that she wants him.

So why does he resist?

Ten years ago he swore he would never love another, and he meant it. The compulsion to remain ascetic is by now second nature in him. But although the years have not dulled the memory of his beloved Irikah, they have brought a new perspective: the fires of one love are not dulled simply because the fires of another are kindled.

"I've recalled that moment more times than I can count," he says, finally.

"So... does that mean you liked it?"

"I enjoyed your kiss enough to admit that should the opportunity arise... I may not let go."

She leans closer, fingers lacing together with visible anticipation. "And what if I didn't want you to let go?"

The look in her upturned face is what does him in. In a rare display of impulse, he drops to the mat and kisses her. And this time he intends to savor it.

Somehow, the same humility that drove him to his knees before Irikah now folds him again as he gazes into the unknown with Shepard. A purpose, a reason to fight. And now perhaps... a reason to love. He's not sure if he would call it love just yet, but kissing her awakens his body like hot tea on a bitter cold morning. She draws him between her knees, lips parting eagerly beneath his seeking tongue. She tastes like coffee with an undertone of alien unfamiliarity, and his pulse quickens. He's already eager for more.

Shepard mumbles something against his mouth and he pulls away.

"You taste tingly. That's normal right?"

He smiles gently back at her. "Normal for humans, as I understand."

They lean together for another kiss before she releases him. "We still haven't done cardio."

He slips his arms around her waist and tugs her tighter against him, using his strength to pull her up with him as he stands.

"A quick jog around the hold, then?"

"...or," she says coyly, all suggestive eyes with a cautious smirk blooming across her face. "A quick jog upstairs?"

He shouldn't. At least - old habits tell him he shouldn't. But his heart says it doesn't much matter.

"Promise me one thing," he says with caution, taking her hands in his. This is not how he’d imagined his morning. After all the time they’ve spent seeking each other’s company, he hadn’t dared to think...

Shepard tips her head, listening, fingertips idly exploring the subtle texture of his scales. His throat feels dry and the words are stampeding through his mind so fast he can barely catch them.

"Embrace her memory as I have. Smile upon her with favor." The memories mingle together, threatening to overwhelm him. Shepard has already given him so much, and he still asks more of her.

"Your wife?" She leans into his neck, kissing his shoulder softly.

"Yes." He squeezes his eyes shut. His breath threatens to choke him. "I cannot and will not stop loving her. She is with me always."

Shepard smiles at him, as though he's asked the easiest thing in the world. Her next words are an intimate whisper against his lips.

"What kind of Commander would I be if I told you to stop loving your wife?"

Her breath fills his chest with warmth and wanting. Cupping her face in his hands, he kisses her glistening lips as though they were crafted specifically for him. They inhale each other, her tongue sliding against his as he breathes in her kiss. The word murmurs through his mouth and mind as a soft wind sighing through trees and grasses. "Siha."

This could be his second chance. An opportunity to fight side by side with a warrior angel, as he should have done years ago. Irikah was not a trained soldier, but she damn well could have been. She would have given everything to defend the innocent, and by all accounts, she had. Their son, alive because of her and her alone. He can taste her in the kiss, a familiar and soothing encouragement that makes his heart soar. Perhaps if he survives the mission, he will have learned something of her bravery.

There's a gentle tug on his shirt. Shepard leads him toward the elevator.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When they stumble into her cabin, her eyes are already bleary with his venom. Thane presses her into the bed, one hand cradling her neck while the other winds into her hair. His lips are slow but strong, kissing her like he knows nothing else. She's never felt so wanted before.

"How far do you want to take this?" she gasps when he trails her mouth down her jaw.

"This was your idea," his mouth is scorching on the column of her neck. She leans back to give him better access. "How far do you want to take this?"

Her insides are on fire at the feel of his mouth alone, and logic says she's crazy to jump into bed with another fucking species so suddenly. But she doesn't care - she's spent enough sleepless nights imagining this very moment. She wants his hands on her bare skin, she wants the forbidden unknowns of his alien body. With every fiber of her being, she wants. But it's easier to think about it than to say it.

"More," she says finally - breathlessly. Words are fleeting. Her hands fist the edges of his shirt and he obliges, pulling away so she can lift it off before she begins pulling off her own.

And then he surprises her by playfully rolling her on to her belly, kissing the back of her neck, her spine, palms trailing an electric line down her sides.

"I confess," he murmurs between kisses, "You were right to accuse me of being, as you say, an 'ass man.'" She moans as those strong hands settle on her backside, fingers kneading her flesh with delicious strength. Good god.

Words are difficult, but she manages. "Don't get any ideas, I'm not letting you fuck my ass."

"It wasn't my intention. Is that something humans do?"

Shepard snorts. "Don't act like you didn't know that."

He laughs like she's never heard before, a rich and jubilant peal in that dark voice she's come to savor. She can nearly feel the soft vibrations of that laugh through his hands as he presses his fingertips between her legs. “I’d rather know where you burn hottest,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he strokes her just hard enough to make his intentions understood.

"Oh fuck yes."

His palms return to her backside, sliding up to hook his fingers into her waistband. "May I?"

She nods furiously, her own hands closing over his to push her clothes off.

When she's firmly on her back again he drags down the zipper on the front of her bra. It's flung on the floor with the rest of her things and then she's bare before him, biting her lip under the heat of his hungry gaze. She wonders if he can see her body vibrating in anticipation.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, settling his knees between her thighs. He crawls up to kiss her. "For weeks, I've thought about touching you."

She hums as he strokes the rounded edges of her breasts.

"Your body is so wonderfully soft, will you tell me if there's something you don't like?"

"Yeah," is all she can manage before his mouth returns to her neck, his hands wandering like a dying man searching for water. She's certain to have hickeys by the time they're done.

Curious, she brings a hand up to stroke the delicate flesh of his throat. His answering groan confirms her suspicions, and suddenly his questing hands are not so chaste, closing with suffocating warmth around her breasts.

Shepard bites her lip. "Please don't tell me you think breasts are gross."

He shakes his head. "I'll admit I find it strange that human breasts are erogenous, given their purpose. But they aren’t ‘gross,’ as you say. Just... new." She pushes her chest into his palms and that gets a rise out of him - a lovely trembling purr in his throat. "And so soft, Siha."

"Feels good," she murmurs. With parted lips, she breathes her pleasure as he kneads her breasts in slow, sensuous circles, dipping his head to kiss along her sternum and at the tender underside of her flesh.

"I think I might like them,” he says, lips twinged upwards.

Her need flares with that simple statement and she pulls in a breath, straining against him.

"I hadn't imagined how... tempting they could be. Soft curves... ripe like fruit at peak season." A strained moan falls from her mouth when he punctuates his statement with a more appreciative squeeze and draws a thumb over one sensitive peak, his mouth close enough to make her whimper in frustration.

“You’re teasing me.”

"I’m exploring you, Siha. There’s so much to learn." He circles his fingertips around her nipples and they tighten in response. The visual alone has her reeling, electric sparks of need slipping down her spine and straight into her core. "Your body shows me what it wants," he murmurs. "My mouth begs to taste you."

He flicks his tongue out, sampling her in light, infuriating strokes, teasing until she's keening beneath his hands, eyes shut tight and panting over clenched teeth. It's hard to think about anything at all except his hands and lips and that rumbling voice shimmering across her sensitized skin.

She strangles out a moan when his lips close around her nipple and he hollows his cheeks, drawing it into his mouth before releasing it with a soft, wet pop. Her arms clamp reflexively around his neck in an unspoken order to keep still.

"Do that again," she gasps.

He complies without question, textured fingers on one breast and wet tongue on the other, toying with her. Her back arches, hands holding herself like an offering to his mouth, every touch like a phantom crack of lust between her legs. There's a low rumble in his throat, he's practically purring into her skin and she can feel it, thighs clenching together in desperation.

She whines when he finally pulls away.

"I'll be back for those," he promises. "I hadn't expected such enthusiasm."

Fingertips brush her inner thigh and she leans into the touch, wanting more - for fuck's sakes - more - gasping out a shuddering breath she didn't even know she was holding when he flattens his fused fingers into her seam. Face buried in her neck doing god knows what with his lips and tongue, he's exploring her by touch alone. Each press of his hand is excruciatingly gentle, pushing slowly into her slick channel, gliding upwards to her clit. She's so sensitive that she flinches when he brushes over it, clutching at his shoulders.

"Too much?" He asks.

She hadn't even realized her eyes were closed. Her throat is dry, but she rasps, "Not enough."

His full lips curve into a smile before he strokes her again and this time she moans, pushing back on his hand as much as she can manage. Her mind is chanting "please, please," but she won't beg. Not yet, at least.

His voice rouses her from her desperate thoughts.

”Your species makes great effort to avoid using definitive terms for this part of your body."

"Do we?” She asks, willing her thoughts to clear enough for her to speak. “I mean, there's pussy, snatch... cunt, if you're feeling profane."

His voice drops a register lower, and he leans close enough for her to feel his hot breath when he speaks. "Shepard, I believe the technical term is vulva."

She groans. Loudly. "Fuck off."

He huffs out a stiff laugh. "Perhaps you'd prefer something new. Ara'te. Chalice of Arashu."

She tries - and fails - to hide her impatience. "Really?"

"Do you find it repulsive?"

"No, I just... mixing religion and sex is kind of..." She fumbles with her answer, not wanting to offend, but the words are gone from her when he leans in and draws the flat of his tongue in a wide sweep between her legs. "-Jesus, Thane."

His voice is thick with amusement. "How interesting that you invoke the name of a god you don't believe in, if I touch you just so."

Shepard's mouth snaps shut and she looks pointedly away from him with a huff.

"But I digress," he says, fingers rippling along her seam. Scaled hands smooth over her slickness, spreading her with gentle consideration. His mouth is dangerously close, gaze fixed on her with eyes like gleaming onyx. Something in the way his voice drops sets her heart racing.

“You feel like the softest silk,” he whispers, each word rolling off his tongue in a veil of hot breath that cools over the heat of her wet center. Her eyes flutter closed as he presses his exploration, teasing her entrance with his joined fingers.

"Your body is a wellspring," he murmurs, slowly penetrating her with his hand. "Drenched with arousal… begging me into your depths."

She gasps when he takes the opportunity to flick at her with his tongue. Hips grind against his hand, desperately seeking more.

"What the fuck," she moans. "Don't stop."

He withdraws only to enter her again, this time sheathing an extra finger in her heat. Those fingers crook inside her and she damn near twitches off the bed, drawing a sound from him somewhere between amusement and arousal.

"So sensitive, Siha."

It feels like she's melting under the intensity of his touch, a thumb moving in teasing circles around her clit. She hisses, thighs clenching.

"Holy shit just touch me."

"Like this?" he asks in a tone that's infuriatingly playful, barely skimming his tongue across her clit.

"God damn it, Thane, you know what I want-"

He interrupts her, his voice suddenly more serious.

"Show me."

There's silence, and then Shepard blinks at him. "What?"

"Show me how you like to be touched."

"You want to watch me?" her mouth goes dry and her answering tone is more accusatory than she intends. "Because you're a freak, or because you don't know how to touch a woman?"

"Yes." He says simply, dodging both of her questions with irritating smugness.

Her knees twitch inward, uncertain, and with a deep inhale, he withdraws.

"Siha," he murmurs apologetically, taking her hand. "You've left all your confidence on the battlefield.”

The words slip straight through the cracks in her armor. It's painful, but he's right. Cerberus didn't bring her back because they wanted her, they brought back Commander Shepard. The woman she used to be is an afterthought. There's only the mission. The Hero of the Citadel. The Commander.

But here they are, Thane's enormous black eyes boring holes into her defenses in a silent plea for… something. His hand finds hers and their fingers intertwine, resting together on her hip. His expression is more unguarded than she's ever seen, eyes asking a silent question: Do you trust me? Do you want me?

"All my victories have been on the battlefield," she says, looking away.

His thumb soothes back and forth over her hand.

"Intimacy is not a war. What do you hope to triumph over?"

Still unwilling to meet his eyes, her face twists with discomfort.

"I haven't had a lot of partners. I'm laying here naked and you're playing games. I can't tell if you're just teasing or looking for an excuse to drive me off."

His expression softens. "Our differences are not merely physical, then."

She isn’t certain what he means, but Thane shifts to lay next to her, kissing her temple. His fingers tighten around hers in a gentle grip that doesn't let up, finally summoning her eyes back to his.

"On my heart, Siha, there is no place I would rather be than right here with you." There's a genuine apology in his tone, prying her heart open one painstaking centimeter at a time. "Do you want this?"

Her voice is small, but she doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Show me what you like," Thane's lips brush against her ear. "Remember that I won't forget." The way his voice rumbles makes her shiver.

He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm before setting it atop her thigh. It’s a relaxing gesture, indirect enough that he's not backing down while also letting her choose the next move. His lips are unhurried, traveling up her neck, against her ear, along her hairline.

Years of lackluster partners have tempered her expectations - she’s never shared herself with anyone as intense as Thane; and although she'd never admit it, his sexual confidence is damn near intimidating. But his hot breath against her ear and his endless, patient kisses are an irresistible pull of wanting.

This man is far from bored, she realizes. He's only awaiting her permission to give her something she's never experienced.

Her chest rises and falls in deep, shaky breaths. "No games," she whispers.

"No games," he agrees.

Biting her lip, she guides his hand back to the apex of her thighs. He offers no resistance, humming his approval when she slicks his fingertips through her heat and sets them carefully against her clit.

They move together then, her hand on his, teasing herself while he kisses her neck and shoulder, slowly making his way across her chest. How long has it been since she found release beneath the hands of another? The quiet intimacy of their joined hands, the subtle texture of his scales leaves her breathless, delirious with pleasure, his fingertips sliding effortlessly against her slick center. His mouth wanders over her skin, her breasts, every touch so electric she’s almost not ready for how fast her release sneaks up on her.

"I'm close," she whimpers with eyes squeezed shut, "Oh fuck, Thane, I'm so close."

"Yes, Siha,” he whispers. “Come for me."

She breaks. Every cell in her body clenches in a singularity of pressure before she's launched out in a million pieces, shimmering in the dim light. For once, it doesn't feel cold in her cabin. Waves of heat ripple under her skin, pulsing with every second she spends teasing the tail end of her climax.

She doesn't realize she has a death grip on his hand until she's gone completely still. If it hurts him, he says nothing, only wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close. When she looks back at him, he's watching her with a knowing, lustful smile. She reaches for him, stroking his delicate neck and earning an appreciative hum that makes her heart beat just a little faster.

"Not that I didn't like you before, but..." she brushes her fingertips along his jaw, tilting his head toward her, "God damn."

Maybe human biology actually is as interesting as he proclaims, if one good orgasm can flood her with this much oxytocin. Like crossing a proverbial threshold, she feels her confidence returning, if only just to tell him we are definitely doing this again. As soon as possible.

"The privilege is mine." His voice is flecked with desire, words she believes so wholeheartedly she can almost see them in the air.

"How are you still wearing pants?"

He growls approvingly as she climbs over him and her fingertips slip beneath his waistband.

"Let's see what I'm about to get myself into," she says with a sly upturn of her lips.

"Or, if you wish - what you're about to get into yourself, " he retorts with no small amount of innuendo.

Immediately she wishes they'd done this sooner. He's... gorgeous. It isn't so much that she thought he wouldn't be, but his anatomy is every bit as colorful as the rest of him and that is a surprise. His length blooms from its internal sheath, a strong and gently ridged gradient of red and purple, nearly glowing in contrast against his green scales.

"Nice," she breathes, reaching for him. "Sorry if I don't have any pretty words to explain how much I want to put this beautiful thing in my mouth." Then she has a thought. "Do you have any fancy words for 'dick?'"

He puffs out an amused laugh and cracks a smile. "I seem to recall you saying something about religion and sex..."

"Humor me," she says, leaning in close enough to make his breath catch from the proximity of her mouth alone.

"Amo'ti," he says. "In your language-"

"Spear of Amonkira?"

He raises a brow ridge at her. "I'm impressed."

She gives his length an appreciative squeeze, testing the give of his ridges, humming at the surprising velvet texture of his skin.

"Maybe," she says slowly, matching the intensity of his gaze, "You can tell me how impressed you are after this." And without any further pretense, she engulfs him with her mouth.

In an instant, his head tips back, and she feels a familiar confidence returning. Men, she thinks, are hopelessly predictable in their pursuit of a hot mouth to fuck. And exactly as expected, Thane's hips are rolling gently forward. She slips her tongue around his length, watching the dancing iridescent scales along the shifting planes of his thighs and stomach.

In the back of her mind, she wonders if drell even do this as much as humans do. But it doesn't seem to matter when he sets his jaw in rapt concentration, visibly struggling to keep his eyes open and fixed on her. She doubles down, flattening her tongue against the underside of his shaft and hollowing her cheeks on the upstroke. His hands thread into her hair, sweeping it from where it falls in front of her eyes and gathering it around his fingers.

Tempted to tease him, she pulls back until the very tip of his length rests against her lips and sweeps her tongue across the head with a seductive smile. Their eyes lock and the sound he makes causes her core to fucking throb with wanting. One hand working him with each teasing swipe of her tongue, she slips lower, plants her lips on the base of his shaft to kiss him with an open mouth. He's shaking now, he's got to be close-

With a strangled gasp, his hips twitch away from her and she stills herself.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," is his breathless response. "Quite the opposite. Come here."

She climbs astride him, pressing the length of their bodies together as his arms enfold her. "That good?"

"Join with me, Siha," he murmurs, his voice low and laced with need. "Find your release in mine."

An unexpected chill slips through her, tingling every nerve with an onset of understanding. She can hear it in the undertones of his voice: I want you. This was never a game. We will be whole, together.

He rocks against her just enough to grab her attention. The brush of his length between her legs is electrifying - his eyes searching, his body asking.

"I'm… uh…" Shepard bites her lip, processing the words slowly. "I haven't been with anyone since I... came back."

His fingers intertwine with hers for the umpteenth time that morning. It's a gesture she's rapidly coming to adore for all its patience and admiration. He kisses the back of her hand, voice low and steady. "You're in control, Commander."

There's something in his well-placed acknowledgement of her authority that placates her. Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

Eyes never leaving his, she steadies herself and sinks down on him.

They join together with delicious slowness, his hips willfully unmoving beneath her as she takes him in. The pressure is exquisite, edging somewhere between too much and not enough, each ridge of his florid length finding its place within the scorching depths of her body. She's nearly sweating as their hips go flush, eyes tipping closed with the sweet pulse of their joining.

One painstaking second at a time, she adjusts. It doesn't hurt, but she's afraid it damn well might if she starts riding him like her lust-fueled mind is screaming to. She stifles her own desire, wills her body for control as she twists and flexes herself to banish the lingering anxiety about her reconstruction. It might even be embarrassing - wriggling against him like a damn virgin - but there's no judgement in his eyes. If anything, he's holding back his own pleasure, unmoving while he waits for her. Hands braced against his shoulders, she pushes up, finally bottoming out with a low, wanting moan. His length lodges against her deepest reaches. It feels fucking perfect.

"Fuck," she breathes with a cursory flick of her hips. "Holy shit, Thane."

Features painted with pleasured focus, he's stone still beneath her, hands patiently cradling her waist. Thane, her unlikely but disciplined lover, waiting for her next order.

Her voice is a whisper against his lips.

"Let's fucking do this."

And with that, he begins to move with her.

The groan in his throat vibrates through her entire body as she begins to ride him. Her fingers clasp around his shoulders, afraid to put too much pressure on his transplant scars. He grasps her hands in his own, holding her firm and letting her weight fall against him, hips rolling with her as she finds her rhythm.

His voice is a breathy sound somewhere beneath her. "Siha… don't hold back."

She gasps when the next thrust hits home.

"Shut up," she huffs, slanting her lips over his.

Despite their hours spent together on the battlefield, his strength is shocking. It's near impossible to tell who's riding who, his hands firmly on her hips, his body moving beneath her like the rolling ocean, all muscle and sinuous control. Either sex is way better than she remembers, or he's just that good. He ripples in and out of her depths, each of his gentle ridges strumming her like a harp, sweat rolling down the back of her neck.

His venom is already refreshing its hold on her mind when she breaks their kiss for breath. There's a kind of weightlessness to the high - she floats up, baring herself to his wandering hands. They slide against the plane of her stomach, cupping her breasts, plucking teasingly at her nipples. It's enough to make her cry out, heedless to the rest of the world, grinding on him for all she's worth. She feels the hot coil of release building within her, sensations concentrated in every point of contact. The texture of his scales against her inner thighs, his teasing fingertips on her breasts… his burning length buried within her, filling her to completion like no other.

In the throes of his venom, her cabin disintegrates, and there beneath an endless veil of stars, they are one - chasing release in the arms of the other. Words can't describe this perfect headspace. Later, all she'll be able to say is how he feels so good, wishing she could borrow his eidetic memory if only for these few perfect, fleeting moments, to revisit at her behest.

She slips one hand down to massage her clit and pitches her head back in a gasp, walls clenching involuntarily around his length, drawing a low rasp of pleasure from his beautiful, perfect mouth. Their voices are a litany of breathless sounds, a chorus of shared ecstasy - the desperate succession of skin meeting scales, the trilling of his ruby throat and the expletives that fall from her parted lips. She's close - unbelievably close - and damn near unwilling to finish if it means this moment will end, a rare second climax bearing down on her as she folds against him. Even with her hand trapped between their bodies, the sweet pebbled friction of his scales threatens to push her over the edge whether she's ready or not.

She releases with a scream, his name barely intelligible in a strangled half-sobbed cry of bliss that can't be silenced even as she buries her face in his shoulder. Thane's strong arms wind around her waist, holding her as he drives into the silken, pulsing clench of her heat with abandon. The sound of him illuminates the darkness behind her closed eyes as he spends himself within her and she can feel it - a glittering tingle of sensation radiating between her legs, up her spine and blooming into a full scale high.

And then she sags against his chest, heaving breaths in tandem with him, unable to give two tenths of a shit about her hand going numb between them.

"Thane..." She whispers. "Thane, holy shit."

"Are you hurt?"

"...No. I feel... tingly. It's good. It's so… just, good. Holy shit." Her head lolls against his shoulder. She won't open her eyes - not yet. Whatever's going on out there beyond his embrace - for once, it's not her problem. She feels over-relaxed, tinged with unreality. Like a dream. When had she gotten so damn high? If they'd barely -

...Oh, she realizes.

Drell toxin. Inside her.

Thane hums in contentment, his familiar alien hands soothing through her hair. She wonders if he feels just as sated as she does.

"Tell me it was good for you too," she whispers softly against his aural ridge.

"Siha," his voice is quiet, as if murmuring a secret, "It feels unfair to tell you how many times I will revisit this memory."

"I'll allow it, if you tell me we can do this again."

"As if you even need to ask," he chuckles breathlessly. "Yes, I’d like that."

"I don't think I've ever been fucked like that. I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk straight.”

“Not the word I would use, but I’m glad to hear I’ve pleased you.”

She feels his mouth move in a smile and takes a strong inward breath, raising her head to look at him. She can see her own silhouette in his fathomless dark eyes.

"Say it," she demands.

His brows - those gorgeous, expressive, glittering emerald brows - raise in curiosity. It must be the venom making him so vibrant.

"Pardon?"

Shepard extends one finger to gently prod his chest. "Say 'fuck.'"

He laughs beneath her and it feels like her whole body is bouncing, joining him in his mirth.

That laughter reaches his eyes and his expression softens. "I think perhaps we've overindulged. I didn't expect you'd be so heavily affected."

Her eyes widen in mock incredulity. "Overindulged? Don't you dare tell me that was too much for you."

A viridian palm settles against her cheek, his lips curled in a soft smile so rare it seems like a gift. "What I mean to say is it may have been too much for you, Siha."

She pauses, pushes herself up on shaky arms and sits back on his thighs. He's softening within her, and the retreat of him leaves a trail inside her that feels... not exactly, but... Sort of like someone stuck a breath mint where it doesn't belong. Shepard smiles inwardly. It feels kind of great.

"I'm Commander Shepard," she intones, setting her hands on her hips in a dramatic display of confidence. "I can handle getting dicked down by the most deadly lizard in the galaxy."

Thane is damn near grinning now. “My apologies, Commander. I will think twice before underestimating your abilities in the future.”

"I'm not moving until I hear you say 'fuck.'" She retorts, arms crossed.

"You're wrong, if you assume I want you anywhere but right here."

He reaches for her arms, trailing down her to her wrists to clasp her hands. Above him, she watches as though entranced, the dim light of her cabin blurring the edges of her vision and bringing the slow intertwining of their fingers into crisp focus. For all their differences, they fit together so beautifully. Her heart feels full.

"Thane..."

Their eyes meet as he kisses her fingertips.

"Fuck you, Siha."

#zet writes things #thane krios #shrios #spiritual shrios summer #fshrios #o boy please dont judge me too hard cause ive never worked on a fic so hard in my life and i have no idea what i'm doing

34 notes · View notes

nugnthopkns · 4 years

Text

eyes full of stars

word count: 3.1k

warnings: insinuated!fem reader, cursing, alcohol consumption, slight sexual innuendo (kind sorta maybe, minors please be aware)

recommended listening: cowboy like me | taylor swift

a/n: it’s cold and snowy. to combat the winter blues i wrote about a sunny minnesota summer with brock :))

You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen Brock this carefree.

The season was hard on him. There were large periods where he didn’t put up any points, and trade rumors started to circulate. Halfway through, before the playoff push even started, the negative social media comments came rolling in. You frequently saw fans request a trade or say that the organization should regret drafting him. Brock did his best to brush everything off, but it was beginning to waer on his mental health. You’re devastated when they fail to make it to the postseason, but you know it’s for the best. The injured team will spend the offseason recuperating and be ready for the next one. Besides, it means you and Brock will get to spend more time on the lake.

So here you are, packing the car for the twenty-seven hour drive to Minnesota. Brock insists on driving, says it’s relaxing, but you aren’t sure you agree. Prone to car-sickness so fierce you can barely look out the window, you’d much rather fly. Everything is exasperated by the fact you’re a nervous traveller to begin with, afraid of taking a wrong turn or missing an exit. You’re a terrible road trip partner but at least Brock could talk to the dogs. Coolie and Milo loved car rides, and you can typically hear your boyfriend having full on conversations with them as you fade in and out of consciousness.

“Ready to go babe?” Brock asks as he closes the trunk. The question is delivered with a bright grin, and despite your anxiety you return it with ease.

“I don’t really have much of a choice do I?”

He shakes his head, chuckling as he moves towards you. Sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans he kisses you lazily. It’s comforting and all-consuming at the same time; doing a great job of occupying your mind with thoughts of him instead of the journey ahead. “I suppose not,” he says, planting a final kiss on your forehead. “It’ll be fine. You can take a Gravol right before we cross the border and you’ll be asleep before we hit Seattle.”

It’s the best plan of attack, so you agree immediately. After taking one last run into your shared apartment to use the bathroom and make sure everything is in order, you make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat of Brock’s jeep. Music filters through the speakers at a low volume, and you focus on the retreating skyline of Vancouver. You’re excited to get back to Minnesota, to relax and see your boyfriend in his natural habitat. Countless days are about to be spent lounging lakeside enjoying each other’s company. It will also be nice to spend time with Brock’s family: they’ve been incredibly welcoming over the years and you can’t wait to catch up with them. You know Brock’s itching to spend time with his nephew, and just to be at home.

Just as Brock said, you’re asleep before Bellingham. It’s fitful, and you’re frequently woken up by the dogs barking a little too excitedly in response to something Brock said. However, it does a good job of keeping you from emptying the contents of your stomach onto the floor. Somewhere in Idaho, a good seven hours after you left Canada, you awake for the final time.

“Look boys, Mom’s finally awake!”

You laugh at the comment and lean over the center console to ruffle his hair. It’s still long from the season, and curls slightly around your fingertips.

“You’re hilarious.”

Brock takes his right hand off the steering wheel, unravelling yours from its resting place and entwining your fingers together. He places a kiss to the back of your palm. “You know I’m just teasing,” he whispers. “I know these drives are hard on you. Thank you for doing it twice a year.”

Instead of answering verbally, you squeeze his hand tighter. Though it’s true you hate driving through five states, you’d do it twice a week if it would make Brock happy. It seems a bit much to convey with a single gesture, but you can tell from the smile that graces his features that Brock understands. The two of you sit in silence, enjoying the scenery and trying to scout for a rest stop. Coolie and Milo are getting antsy and you’re also due to stretch your legs.

After letting the dogs run around to release some energy and using the bathroom, you start the final leg of the day. Missoula, Montana, is the destination. Not quite the halfway point, but close enough that you could tackle the rest of the miles tomorrow, the city has a wide variety of pet-friendly lodging. You insist you drive the rest of the way, giving Brock a well deserved rest. Looking at the interstate for hours can cause serious highway hypnosis. Not even twenty minutes after getting back on the road he’s asleep, snoring softly as he rests his head on the window.

You take a moment to admire your boyfriend. He looks so relaxed and peaceful, and the forehead creases that are starting to develop from over analyzing hours of tape disappear. Brock looks years younger, and you know the youthfulness will creep back into him the longer you’re in Minnesota. You can’t wait to see him without any cares again.

Less than two hours later, the hotel creeps up on your left. Pulling into the first available parking space, you turn the car off before waking Brock.

“Brock, we’re at the hotel,” you say softly, jostling his shoulder. “Let’s get checked in and then we shower.”

The mention of washing off a day’s worth of travel has him letting the door fly open. You had made sure to pack your overnight bags in an easily accessible spot, and work at getting them out while Brock wrangles the dogs. For being cooped up all day, they’re extremely well behaved. Once cleaned up you imagine you’ll take them on a long walk and grab some food.

“Hey, give that back. Milo!” you hear Brock yelp, and peek around to see what’s happening. The younger pup has Brock’s bucket hat between his teeth and is in the process of tearing across the parking lot.

With a giggle you call him back. “Milo, come here baby,” you say. Without a second thought, the dog bolts towards you, knocking against your shins when he fails to stop in time. You lean down to scratch Milo’s ear, and as soon as you ask him to drop the object he places it in your open palm. “Good boy,” you coo, letting him lick the side of your face.

“He’s your dog alright,” Brock huffs from where he’s standing, Coolie running circles around his ankles.

You toss the hat over the roof of the car as you laugh at him. “You’re just jealous he listens to me.”

“I sure fucking am. He’d be an absolute nuisance if it wasn’t for you.”

The rest of the night is spent unwinding from the long day. Dinner consists of the greasiest burgers you can find, and you roam around the city hand in hand, the dogs leading you. By the time you get back to the hotel you’re spent. Sleep takes over rather quickly, and you’re dozing off before Brock gets back from brushing his teeth. Once ready for bed, he slides his body against yours. The pair of you fit together like a puzzle, and after a quick kiss you let sleep consume you.

The second day of travel is much the same, except you do a better job of staying awake. You take a different anti-nausea medication and frequently switch with Brock. Conversation flows easily, ideas for summer excursions and repairs that need to be done around the house. The Boeser’s are kind enough to lend you their lake house during the off season, but the property can be a lot to manage. Brock takes it all in stride, and somehow actually enjoys spending hours mowing the grass. He says it’s relaxing, mind numbing work, so you let him handle it. Country music flows from the car speakers, and eventually talking turns into a full on concert. Milo and Coolie do their best to harmonize with Brock, and it’s too cute not to post somewhere. You sneak your phone from your pocket and manage to catch some of it on video, posting to Instagram immediately. Those from the Canucks organization you have on social media will love it; Brock’s teammates will most definitely chirp him for being tone deaf.

It’s late by the time you pull into the driveway of your temporary home, almost eleven. Grabbing only the essentials and leaving the rest to be unpacked tomorrow, you unlock the door before flopping on the couch. The dogs follow suit, laying on top of you. When Brock walks in he shakes his head, but still leans over to kiss you.

“Make sure you text your mom and let her know we made it,” you call to his retreating figure. “And let her know we’ll be over in the afternoon once we get situated.”

You swear he flips you off, no doubt poking fun at your maternal instincts. “Yes ma’am,” he replies.

“Ma’am?” you shriek. “I am not fifty. You’re so gonna get it Boeser.”

After gently nudging the dogs off your legs you’re chasing after him, laughing all the way. Brock’s a lot faster than you, being the athlete he is, but you don’t give up hope. In a last ditch attempt to get him back, you launch yourself forward, square into the middle of his back. The change in weight distribution has him falling to the floor, sprawling the width of the hallway. Both of you are giggling messes, delirious from lack of sleep and the knowledge you get to spend four months of uninterrupted time together.

“I love you, you know that right,” Brock murmurs into the crook of your neck. He dots chaste pecks along the skin and you sigh at the feeling.

Pulling him closer, you make sure to properly enunciate your words as you respond. “Yes sir.”

Brock eyes darken visibly, and he shifts his body so he’s resting on top of you. “You’re in for it now,” he groans, dragging himself to his feet. You quickly follow, meeting his lips in an eager kiss. The pair of you stumble the rest of the way to the bedroom, bodies intertwining like ivy vines, and Brock makes sure to kick the door shut to ensure your pets don’t interrupt the salacious activities he has planned.

☼☼☼☼

You settle into a routine fairly quickly. Mornings are spent alone while Brock works out, and afternoons are for lounging in the sun. The hours after the sun fades away are spent huddling around a bonfire with friends, and midnights are for just the two of you. Sometimes Brock lets himself rest and spends the day in the middle of the lake doing his best to fish, leaving you to spend time with his mom and sister. They’re lovely; warm and welcoming, making sure you’re never too lonely or bored. You and Brock also spend a lot of time with his nephew, doting over the toddler. Seeing your boyfriend with him makes you want kids, but that’s a conversation that is yet to be had in any serious light.

Sometimes you join Brock when he does typical professional hockey player in the summer things. It turns out you're quite the golfer, and have put him to shame many times. Countless days are spent helping him fix the roof of the lake house because he insists on doing it himself even though he knows nothing about roofing. At least seven phone calls to his father and a desperate run to the hardware store later, it’s completed; sealed and free of cracks. Though you’re a terrible fisher, Brock tries his best to teach you. Truth be told, you don’t have any interest in the sport, but his tongue pokes out slightly when he’s thinking about how to explain a concept and you think it’s adorable.

Coolie and Milo are loving being able to roam free, and you both spend a lot of time outside with them. You’re only ever really in the house at night, reading or playing games on the patio furniture Brock’s mom picked out. It’s peaceful; existing like this. You swear you could do it forever.

Being home allows an invisible weight to be lifted off Brock’s shoulders. There’s a pep in his step, and he’s always smiling. Even the intense at-home workouts can’t seem to bring him down. You’re delighted, how could you not be? It’s as if the only things that matter to him are enjoying a few beers lakeside and coaxing you out of shorts in the dark. You suppose that’s the truth.

☼☼☼☼

It’s incredibly warm out. The sun beats down on your back as you turn the pages of your novel, half listening to the conversation Brock is having with his friends. A group of you are on the boat, enjoying one of the last full days of summer. Later in the week you and Brock will pack up the car again, making the long trek back to Vancouver. You’re sad time has passed so fast, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to be back in the city. It’s your home, and the boys seem to be really fired up for the new season. You have a feeling some really good hockey is going to come out of Rogers Arena.

“Yo Y/N, who’s the better driver. Me or Boes?”

The question pulls you from the fantasy taking place on the pages, and you look to see who’s speaking to you. It’s Brock’s dearest childhood friend, someone you consider family at this point. “It’s absolutely not Brock,” you shrug. The comment earns a loud laugh from everyone and you find yourself joining in.

“Ouch babe, that hurts,” Brock says as he slides into the free space next to you. Casually wrapping a strong arm around your shoulder, he leans down to whisper into your ear. “Looks like you need to be taught a lesson.”

His words have a vaguely sexual connotation, and you look around nervously. Your swimsuit won’t cover the flush that will be sure to rise on your skin if Brock tries anything. Everyone seems to be engaged in their own conversations, but you still feel queasy about getting caught. Though Brock’s friends are the type to laugh it off, you’d be absolutely mortified.

Before your brain can overthink anything else, you’re being lifted from your seat. It only takes two seconds for Brock to hoist you over the side of the boat and throw you into the cool water. You land with a glorious splash, but take your time coming to the surface. Partly to bring your temperature down, partly to make your lover squirm.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you yell to him from below, but the bright smile you flash him lets Brock know you don’t mean it.

He sets his hat on top of your book before climbing over the edge. “Shut up,” he fires back, diving gracefully to join you in the water.

A small splashing match breaks out, and soon everyone else is in the water, picking sides. You swim until your skin is wrinkled beyond recognition, pruned and puckered something akin to a raisin. Only once the sky begins to redden do you head for home. Brock keeps the boat at cruising speed, and you sit comfortably in his lap. Once back on land, dinner is quickly thrown together. A mish-mash of what’s left in your fridge and what others have brought, but it works. The boys huddle around the grill and everyone else swoons over the dogs, who are on their best behaviour.

Later in the night, once the dishes are cleaned up and some guests with day jobs have left, you settle into Brock’s side at the fire. Not caring if you get chirped for the PDA, you hold his face in both your hands and rest your forehead against his. The scruff that’s grown in since the last time Brock shaved tickles slightly, but you’re too in love with him to care. It’s been so refreshing to see him relaxed, acting without a care in the world. Hopefully the attitude he currently has will stick and not disappear once you hit the Vancouver city limits.

Brock takes a sip of his beer before offering the bottle to you. You gingerly place it to your lips, making a face at the taste. He laughs at your reaction, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“Still tastes disgusting,” you mutter, reaching for your own drink to wash away the taste.

The fire crackles gently behind you but you barely register the sound, in your own little world where everything is perfect. It’s you, Brock, and the dogs living in a house similar to the one you’re currently residing in, living life to the fullest.

“You gonna come back to me, space cadet?” Brock chuckles, tracing the outline of your nose.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” you apologize. “Was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Us. The future. Living in a lake house just like this one and spending all our time being so in love with each other that our friends constantly make fun of us. Maybe having kids in a couple of years. How I love seeing you like this; so at peace and full of life.”

In lieu of a response, Brock kisses you passionately. It’s a soft kind of passion: one that holds you tenderly and whispers sweet nothings in your ear. He tastes like the Coors Light he’s been drinking, but somehow the idea of beer is much more appealing when mixed with Brock. You lose yourself in him for a while, relishing in the gentleness of his hands resting on your waist. Eventually you return some of your attention to the others, but even then you can’t find it in yourself to focus. Your mind is filled with nothing but love for Brock.

It’s seems that he’s feeling the same way, because he continually leaves kisses across your shoulder blade. “I really, really love you,” Brock confesses, and you feel him smile through the thin material of your worn hoodie.

You intertwine your pinky with his and let them sit comfortably in your lap. “I love too. So much that it’s all consuming.”

Brock often leaves you breathless in more ways than one, but sweet sentiments like this will always take the cake. Especially when they happen on summer nights where he’s free to be his authentic self.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

#why tf did i spend so much time detailing the car ride lmao #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser fic #vancouver canucks imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites

232 notes · View notes