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loyal-logik · 2 years

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Energon Consumption (AKA how does Shockwave eat?).

I’ve been writing Shockwave for a long time (10+ years *cough*), before we knew about IDW empurata and shadowplay, so some people may be familiar if they’ve followed my very old fic series or art.

(cw for injections/medical in case you need it!).

Before we knew about empurata and how it was used as a means of shaming criminals, I simply thought it would be common practice to just have mechs like Shockwave walking around without it being uncommon or strange to look at. Cybertronians come in all different shapes and sizes, and some seem to have masks that don’t ever retract. Why should energon ONLY be consumed via mouth? Besides, they’re not organics, and they’re not humans, so I figured there’s got to be a simple way.

Some people hc that Shockwave does have a mouth or an orifice that opens up when needed at his face, some also hc that he has a proboscis, which I LOVE that idea! For my Shockwave, though, I’ve simply always headcanoned that he consumes energon through intravenous (IV) injection with special ports in his body.

This is a headcanon that I’ve been using for absolute yonks, so you can imagine just how excited I was when the 2019 TF comics proved that this was a legitimate technique of consuming energon:

Even though the circumstances ARE different in this comic, this has always been the way I’ve seen Shockwave ‘eating’. Would this be something rare amongst their people? Not really. Perhaps not as common, but the way I see it is that there will always be different ways to do things for each ‘bot. It’s like having furniture in a bar that needs to suit all its patrons. Their species adapts to what is needed. This would be similar for Shockwave and other bots who don’t consume energon via mouth (Whirl, too, or anyone who doesn’t have the common humanoid face).

This does mean a few things, though. For one, Shockwave can only inject liquid energon. He cannot experience solid foods. Can the energon be flavoured? Of course it can be. Can he taste it? Why not? Just because it’s going directly to his ‘bloodstream’ doesn’t mean he can’t have taste nodes or something inside. He’s not a human, he doesn’t have to fall to our biological standards, and I do hc that he absolutely can feel and taste textures and flavours.

IV intake does come with more risks, however, but this isn’t something that is really new to Shockwave (unless it’s IDW ofc). Just like bots with mouths can choke on their food, Shockwave also has a risk of things getting stuck in his “oesophagus”, especially if something foreign or solid gets in the path. I assume his body has a means of flushing these things out or quickly breaking them down by pumping/squeezing, but much like us, it can get stuck in the pipe and can cause a sense of coughing/choking. For Shockwave, it might seem more like a hiccup from his body than a choke.

I headcanon that he has specific entry ports for his intake as well. I guess, in a weird and slightly creepy way, Shockwave does have multiple “mouths”. These are simply injection sights. These are specifically MADE for energon intake, though, it’s not the same as just putting a needle anywhere in his arm. I imagine they’re also special kinds of needles, too, considering they would need to suit the intake ports. So, I hc that he at LEAST has one on each arm, between his armour where his more vulnerable wiring is. He may also have one on his neck, hidden beneath his armour, which connects with other systems and air cycles (while they don’t need oxygen, I do hc that they still sort of cycle air through their systems).

These specific ports house specific wires, which he can actually also pull out if he needs to access energon from an open glass/cup/mug, which can be drawn down (like a straw, I guess, or a hose). This is particularly useful if he doesn’t have his kit with him. But using the kit would be a safer and better means thanks to simple hygiene and lack of foreign objects getting inside.

Cybertron would have adapted to this, which means public restaurants or whatever else would supply energon specifically for these customers. It wouldn’t and shouldn’t be seen as anything strange to their people, it’s just another part of their culture and way of adapting to life around them.

At the end of the day, I hc that energon was once simply just energon. Over time, they have refined it, remade it, flavoured it, textured it, etc, so for Shockwave, it’s not something that he feels is important or he’s missing out on. His goal is to consume energon to keep going, not to taste and feel it. While he does enjoy certain flavours, yes, he does find eating with a mouth more messy, so he’s content with how he has to consume it.

Now, I will make a little mention to IDW post empurata, because of course Shockwave is aware that this technique was something they FORCED upon him, so yes, he may feel differently in that verse, and at times after war, he will likely miss all of those things he once could do.

For TFA, Shockwave came before Longarm ever did. Longarm was created, and his body was altered to have a face, extra optics, a mouth, etc. These things operate fully while he is Longarm and tie into his systems when he reverts back to Shockwave. He still has energon ports (mouths) and still consumes energon via IV naturally.

#headcanons #meta #cw: needles #cw: injections #// I know we all laugh about how Shockwave actually eats but this is something I've always hc and tried to take pretty seriously #// since I find it interesting anyway :'D #// Especially since they were throwing empurata around like it was nothing back in IDW Functionist days so loads of mecha would be in the #same boat #long post

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sasaparilla · 3 years

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Crane with a s/o that gets scared easily.

(Gender neutral!)

-My my, aren't you a scaredy cat? He will absolutely adore the noises you make when getting jumpscared by him for the third time today after he simply swifts from being beside you to disappearing in the dark behind a wall and then reappearing again close to your face saying "Boo!"

-There's no safe time for you when Jon is around. If you lose him out of your point of view be sure of two things: 1- He is interested in something else in the other room. 2- He is right behind you and his fingers are already crawling up in the back of your neck before another "boo!" gently blows in your ear

-Seriously, even he will wonder how the hell do you get startled so easily? He will start to think you're just pretending but then after seeing the absolute panic painted in your face when an insect started flying in the room, it was proven to him that yes… you were scared easily.

-Funny enough when you get scared from something else that isn't one of Jon's antics, (for example a movie he recommended you two to watch) he will gladly hold your shaking frame just to feel your panicked heartbeat, while trying his best not to smirk over the scene of your arms shivering. Such a sight to behold.

-Although he enjoys seeing the bright terror in your eyes, Jon has learned about your limits too well to know when to stop. He doesn't see any sort of pleasure when seeing you cry. The first time he actually did see you shedding tears out of fear from playing a horror game it made him feel kinda guilty. Jon then realises he just likes your scared expression, not your suffering one.

-Even if his whole signature is about causing people to feel their deepest fears for his own morbid curiosity, Jon feels quite satisfied with just the surface of your fears, as generic and normal as they can be. However, if you catch your own gut and manage to sit with him to talk about some of your real traumas, he will not only play his professional psychology role and assist you to face it better but will also be so proud of you.

Imagine, you are revealing your worst fears for the one who is known to weaponize them against you. Jon sees it as a massive signal of trust you have with him and as much as he is loving your spooked expression when talking about them, he will take this as a personal treasure. A private moment that only you two know about.

-Since then, it's up to you. Jon will offer his hand of help if you're willing to face your fears and try to overcome them, he knows how it feels and has a large experience on the matter.

If you feel like you are not ready or simply prefer to keep living this way, he will respect your decision and keep your traumas locked in his head as a secret.

-Keep in mind that the everyday little jumpscares will still occur.

Bonus:

"It's not a phobia, trust me. It's an expected reaction you have from the unknown of said subject. Especially after such… inconvenient events from your past." Jon finishes his talk with you sitting at the other end of the small table in your kitchen. He usually spent the whole afternoon with you during weekends before leaving again when night began to fall. Not that he was hiding from you about his underground work but this routine simply suited well between both you and him, since you aimed to maintain your normal life and Jon his hidden one both safe.

"I don't know, it's just so tiring sometimes to me like I don't want to react but yet I can't control it." You speak kinda upset, gripping your fists that were landing on the table.

"It's the opposite, my dear. Fear controls us. Our only chance is to accept and overcome it eventually if the chance appears." He replies to your frustration as calmly as if reciting a poem.

"I don't think I can do it. Hell, you've seen me freaking out because of a ridiculous small spider last week." Your attempt to lift the mood with a laugh fails as Jon keeps looking at you with a blank expression, making you look down embarrassed.

"That's why I'm here to offer you help. To give you this chance."

Still looking down, you meditate in silence about his words for a moment. Doubt still made it seem unclear as to how you would win your trauma. Lacking any idea of a viable option at the moment from yourself.

A gentle metallic noise snaps you from your thoughts. Your eyes catch the image of a syringe containing an orange liquid inside resting on the table in the space between you and Jon. He retracts his hand away from the item, folding the small secret pocket from inside his coat in which he took it out previously.

Meeting your gaze, Jon brings his hands up to his chin, intertwining his fingers and resting his elbows on the table, not breaking the eye contact he fixed with yours, though his eyes were hidden by the bright white his glasses reflected from the room's lightning.

"Of course, the choice will be yours." He reassures you about your position.

You switch your focus back to the syringe and remember clearly what is Jon's speciality together with the dangers of it. He maintains his silence, allowing you to face your own indecision before you finally speak.

"Alright. I will take the chance."

If it weren't for his hands close to his face, it wouldn't be able for him to hide his devilish smirk.

You two rearrange the chairs to be closer now, Jon assumes the position of medical administration and holds your arm gently as the slim shadow of the syringue hovers above your skin.

"I want you to know the dose will be low to not last long but enough for the chemicals to work properly. Understand?"

You nod.

"Are you sure about this?"

Once again you nod while feeling a chill sensation in your stomach. You were scared, of course you were and he knew it too. However, it was your choice.

The syringe needle sinks in the surface of your skin and slowly makes its length disappear and appear again from the spot, injecting the unholy fear substance in your blood course. The sting pain is then replaced by a numb sensation following up to your arm shaking. Your heart begins to race and you can feel sweat forming in your forehead. Wiping it with the back of your hand, you realise that your hand feels heavier than before and checking the reason for it, you're met with the vision of your skin succumbing to putrid flesh as insects start coming out of what were supposed to be your nails.

Desperation hits, you notice Jon's form switching to something darker, scarier and menacing, but his mouth remains in a serene smile before it moves to speak.

"Now tell me, what do you see?"

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #gender neutral s/o #own writing #first fic posted here ayeee

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silverflame2724 · 3 years

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Accidental Martial God WWX

That was exacty what I meant actually but I do have a few more povs if you want.

LQRs reaction to a demonic cultivator ascending, JGS and JGY reaction to the Yin Tiger Tally moving completely out of reach, WQ pondering the true requirements for ascension given WWX doesn't have a golden core yet ascended, WWX musing on Godhood and on his new followers both the good and the more disturbing worshipers.

Maybe LWJ protects the Wen Remnants because WWX asked him to in a dream and after he succeeds (13 years later) he ascends and is finally reunited with WWX.

Lan Qiren did not know what to think. Wei Wuxian, his most troublesome student, a demonic cultivator, had ascended. He’d ascended. How was that even possible? Were the Heavens blind? Why would they allow someone like Wei Wuxian to ascend?

From what Lan Qiren had thought, only those who are righteous and followed the correct path in life like the Lan clan’s founder, Lan An, would be worthy of ascending.

Either the qualifications for ascension were lower than he thought or Lan Qiren had been horribly mistaken about Wei Wuxian’s personality and motivations for using demonic cultivation. That last thought made Lan Qiren feel very uncomfortable.

He’d always been harsh on the boy and disregarded him, even - he ashamedly admitted - punishing him harsher and more frequently than others.

He’d thought he was in the right because of how Wei Wuxian was but…..

But if he was wrong then Lan Qiren owed him an apology.

………………….

Jin Guangshan wanted to scream out in frustration seeing Wei Wuxian ascend. That brat had the Stygian Tiger Seal on him - according to his spies - and now that he ascended, the Seal went with him.

He had had so many plans on bribing Wei Wuxian to his side or killing him when he refused - as well as stealing the Seal - and then taking over the cultivation world, lording over it as he was always meant to be.

Now those plans are ruined. He sighed. Hopefully that bastard son of his can finally prove his usefulness and give him countermeasures or he might retract his favor from him.

……………………

Jin Guangyao’s first thought upon seeing Wei Wuxian ascend was: Oh shit. I have to go make up new plans to help Father.

He knew his father wanted Wei Wuxian and the Seal and didn’t really care how he obtained both or either, just as long as no one traced it back to him. He sighed. This was going to be a big headache. But at least the plans on putting his father as Chief Cultivator were going smoothly. He could only imagine what his father would do to him if even this failed.

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

Wen Qing had still been in Yiling, making plans to relocate her family, when the news that Wei Wuxian had ascended had reached her.

Her first reaction was, That’s impossible.

Because it was, right? Wen Qing should know. She cut out his core, after all. But to think he was still able to ascend while he was a demonic cultivator made her wonder what the requirements were for ascending. Perhaps it’s an honest heart? Self-sacrificing tendencies? Or is it a sacrifice of some sorts? She paused. What if.....it was a trial? To test a person’s will? What Wei Wuxian had suffered was.....horrible. Could it have all been just a test from the Heavens?

If that was so, the Heavens really are cru---

“A’ Jie, we have to go! Some Jin were spotted nearby!”

Wen Qing gritted her teeth. Members of the branch families of Qishan, regardless of whether they were innocent or not, were captured and subsequently tortured to death by the Jin and sometimes the Nie. Because her family was all in Yiling, they were safe.......but only for now. They had to hurry and escape.

Wen Qing sent a quick prayer to Wei Wuxian, hoping for her family’s safety, and tucked the rest of her belongings in her qiankun pouch, remembering to wrap her arms in bandages to hide the needles she might need to paralyze any Jin that came close.

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

Wei Wuxian’s first thought when he landed in the Heavens was, What the fuck.

Then he looked around and looked taken aback and wary at the unfamiliar faces around him. Where the fuck am I?

“Hello.” A rather stoic-faced man greeted.

“Hello.” Wei Wuxian parroted back. The person in front of him didn’t seem to be a threat so he felt a little tension loosen from his shoulders. “Um, Xiansheng? I’m afraid I don’t know where I am?”

“You have just ascended.” The man replied, throwing Wei Wuxian aback.

“Are you pulling my leg?” Wei Wuxian asked. “How is that even possible! I don’t even have---” He swallowed. I don’t even have a core.

“I do not lie. Come, we are wasting time. We must get you washed up and dressed for the induction ceremony.” Seeing Wei Wuxian still frozen, the man sighed, signalled for some people to pick Wei Wuxian up and dragged the struggling man to some quarters.

After absentmindedly washing, drying and changing himself, Wei Wuxian noticed some differences in his body. He wasn’t....cold or hurting anymore. And - he touched his back - he could feel his back! After having his muscles and nerves shredded by Zidian, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to sense touch on his back or even move without pain! But now he can!

He heard the urging of some people and grumbled.

“You will become a god of demonic cultivation.” Was the first thing he heard when he stepped out of the room.

Wei Wuxian choked. “Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said. Now then, if you would please concentrate, you should be able to hear the prayers of the people below.”

Wei Wuxian felt like everything was moving a little too fast for him, but nevertheless complied. Immediately after, a flood of prayers hit him at full force.

“Wei Wuxian!” That was Jiang Cheng! “….Have some fun up there.”

“A’ Xian, do be well. Shijie isn’t there to take care of you so do be well.” Wei Wuxian refused to cry.

“Wei-Xiong! I hope there’s someone up there to supply you with you know what *winks*”

How does someone even wink in their prayers? Wei Wuxian thought amusedly.

“Wei Ying.” That was Lan Zhan. “Wei Ying, I will—be well.”

Ah, Lan Zhan. Always concise even in your thoughts.

Wei Wuxian was a little teary. As much as he was glad to not be a part of the cultivation world considering all the rumors, he did regret leaving behind those that cared for him.

That thought was much more cemented upon hearing…….

“Ah, Lord Wei, the pinnacle of evil, the role model of all demonic cultivators!” Wei Wuxian’s eye twitched. “Please hear my plea for more power! I need it, I need it to destroy everyone who harmed me!”

“Wei Wuxian, I wish to gain power over resentful energy so that I may tear my enemies limb by limb!

“Give me money! You’re a god, aren’t you? Be useful for once and give me some gold!”

“Tch. If I’m going to pray for anything, then it’ll have to be the Seal. You’re a god, now, right? So you have no need for the Seal. Just give it up.”

No matter the good or bad, Wei Wuxian heard the wishes and prayers of the people down below and while some were innocent enough, there were those that wished for death, destruction, tools for torture, power, money, women…….you name it.

It made Wei Wuxian feel a little disgusted with humanity. He cut off his focus from the bad and focused on the prayer he received from his friends and family.

“Wei Wuxian, I heard you became a god.” It was Wen Qing. He hadn’t heard her voice in a long time. “I know this might seem shameless of me after all I did to you, but please. Please guarantee the safety of my family. We’re being hunted down and—”

Her prayer was abruptly cut off, before coming back in full force with notes of desperation. Her family had been captured and taken to Qiongqi Path! Wei Wuxian panicked. He didn’t know how to escape from this place and try to go help her.

The…..person who was watching over him evidently knew what he was thinking about and merely stated that gods cannot interfere with the mortal realm. So he was stuck.

But that didn’t mean he was out of options.

It took a few days, but he managed to wheedle out how to help: via dreams. He merely needed to get into the mind of one of his followers and tell them to help. Much like those prophetic dreams Wei Wuxian had read about as a kid.

So he buckled down, thinking of the best candidate to help him.

……………………………

Lan Wangji looked at the landscape around him and concluded that he was dreaming. Though, it was a little odd that he was aware that he was dreaming. Not that he hasn’t realized he was dreaming before - especially in those many fantasies he had of Wei Ying - but to be aware that this is a dream and to see nothing but a flat landscape was pretty out of the ordinary.

Anyway, he digressed. What was going on?

“Uhh, Lan Zhan? Can you hear me?”

“W-Wei Ying?!” Lan Wangji couldn’t be blamed for stuttering. He wasn’t expecting this!

“Phew. Oh good, you can hear me. Anyway, Lan Zhan, I gotta be quick about this because I’m kinda sorta bending the rules here, but do you think you can go to Qiongqi Path and rescue Wen Qing and her family?”

“Okay.”

“Huh? Just like that? Not even going to ask me for a reason, er-gege?”

Lan Wangji’s ears flushed red at the address. “If Wei Ying wants to save them, you must have a good reason. That’s enough for me.”

“Ah, Hanguang-Jun.” The title was spoken fondly. “Always so good. I’ll tell you anyway. Wen Qing and her family sheltered Jiang Cheng and I after Lotus Pier fell and even brought back Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen’s bodies! That’s a debt I cannot repay.”

“I understand. I will help.”

He couldn’t see Wei Ying, but could practically feel the amusement from him.

“Wei Ying.”

“Yes?”

“Are......Are you well?”

“Of course I am. I’m actually feeling so much better than before.” Wei Ying grumbled, “I’m not even in pain anymore.”

“You were in pain?” Lan Wangji asked worriedly. “Wei Ying, why didn’t you say anything.”

“Lan Zhan, there was nothing you or anyone else could do to alleviate my pain. It doesn’t matter now. I’m okay.”

Lan Wangji was still worried and wanted to speak to him more, but---

“Ah! Looks like my time’s up!” Wei Ying exclaimed cheerfully as the dreamscape wavered. “See you, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji nodded. “See you, Wei Ying.” I’ll catch up to you soon.

And 13 years later, Lan Wangji kept his promise.

___________________

I didn’t edit this so I’m hoping there’s not too many grammatical errors lol.

#mdzs #wei ying #wei wuxian #lan qiren #jin guangshan #jin guangyao #lan zhan #lan wangji #wen remnants #wen remnants survive #JGS and JGY can no longer scheme against WWX :)#LQR is kinda an asshole #but at least he sorta admits it?#hurt wei wuxian #implied chronic pain

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jordanstrophe · 3 years

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Be a Good Guest, part 8

CW: Whump, failed escape attempt (again...) kidnapping, electrocution, choking *inhales* intimate, possessive, creepy, protective, parental whumper, slapping, blindfold, restraining, shackles mentioned, manhandling, angst, so much angst with a seasoning of despair. No happy ending for this chapter at least :c

Masterlist

Walter was happy today, dancing and humming as he moved about the house with the radio playing a cheerful song. Gabriel didn’t even have the chain shackled to his leg today, he did still have the tracker in his neck of course, but if he pretended that it wasn't there, it almost felt like a normal ordinary morning.

“Good morning, little one!” He smiled. “Gmorning..” Gabriel gorged. He stood with his arms crossed while swaying on his feet, his eyes half open. He was hardly sleeping, the bed still felt foreign to him as he would just stare blankly at the ceiling.

He was homesick. As lonely as his crammed apartment was back at home, he would rather be lonely, then here. He felt two arms slither around his waist from behind as he gasped with chills running up his spine.

“Please don’t touch me!” He barked, jumping from his grasp and pinning himself against the wall.

“It was just a hug” He giggled, extending his arms out. Gabriel shook his head no as he refused to budge from his corner. Walter sighed as his arms fell crossed. “Are you still scared of me?” He asked.

He didn’t respond, his eyes just darted around the room to everywhere but his burning gaze. “Come now, Gabriel, It’s been a week. I’m doing everything I can to keep you happy, can’t you give it a little effort?” He asked, his voice growing impatient. “I just...I don’t want to stay here, please...” He begged.

Walter’s face fell with sheer disappointment. He sighed as he slumped onto the piano bench, tapping his nail against the wood as an invitation for him to sit. Gabriel silently shook his head no once more, cringing and squeezing his eyes shut when he heard him abruptly stand up. He knew he was testing the waters a bit, but maybe he could pity himself out of this. He wouldn’t hurt him for something this mild, right?

*Slap*

His cheek burned as his whole body hit the fridge door. His lip that had just healed from the car crash splitting once again as blood smeared across the fridge. Gabriel took a shuttered breath as his hand gripped the door handle with his other hand on his red cheek.

“Wh-what is wrong with you!?” Gabriel shrieked. “Are you crazy!?”

He regretted his words instantly as a hand wrapped around his throat, pinning him against the fridge as he fell silent. Walter rested his other arm over his head against the fridge as if he wasn’t already presenting enough dominance. He wasn’t squeezing his throat very tight at least, it was just enough to scare the daylight from him.

“I’m getting real tired of your constant disrespect, young man. You live under my roof, the least you can do is show an ounce of thankfulness for everything I do for you.” He hissed in his ear. Gabriel whined against his hand around his neck as he pressed his back against the fridge. The hand retracted as Walter’s fingers moved to wrap around his chin, tilting his head up until their eyes met.

“Tell me you’ll behave.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I-I’ll behave...” He whispered.

“Little louder.”

Gabriel’s eyes darted down, he was just doing this to be purely dominant now.

“Gabriel if you disobey me one more time I’m taking you to the basement.”

“I’ll behave!” He yelped.

“Good boy.” He smiled, his hand moving from his chin to lovingly caress his face as he slightly flinched. “Go sit down now, breakfast is almost done!” He smiled.

It was disgusting how he could change his mood in a flash. Gabriel’s legs felt numb as he struggled to walk to the table, slinking on the seat. He kept his wide eyes forward, too scared to move or even breathe too hard in fear of attracting anymore unwanted attention.

There was a clattering sound with a splash of water as Walter dropped a full cup of hot tea. “Drat!” He yelled, hissing and cursing under his breath as steam fumed off his soaking clothes. He grabbed his boiling wet robe and tossed it over the chair to get it off, before marching off to his room for a change of clothes.

Gabriel sat wide eyes staring at the robe pocket opened just enough he could see the cluster of keys poking out.

Gabriel didn’t even think twice about the consequences as he reached into the pocket, grabbed the keys and bolted. They were much heavier than he expected, with about two dozen medieval looking keys hooked on a loop. His hands trembled as he fumbled with it, trying each one in the keyhole to the main door. The window, unfortunately, was out of the question, Walter made sure of that with metal bars after his pitiful first escape attempt.

He could hear Walter in the other room opening and slamming drawers, there wasn’t much time left. He was about halfway through and none of them had worked yet-

*click*

One had finally fit as he bolted out the door. He still had a tracker in his neck, but all he had to do was outrun him, right? He felt his pulse beat through his body, his head pounding as he sprinted up the hill. He had been here before, but this time he was free of the chain dragging him down, the thing that screwed him over the first time. Finally, he made it to the road. He stood there, looking left, then right.

No cars… No one ever came here. He ran down the road, there wasn’t a soul in sight. He slowed to a stop as his lungs started burning, his hands on his knees as he gasped for air. He stopped when he thought he heard something… Chattering? Laughing? No, that was too good to be true. He took a deep breath and held it, trying to listen as he straightened up, spinning around trying to figure out where it could have come from.

There it was again, a laugh. It was coming from the other side of the road near a trail. There must have been hikers! He bolted in the direction, following the cheery voices of what sounded like a small group of people having a laugh. He could see movement through the branches as his chest leapt with relief…

Finally, finally! He made it! There were people right there, just a few yards away! “Heey!” He hollered, staggering through the woods. “PLEASE HELP ME!” He cried. He did it… He had made it out.

His cries for help were interrupted by his own screams as a shock spiked through his body. What felt like thousands of needles stabbed through his neck forced him to plummet to the ground. After a couple of seconds, it stopped as he found himself lying in the dirt on his back, his hand held to his neck as he heaved for air. He scampered to his feet, before he could take a step, the full weight of someone tackled him from behind, pinning him to the ground on his chest with a hand tightly woven around his lips.

His screams and crying were muffled as he fought back, digging his knees into the dirt trying to push the man off, who kept his arms and head pinned to the ground. He could hear the voices commenting the strange noise they heard in the woods, but brushing it off as some animal romping around.

“But it sounded like a voice.”

“It’s just your imagination, or just another hiker, who cares?”

Tears swelled in his eyes as he was forced to watch the group walk by. He stayed pinned to the ground for several more minutes until they were long gone, the forest grew silent with their passing. The weight pressing against his back quickly became agonizing as his distressed noises were muffled.

His hand retreated as he instantly shouted for help, electricity pulsed through his body again. His back arched off the ground in the man’s arms as he was held. “Gabriel, stop this right this instant!” Walter hissing in his ear after lifting off the trigger.

Gabriel went slack in his arms, his body still quivering. Walter got off him as he continued to lie still in the ground between his feet obediently.

“Get up.” He ordered.

Gabriel blinked his eyes open, his tears mixing with the dirt on his face as he looked up with a pitiful expression. Walter only stared him down as he finally sighed in submission, slowly crawling to his feet.

“Walk. Let's go.” He ordered. “You’re going to behave, and walk all the way home. Do you understand?” He growled. Gabriel flinched into a nod as he wobbled on his feet. Walter pointed to the direction of the cabin as Gabriel held his arms tightly to his chest as he shakily cowered past him.

He was forced to walk in front, as Walter loomed behind him making sure he stayed in check. He lost his footing at one point and fell to the ground, only to be roughly grabbed and ripped to his feet.

The cheerful music was still playing when he was shoved into the cabin. His hair was roughly grabbed as Walter dragged him along, ripping the basement door open.

“W-wait..” He rasped.

He was ignored as he was thrown onto an old wooden chair. Cuffs and shackles already built into it clamped over his wrists, ankles and neck tightly. He could still hear the happy music playing on upstairs.

“Wait! P-please!” Gabriel begged, tears dripping down his face as a blindfold was secured over his eyes. “Please don’t! You don’t have to do this!” He sobbed. He felt a hand rest in his hair, gently petting him.

“Yes I do, little dove. Because you made me. This is for your own good.” He planted a kiss in his hair. “Since you want to be cut loose like a wild animal so badly, you can stay here, where it’s safe until you learn what’s good for you. That I’m good for you.”

Gabriel heard his footsteps stomping up the stairs as the basement door slammed, muffling the joyful music playing like some sick fever dream.

“PLEASE! Don’t leave me here, I’m begging you!” He sobbed, his voice cracking.

His cries were ignored as the house fell silent. He only saw darkness, as all he could do was listen to his panicked breath.

@alien-octopus @yesthisiswhump @lave-whump @whumpasaurus101 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hamiltonwhumpdump @just-another-whumper @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @approach-me-and-ill-cry @whump-it @kixngiggles @as-a-matter-of-whump

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading! (and I’m sorry)

#whump #whumpee #whumper #kidnapped whumpee #electrocution whump #parental whumper #intimate whumper #possessive whumper #creepy whumper #yeah i need some fluff now #time to rescue him

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tarithenurse · 3 years

Text

To the point - 3

Pairing: au!Satoru Gojō x fem!reader Content: All the smut. Add a pinch of dom/sub, a drizzle of bondage, sweeten with pain, let it simmer for a moment. No proofing. A/N: Third and final chapter...and longer than expected.

3. Point taken

I should not have done that. Walking towards your last appointment, you’re not worrying about the floofy, pastel coloured dress you’re wearing (although it’s not your usual go-to style) but what’s underneath it. No one can see it: hidden beneath the almost knee-long, flowy skirt and the silken panties hides the result of a great deal of work that you never had expected to get done. I should. Not. Have done that. But you can’t undo it.

Face glowing hot, you try to ignore the reflection in the glass door as you enter the tattoo parlour. There’s no one around at the front. No sign of other customers in any of the two small rooms...at least it doesn’t seem so judging by the lack of sounds.

“Mind locking and turning the sign?” Gojō’s voice calls from behind the curtain at the left cubicle.

A muted, little croak is the only answer you can offer aside from doing as asked. Get yourself together! The mirrored motion of straightening up, pushing the shoulders back, catches your eye once more. Not bad, if you do say so yourself. Almost...innocent looking. That, of course, would be a lie and knowing that emboldens you enough to keep your head high as you pass the curtain.

“Well, hell-ooo,” Gojō purrs at the sight, eyes travelling over your form appreciatively.

It should have been you saying something to showcase the amazement you feel: everywhere are candles and flowers, in a corner is a beautifully painted box (closed and absolutely curiosity inducing), and music is flowing from Satoru’s docked phone.

He can see enough without the electric lights on? That’s when it hits you that he isn’t wearing the usual sunglasses. Perhaps he’s sensitive to the light. Why’ve I never asked?

“Hop up, princess.”

Technically, he partially lifts you up, large hands wrapping around your waist only to slide down slowly along your thighs before guiding your legs apart and into place. His fingers are hot against your flesh, as he rests your left leg in the cradle. Crystalline gaze tracking the shift of the skirt as it falls towards your hip, baring the work in progress.

“Perhaps -” he pecks a kiss to the inside of your knee -”we should take some precautions this time?”

There’s barely enough air in your lungs to answer. “Such as?”

Gojō grins wickedly. “Getting rid of these.” He curls the fingertips up under the dress, hooking onto the edge of the panties. “Would be a shame to ruin them.”

And then you remember and you catch his hands in yours. “I...I...don’t know if...ermm...”

“So shy, princess. Well...I guess it’s only fair that you aren’t the only one on display.”

And true to his words, he pulls off the t-shirt to grant you with a delicious view – there really is no better word to describe the lithe, muscular build. He isn’t bulky, but each muscle is clearly defined and makes your imagination’s creativity pale. You’re too distracted to notice where he drops the shirt. But you do see his hands go for the button and fly of his jeans and your pussy does respond to the view as he reveals himself fully for the first time, confirming the suspicion from the night you danced with him.

“Better, sweetie?” He saunters back between your legs, each movement enthralling and full of confidence.

Nothing stops you, as you sit up to reach out. Fingertips softly trace the lines of his body and turning him around. There’s a fairly big tattoo on his back and it takes a moment before your can extricate your focus from the individual strokes (symbols) of the pattern to see that the whole makes out wings that move with his shoulders and shoulder blades. It could have been tacky. It is ethereal.

“Like what you see?” He flexes cheekily, a goofy grin banishing the rest of the awkwardness you had accumulated over the last days.

“Oh yes.”

A large hands splays over your pussy, thumb rubbing your inner thigh and sending sparks to your abdomen, your chest. Then it’s gone, and the next touch is that of the needles jabbing into your skin.

Sweet pain mingles with fiery caresses as Gojō carries your through for an hour or more on the verge of ecstasy without once passing the silken barrier and by the time he takes a break to focus completely on you, you’re a whimpering mess, begging for more.

There’s no reason to oppose him as Satoru lifts the dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your lingerie (which, for once, matches).

“Sweet princess,” he croons against your belly, hands scooting under you to grope your ass, “you want more?”

“Y-yes yees...”

Your own hands are clamped on to the edge of the seat, hips automatically tilting towards him until he pulls away. Through a haze, you see him go and open the box, pulling out something small enough that he can hide it in his hand. Wait...two somethings.

“Can you be a good girl for me?” Of course you can, you will be anything for him. “Put this into your sweet cunt.”

He hands you one of the things: a silicone bullet, smooth and slightly warmed from his touch. There’s no hesitation as you slip your hands beneath the panties, gathering the slick on the toy. It’s not what you had expected, not quite what you need, but it makes you moan to push it past your entrance and feel it almost plop into place. It’s not on purpose when your fingers linger to stroke your folds.

A strong hand clamps around your wrist. “Did I tell you to play with yourself?”

“No-o,” you gasp.

Brilliant eyes have grown icy. “Then why did you?”

“I just...I need m- I need you please.”

He can’t hide the shrewd smile completely. “Only if you’re a good girl. Are you gonna be good from now on?”

“Yesyesyes! I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you.”

Returning your hand to the edge of the seat, he leans in over you, hips pushing against your inner thighs and his cock twitching against your pussy. Gojō’s chest is hard and warm against yours. His lips soft along your jaw.

“Good,” he whispers, “otherwise I’d have to tie you u-” interrupted by an involuntary roll of your hips, his eyes search your features before he continues, “...oh. I see. Are you sure?”

If I’m not allowed to touch and he doesn’t do it? You nod, but it’s probably a new roll of your hips that convinces him to find two leather straps in the box, one for each wrist. He’s gentle as he ties you to the seat, whispering sweet promises and explaining how to navigate this new territory safely. When done, Gojō kisses you agonizingly slow and deep and your brain can’t help but imagine how it would feel if he was using his tongue like that but on your pussy instead. Tense and hot, clenching around nothing...and he smiles as he retracts because he knows and his cock is damp from having pressed against your soaked panties.

“Mmm, perfect,” the words are mumbled against your cleavage and then repeated as he kisses his way down your body in a straight line.

Almost. Almost there. But of course he skips where you need him the most and you have to bite back a whine as he sets to work on the artwork again.

Kisses. Fingers massaging and rubbing. Soft bites. Each sends new jolts through your body, keeping you close to the edge with no risk of toppling over. Want more. As if on cue, a rumble rocks through your cunt, making it clench around the toy you had forgotten all about in your frustration. Maybe it’s a gasp (it could be a moan) and Satoru understands the sentiment perfectly and lets the vibrations continue as your breathing speeds up and you teeter on the verge of the first orgasm -

“Noooo...”

Everything has stopped and Gojō watches your body regain its balance instead of succumbing to pleasure. The bastard had turned off the bullet and no matter how hard your pussy squeezes around the thing, it’s not enough. Straining against the leather of the cuffs, you try to reach down. Your fingers know the motions. Your clit is throbbing. Inner walls weeping. And Satoru looks at you with hooded eyed while running a hand lazily along his length.

...

The base colours are filled in and the millions of jabs with the needles has caused your thigh to ache wonderfully. It’s not enough to distract you from the much deeper burning in your core: a desperation, a longing so profound that words such as grace or dignity have lost their meaning completely. Tears are filling your eyes and dripping down your cheeks as you babble. Begging. Pleading. Sobbing for Gojō to take pity on the wreck of a girl strapped down before him.

“I love the way you sound, princess,” he mumbles against your hip, “adore the way you stutter through my name.” Adept fingers have left the most sensible parts of your body momentarily to wrap up the tattoo. “You’ve been such a good girl.”

It’s impossible to fit together a string of words. Your brain has been reduced to mush and you’re trembling with need as his lean body presses against your flesh, his raging boner pushing at the soaked fabric of your panties. And he purrs, damn it, the man enjoys the sensation of the vibration he’s subjecting you too as they travel outwards.

“Pl-ple-ease!”

“Yeah? No more playing?” Somehow, the blue of his eyes manages to pierce through the haze of tears.

You’re not entirely sure when he frees you wrists. And the surprised growl as he finally pulls your panties off could just as easily have come from miles away. Two licks is all the aching folds are granted before he maps a path up your body, marking each detour with kisses and bites that makes you whimper at the delicious sting. There’s almost no power left in you to sit up like he wants you to...but somehow you manage for long enough to wrap your arms around him so he can unfasten your bra.

“It’s okay, darling,” he nibbles at your earlobe, guiding you onto your back once more, “hang on a bit longer, mm?”

“M-mm,” you nod, happy for the reprieve as the bullet stops.

Next second, the calm is disturbed as Gojō pulls out the toy slowly, leaving you more hollow than ever. A slobbery sound piques your curiosity, fighting against the reduced vision until you see him lick every trace of you off the silicone.

“I can never get enough of your taste,” he groans, winking at you. “

“You...how do...”

No, words are too difficult. It’s not as you really need them anyways, your brain tries to remind you before losing all sense of reality except the one fact that you’re finally feeling a cock head slipping up and down between your folds. Not just any cock, of course.

“Yeah...plea-OH!”

Shock waves of hot pleasure courses through every cell in your body at the sensation of Gojō bottoming out. Without warning, your body is wrecked, taken apart and put together in a heartbeat that lasts forever as your insides spasm and the only thing you can scream in your ecstasy is his name. And he doesn’t even move, just waits for you to come down and catch your breath.

“Hmmm, we need more space, princess.” His voice is strained.

Somehow, the man manages to lift you, still impaled by his erection, and carry you through a backdoor and up to the next floor – to be fair, you’re not thinking too much about it because all you can do is hold on as each step he takes sends aftershocks through your core.

You are aware of the soft feel of a mattress against your knees, realizing that he’s laid down in bed with you straddling him. Please, yes. It’s impossible to say where it comes from – probably the desperate craving that hasn’t been satisfied enough – but new energy tugs at your limbs until your sitting upright and your hips begin to roll. Every time he says your name, you reward him by pulling nearly all the way off and then sinking back down.

“Why’d I wait so long?” Satoru groans, his fingers digging into your ass. “Feel so...amazing.”

“Yeah? Gonna let me be good to you?”

Gojō seems to be the one struggling for words now as he thrusts up into you with each roll, trying to speed up despite your effort to keep it slow. It’s not long before he lifts you up and down by the waist, praising the bounce of your breasts and asking you to play with them. Of course you comply.

“Fuck!” He pulls you off, scrambling to get behind you and pushing you forward on knees and elbows. “Ready, babe?”

“Gimme, please.”

You're aching for him inside, a deep longing for the balancing act between the pain and satisfaction he can grant you. Breath reduced to superficial whimpers. Hands clenching the sheets. All the anticipation building up to the point that you're shaking as you feel him align himself. Deep...hard, the inner voice keens.

It's neither. Frustratingly slow, Satoru fills you again, underlining the discovery of the bumps and quivers against his length with wonderfully delicious moans.

"Wanted to do this at the club," he growls strained, "slide into heaven. Feel your tight cunt around me as we danced." Finally bottoming out, Gojō's hips stutter and his fingers hold tight enough to bruise your hips in his efforts to still you both. "Fuck, princess! You're so damn perfect, I wouldn't have been able to hold back."

"You wouldn't have had to," you whine, core fluttering at his words.

Slowly, he begins to thrust into you and for a moment the only sounds are from two sets of panting breaths and an obscene squelching. One hand trails up your side only to return via the spine, nails scoring to set your nerves ablaze.

"I think it was worth it," he purrs, "this view? Beautiful. And no loud music to cover your sounds." As if to prove the point, he rams in deep to make you cry out again and again.

You're right at the verge, the dizzying precipice begging for that last stroke to push you over the edge and fly on the updrafts – and the second before it happens, Gojō's strong arms pull you up flush against his chest and he growls into your ear to scream his name. The change of angle, the command, or maybe the feeling his teeth digging into your earlobe as he pulls you down hard on his cock has you cumming with him.

Rather than an explosion or waves, the bliss concentrates heavy and hot and spreads its blinding rays outwards until there is nothing but deeply saturated satisfaction.

You come to you senses sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped tight around you for support for both. Satoru's chest is heaving against your back, but he's still capable of peppering your skin with kisses.

"I know we got work to do still on your thigh but..." his tongue catches your earlobe, making you hum with delight, "be mine, princess?"

It takes a second before you can talk. "Is there any doubt that I am already?"

"Nope...but I like the way you presented your heart to me," you hear him smile.

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Betrothed - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Chapter 3: Blood

Summary: While treating Illumi’s wounds, you learn something about his past.

Warnings: Well...blood. Mentions of past abuse. Choking.

Words: ~1800

Story Masterlist

“You could at least try to relax when you’re at home, Lumi.”

As usual, every muscle on Illumi’s body was tensed as he shifted around on the small wooden chair, his upper half completely bare.

Running your hands over his delicate skin, you couldn’t help but humming happily while opening the first-aid-kit.

Lumi.

That nickname wasn’t really creative, you had to admit. Yet there were still many thoughts connected to it.

How it sounded a lot like ‘Luna’, for example - the latin word for ‘moon’. Illumi pretty much had a moon face anyway.

A wet and warm feeling on your fingertips got you down to earth again - it was your husbands blood, steadily running down his whole back. Quickly, you got a gauze pad to absorb it and started working.

Had it come to you fancying him that much that you already lost yourself in daydreams?

The deep cut on his shoulder would most likely leave a scar, no matter how well you’d treat it. Yet what bothered you more was the fact that he had acutally tried to hold the gap together with his way too big needles.

“Sorry...” you whispered as you tugged them out of his flesh, but he wouldn’t even flinch.

He insisted it was fine, and you knew that he was used to the pain. But he could still feel it, even if his face remained as cold and calm as always.

God knows what’s going on in his head...your husband was very hard to read, actually.

But you knew he wasn’t just a puppet for his family. Illumi had some thoughts of his own, and you burned to get through to him.

The flesh wound was still bleeding, and since it hadn’t been properly closed in hours, you needed to clean it first. “I’m so sorry” you repeated, pouring some disinfectant into the cut.

“Stop apologizing.” The way he emphasized the words made him almost sound irritated.

“B-But I-”

“You’re assisting me as I demanded, so there’s no rational reason for you to say something like that.” It were moments like this that made you think Illumi actually tried to calm you down - the best he knew how. Through choosing his words wisely.

After the bleeding stopped, you began stitching up the wound while your husband was still sitting as if frozen in place.

“I-I just don’t want you to feel more pain than necessary...” He was used to way worse. You were well aware of that fact, and yet-

“Y/N.” Hearing your name escaping his lips, you immediately got attentive. “Is that the reason you’re holding back while sparring with me?”

For a long while, the room fell completely silent.

Because both of you knew he was right.

“I see.” Before you could even think of an answer, Illumi jumped up from his chair, running his hand over your handiwork. “Thanks for the bandage.”

Oh god, he was preparing to leave again. Maybe forever this time.

Soon, he’ll tell his parents you were unfit for an assassin’s spouse - too soft and weak.

Death was a bearable punishment for your shortcomings, but simply being thrown out like a toy one has grown tired of?

How pathetic, being afraid of conseqences you now only imagined. Knowing very well that empathy was considered futile in this environment.

And yet you were shocked it came that way, only because of you speaking your mind.

“Illumi, wai-”

He cut you off right there, turning around with his hand reaching for your neck.

Illumi’s aura had always been intense, laced with a bloodlust that seemed like it was imprinted on him at his very birth.

You’ll never get used to seeing him like this.

“Are you scared?” he asked just before his fingers wrapped around your throat, repeating the question at your lack of reaction. “Are you afraid of me?”

Slowly but increasingly, the pressure on your neck began to become discomforting, making you wince a little.

Yet your look wouldn’t falter, rather decided taking on a staring contest with him.

“I’m afraid of you leaving me.”

Just like that, he retracted his hand.

The look in your eye gave it away. Every word, every syllable you spoke was true.

Even Illumi could tell just how much genuine affection they held - and he wasn’t immune to it either.

You cleared your throat and he only now realized just how much force he had used on you. Yet instead of apologizing as would be appropriate, he decided on continuing his interrogation.

“Why?” Illumi croaked, sounding a little bit broken. Hewasn’t able to speak any more, still baffled at your statement.

To ever think you could caught him off guard with such a simple sentence - but even through his poker face, you could feel his mind racing.

You sighed quietly, nervously tapping with your foot. “Do I really need to repeat that? It’s embarassing...”

No answer. Instead he stared you down even more intense.

“I like you, Lumi. This is my home, and I feel happy when I’m with you. Simple as that.”

Finally, he gave in to his exhaustion and took a seat on the sofa, with you following him closely after.

No matter what might follow, right now he needed some time. That much was obviously. So you just try to share your calming aura in silence.

You knew that puzzled expression way too well.

He’d put it on whenever something went past his comprehension, like when you once asked him about thinks he enjoyed or his dreams for the future.

“You look so sad...” you had once commented at an old photo of his. If you had to guess, he was about 4 years old at the time it was taken.

“Dunno” he tried to avoid further conversation back then, “Can’t remember.”

Just how often did you want to tell him that it was wrong? That his parents - no, his whole family - was full of sociopaths, and that they had stained his innocence through their wrongdoings and overeagerness?

And yet you had always kept quiet in the end.

Because you knew what it meant to him. The last bit of his sanity would probably break down if he knew all of the pain he had endured was wrong and abnormal.

Yes, their bonds were sure strange ones: They manipulated and harmed each other, all for the sake of the greater goal and the continuation of their bloodline.

That was probably how criminals beyond redemption desperately try to cling to their last bit of humanity - through the only people they can trust and be close to: Other murderers.

But at least you wanted to make him learn how to feele truly loved: For what he really was, and not only his obedience or achievements.

Right now, however, his elbows were resting on his knees, he was bent over and holding his chin with his hands. That position made it even harder for you to read him.

“I trust you with my life” you said without the slightest hint of hesitation in your voice. “It belongs to you ever since the day we married.”

Illumi cocked his head upwards, empty orbs staring holes into you.

“They think I’m a monster.”

Huh?

Usually, Illumi isn’t really a man of many words. That fact should change tonight.

“I heared them talk” he began explaining as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “About regretting training me so harshly. I was their first child, more like an experiment at how to raise an even more powerful assassin.”

You nodded in silence, trying to signalize him that you were listening - and that you cared.

So he kept on. “I’m the reason my brothers were allowed more freedom. Having the right to feel and think on their own. And now Killua has left us. If I hadn’t been a failure, they would’ve trained him stricter.”

He blamed himself, thinking he was responsible for being a failed experiment.

Dear god.

“Mother said she’s afraid of me. I was 10. Everyone else at the family at least bear certain, acceptable emotions. She said I’m dead on the inside and it freaked her out.”

Every single word of him shot needles into your heart, tears already filling the rim of your eyes. You grabbed the fabric tight, trying to hold yourself together for your sake.

“Illumi...”

You knew from the very second that many things were haunting that poor man’s conscience - but what he had just confided was just hard to bear.

In an attempt to comfort him, you instinctively shuffled closer until there was no gap between the two of you. It was an awkward closeness, but soothing nonetheless.

“It’s okay” he spoke in a tone that was unfamiliar soft for his standarts. “I understand how you all feel. I may not be able to emphasize with any feelings, but I can intelectually comprehend them.”

“Now cut it out!” This time it was you disrupting him, through a soft poke on his already injured shoulder.

"That’s bullshit and you know it. No person is absent of all emotions. You just shoved them into the back of your head and tried to surpress them. With your kind of childhood that was probably the only way to survive without completely losing it.”

His eyes shifted between your face and the place where your shoulders would touch, soaking every word like a dry sponge.

“And you do care about your family, right?” Well, how couldn’t he? It was the only way of mimicking normalcy he could pretend to have. “You’d do anything to keep them safe.”

“I just don’t get it” he murmured as you softly caressed his hand. “My allies are usually also mass murderers and psychopaths. But you are almost perfectly normal.”

Normal? You were an assassin too, goddamn it!

“Most would describe you as a very kind and sympathetic person. You should despise or at least fear me. They all do.”

“Not everything has to be logical, Lumi. I don’t think it makes sense either, but I also doubt that you’re a bad person. You’re much more of a victim.”

“Is that so...” That question sounded more like he was highly doubting it.

Just now you were realizing how slumped he was leaning back on the couch. That whole conversation had probably drained his energy reserves more than any mission ever could.

“Rest now, dear.” Carefully, without alerting him, you wrapped your arm around Illumi’s head and gently led him to your lap. “We can talk later.”

Much to your surprise, your husband would slowly close his eyes, swiftly drifting into sleep at hearing the steady beating of your heart.

“I’m sorry for frightening you, Y/N” he whispered those last words barely audible, fingers squeezing the flesh of your thigh ever so slightly.

“You didn’t. You never do.”

___

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hirokari · 3 years

Text

↠ plaster

pairing: jungmo x reader

tags: high school!au, play!au, clumsy!Reader, fluff

warnings: minor explicit language

— “um... does anyone know where i can find a plaster?”

a/n: ha! its a miracle! she’s updated with an imagine! :P n e ways i think my plan is too update with an imagine once every 1-2 months...? my writer’s block is horrible :’(

Senior year.

The year everyone had been dreading, just one more step until they're out of this hell hole. And yet, what seems like the most relieving thing in the world, it takes one play, one role to mess it up for him.

His brown irises skim through the pinned papers on the school's pinboard, hoping for his name to turn out in the 'extras' parts. But the more he scans fir his name, the more his stomach drops.

Until he'd found his name.

Jungmo groans, the tips of his eyes dropping in sync with his grimacing lips. His fist hits the wall hard, startling one of his classmates.

"Hey, what's up man... oh, you got the role lead! Bro, that's awesome!"

It doesn't help the fact that everyone's congratulating him for something he clearly didn't intentionally aim for. He'd actually slacked his audition, but maybe that's what got him the spoiled prince's role.

"A-Ah, please, it's... not that great." He stammers, rather out of frustration more than humbleness. He rubs the back of his neck in s repeated, eager matter, the endless praises ticking him off even more.

"Aw, come on, Mogu! Embrace the prince in you!" Minhee emphasizes into his mic, followed by a fit of immature cackling from himself and Woobin. Jungmo clicks his tongue of annoyance, "This senior play can suck my a-"

"Cheer up, Jungmo. You're the center of attention-"

"That's just it! Sure, I'd like the fame and stuff, but for a stupid prince role? Come on, dude. No thanks."

Jungmo sighs out of exasperation, slouching further into his seat. He mutters a curse followed by the younger's name, cracking a smirk when Minhee doesn't bother to hide his whimper mixed with the sound of him shuffling against his bed sheets.

"Right, my guys, I'm heading out. I'm tired from all this fame," He concludes with a yawn, stretching his arms in front of himself, nodding in content when he hears his bone sockets pop (or crack, if you say it like that).

"Alright, g'night, princey." Minhee snickers. Woobin chuckles, "Yeah, lights out for you, your highness."

Jungmo mumbles a few sleepy slurs under his breath, clearing his throat as he disconnects from the FaceTime. He's so frustrated that he'd clicked a button one too many times, and his phone lags aren't helping.

Tomorrow's rehearsals are going to be hell.

"Is this okay?" A girl— who Jungmo had just realized was looking at him suggestively— mumbles lowly, her voice probably raspy on purpose as she measures his waist down with a measuring tape. She licks her lips and nibbles on the bottom one, but it really looks like she's trying to find the stuck piece of broccoli between her teeth with her tongue.

He gulps thickly, finding the situation not to his liking. "...it's not okay?" He answers rather in a questioning tone. She laughs, obviously not taking his answer seriously and resting her hand to his chest, "You're really funny."

He's had enough. He's uncomfortable, and really, really hot in this stuffy room with other people in the play who wouldn't care about his sticky situation. He's close to slapping this girl. That is, until the door opens slowly.

Jungmo's attention strays from the attempting girl to whoever had just come in, realizing that from the door was the only natural light that illuminates in the room. He ceiling lights make him sleepy, maybe because of how boring and dull it was.

Seeing the first ray on sunlight since a while caused him to squint when it shone directly at his eyes, the air now smelling grassy from the field directly outside the dusty storage room the students had (for some reason) voted to measure for costumes in.

"Um... does anyone know where I can find a plaster?" You ask softly, but loud enough to catch everyone's attention. It's quiet for a brief moment, and you panic internally, as if you'd just interrupted a starved wolf's meal.

But one of your classmates wave over for you, to which you scurry over to with a relieved sigh.

Jungmo's eyes couldn't leave your figure. He admired the nice taste in clothes you've spent all morning picking out, and your messy hair tied into a lazy style. He watched you wrap on the plaster around your finger, your tongue sticking out a little out of habit.

He doesn't know why, he really doesn't, but it makes him smile, seeing you struggle with the sticky side of the plaster.

"Hey," Jungmo finally says to the previous suggestive girl, and he fights down the urge to just cringe when she bats her lashes at him while purring out a response. He gestures his head towards your direction, "do you know who that is?"

"Oh, the clutz kid? Don't even bother-- she's lame, and always clumsy with herself." The girl rolls her eyes, twirling the ends of her hair. "She's came in for another plaster— She's clearly only pricking herself for some attention while making the play fits."

She makes the play's outfits? By hand?

Jungmo's impressed, and intrigued. He won't let this chance slip.

"Craaap," You hiss out, leaning your head back against the wall. It's the fifth time you've hurt yourself with the same needle. Yui snickers, "Should I get you another coke?"

"What? Why coke?" "...well, I'm getting coke, you want some?" "...yes please. I'll go look for some plasters... again."

She nods with a playful hum, dashing off to the vending machine all the way across the building. Sucking on the sweet, metallic tasting fluid from your finger, you slowly stand up, mentally preparing yourself for another trip for plasters.

That is-- until a sudden voice calls out a 'hey,'.

Turning around, your brows ride up in surprise when you see a tall boy clad in a black hoodie leaning on the wall you had been sitting against.

"Yeah?" You answer quietly, retracting your finger from your lips. The boy reaches up to scratch the back of his head with one hand as the other rummages into his hoodie's pouch.

"Well, uh, I noticed you were looking for some plasters a while ago, and um... figured you were clumsy. So I got you a pack," He reaches out, and you see a box of plasters.

Your chest tightens at his thoughtful actions. Stranger or not, he sure knew how to swoon people-- or at least, you.

"O-Oh! So it's obvious I'm pretty messy, huh?" You jest, accepting the box from his hand. He shrugs, "Eh, who isn't? Messy is good sometimes, right?"

"Right," You repeat, tearing the box open slowly. You spot more crimson seeping from your skin, which causes you to grab a plaster in a hurried matter.

Now, five minutes later, here you are back on the floor next to the kind boy who had bought you the pack of plasters.

"Thank you, by the way." You turn to him, a smile gracing your lips. The side of his lips quirks up, "Don't mention it, uh... I didn't catch your name."

"Y/N."

You extend a palm, and he grins at the amount of plasters it's covered in.

"Jungmo."

He envelopes your hand in his bigger one, a firm shake being the first step to a great connection.

#koo jungmo #cravity #cravity imagines #kang minhee #seo woobin #cravity x reader #jungmo imagines #park serim #allen ma #song hyeongjun #kim taeyoung #ahn seongmin #ham wonjin #produce x 101 #x1

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unsteadygalaxy · 3 years

Text

all is soft inside chapter 13

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3, my username is the same there!

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13. my heart still beats, and my skin still feels

And we're back! Thank you so, so much for your patience on this fic. I never intended for there to be a month in between chapters, but my life took a very sudden and very painful turn a few weeks ago that prevented me from writing for some time. I am unfortunately going through a divorce- something I never expected in a million years to happen. It's been very difficult to write about two characters falling in love while going through something like this. But I feel like I'm doing relatively well, and this chapter helped me to process some of my feelings about everything. Thank you again for your patience, and here we go! This chapter is a little shorter than the last few have been; sorry about that!

Brief reminder that I started writing and planning this fic before Pathfinder's Quest came out, so it does not align with canon. :)

Bloodhound settles the goggles in their lap, their hands eerily still, but Elliott only has eyes for their face. His mouth opens slightly, and he sucks in a light gasp. He never would have thought it possible, but they are so much more beautiful than he remembers. And he’s so close to them, too. Elliott is able to notice the details he had missed before now, like the fact that their gorgeous green eyes have the lightest rim of gold around the pupil. And Bloodhound has freckles! They dust their face lightly, none too prominent, but Elliott’s eyes roam over the constellation of dots, his heart dizzyingly happy. The slopes of their cheekbones are defined and proud, and their jawline is firm. Their pink lips are full and soft, parted slightly as they draw in shaking breaths. Bloodhound’s fire-red hair falls down past their shoulders in damp waves, and Elliott badly wants to run his hands through it. He pushes that desire way, way down to the bottom of his stomach.

The very last thing notices are the scars. All this time, all the moments he’s spent trying to remember them, he had had no recollection of them having scars. The quick glimpse he had got of them hadn’t left time for him to notice any. The presence of them doesn’t bother him at all- in fact, he only thinks they make them look more distinguished and beautiful. The same type of silvery spider web lines that are on their hands stretch across their face, only they’re a little darker. Each scar starts at the edges of their face and stretches inwards towards their nose. The middle of their face is the most unscathed, leaving a spotlight of unmarred ivory skin. Elliott’s eyes roam over their face, and if he wasn’t so enchanted, he might have been embarrassed at his open staring. A faded gash interrupts the softness of their mouth, and another scar slashes vertically through their right eye.

A soft smile crosses his face when he realizes the two of them have a matching scar.

His hand rises unconsciously, without his permission, and he reaches out. To his utter horror, they flinch, and their vulnerable eyes fill with fear. They capture his wrist in a flash, just before his fingers can caress their cheek.

“Nei. Vins- please do not do that ,” they mutter, and their voice is so broken, so afraid, so very unlike them that Elliott’s stomach feels as though it’s been crushed. Their eyes are clouded with such a deep anguish- pain so visceral and real that Elliott cannot hope to understand the depths of it. In this instant, he knows Bloodhound has endured much more than he could ever hope to know or discover, and he feels very, very small.

He’s harshly brought back to reality.

Their grip is tight around his arm, and it startles him. Bloodhound’s eyes flick down to where they’re holding him, and their face falls. They release his arm, and Elliott withdraws, refusing to rub away the light stinging.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Bloodhound, I-”

“Do not pity me. Please.” Their voice sounds so different without the mask- smoother and a little higher, but still so rich and full. Elliott is lost in it, drowning in the tendrils of smoke their voice emanates so effortlessly. His cheeks blaze and his entire body burns, sinking into the warmth and the fog.

“I-I wasn’t going to. I’m not. Or, I… don’t, I guess.” His hand seeks theirs again, and they flinch again when his bare skin makes contact with theirs. Who hurt them so badly that they’re afraid of holding hands? Elliott mourns, pins and needles piercing his heart into dust at the thought. He can’t take his eyes off theirs, and he drinks in their face like he’s dying of thirst. Sweat gathers between the lines of his palms, and he winces as he feels his palm soften in theirs.

“You’re beautiful.”

He blurts this without thinking, but Elliott believes it with his whole heart. He doesn’t care that they have scars- hell, he’s got some of his own. Dumb ones, cool ones, ones he’s not proud of…. All of them make him who he is, and he wouldn’t change any of them. Bloodhound’s scars look like silver threads stitching their skin together. If they allowed him, he would trace each scar with his fingers, and caress their face until he memorized every curve, every divot, every pathway.

“Ekki grí- Do not joke, Elliott,” they murmur, looking down. Their grip goes limp, and Elliott is too afraid to chase their hand as it retracts. “You are a master of wit, but I do not wish to be the subject of it. Do not lie to me.”

Ouch.

“Bloodhound, I’m not- I don’t-” He groans shortly, distressed with himself for not being able to articulate his feelings. “I’m not joking. I wouldn’t do that. I mean, yeah, I guess you’re right, I would. But not about this.” Their knees are still touching, and Elliott savors the small amount of contact. “Not about you.”

The tiniest bit of happiness breaks through the clouds of grief on their face, and a spike of joy pierces his heart. Bloodhound reaches for his hand and takes it, their grip hesitant at first, then sure. “Thank you, kæri vinur,” they murmur, their voice tight and obscured. “ Your kind heart is a true gipt.”

Unshed tears arise and linger in their eyes, and Elliott’s body freezes up a little. Should I say something? What do I even say? ‘Sorry for calling you beautiful’? ‘Sorry for making you cry’? Inadequacy begins to surge through his brain, and his shoulders tense up in embarrassment. He’s not the best at this. Comforting his mom is one thing, but comforting someone he’s interested in is a whole different ball game.

Bloodhound’s expression is drawn and tight, and there is no subtlety in what they’re feeling. It strikes him that they’ve never been expressionless like he had assumed; their mask has to be practical for more reasons than one. He wonders what they truly look like when they smile, and his heart leaps a little when he realizes that he’s probably made them smile tons of times- he’s just never had the privilege of seeing the effects of his jokes.

“D...Does it hurt?” he asks, and he immediately feels stupid. The question surprises him on the way out of his mouth- he definitely hadn’t been thinking of asking before.

“What?”

“Your scars. D…Do they hurt?’

They blink in surprise, and their eyes are guarded, but wide. “...Only when it storms.”

As if to articulate their words, a massive bolt of lightning strikes somewhere outside, and thunder follows it immediately. Elliott flinches, and the comforting feeling around them threatens to break, but the warmth of the fire reaches around the two of them, reminding him that this space is safe and uninterrupted by rainfall.

Bloodhound winces ever so slightly, and Elliott realizes with a jolt that their face must be aching. Maybe the mask has some type of pressure system to help? He hopes so, because he can’t imagine being in pain every time it rains. Thinking about Bloodhound hurting makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He wishes he could hold them in his arms, and the desire to do so is so powerful that before he knows it, he has placed his hand on their cheek ever so softly.

His own cheeks burn, and he stutters, “I- uh-”

“V-Vertu kyrr, kæri vinur,” they whisper, placing a hand over his, and the way they stutter makes his stomach turn curiously. “Be still. Please… please stay there. Your touch is… comforting.”

Elliott freezes, now even more insecure at his sudden breach of their space. But he keeps his hand there, and he stares into their eyes. The longer he looks, the more at ease he feels- all wrapped up in the eager space of their pale green irises, completely lost in the gorgeous expanse of their face. Elliott watches them, feels the way they incline their head ever so gently into their touching hands. He can feel the slight roughness of their scars in his palm, but the feeling does not disgust him. They could never disgust him.

Elliott shifts closer to them, and their breath hitches in their throat. He’s hardly able to believe how nervous and bold he is all at once. With others it’s simple- a bit of flirting, a wink, and a strategic fleeting touch can definitely get him places- but with Bloodhound, it feels like he’s a fawn on new legs, wobbling and struggling to find his balance. All impulses and instincts are out the window, and hell, he’s not even sure if they feel the same way about him. There’s a lot of things he doesn’t know, he realizes, and he inhales sharply when he remembers that one of those things is their name.

“Can I ask what your name is?” he stutters, and he longs to stroke their cheek with the back of his fingers. He settles for brushing his thumb across their face, just under their eye.

Bloodhound inhales sharply, and flinches away from his hand. “No,” they answer quickly, their shoulders tensing and their eyes darting away. A stinging sensation zings through Elliott’s gut, and Bloodhound seems to notice his discomfort as he retracts his hand. “Fyrirgefðu mér,” they murmur, but their voice is much softer, much kinder. “In my culture we believe true names have power, and as such, we leave them behind when we are given a title. Only our family and those we love intimately are given the honor of knowing our true names.” Their cheeks turn a curious pink color, and Elliott’s stomach flips inside him.

“O-Oh.” Disappointment wells in him, and he feels foolish. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.” His face burns in embarrassment once more, and they take his hand again.

“Do not worry, Elliott. It was an innocent question.” They pause for a moment, brows furrowing as they think. “I have not spoken that name aloud in… twenty-four years. It is quite foreign to me.” They look up and meet Elliott’s eyes. “I… often wonder if I will ever have the occasion to say it aloud again.”

He inhales softly, his lips parting, and a fuzzy sort of shock fills his limbs. Was that… Did they mean…? His mind races and goes blank all at once, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. Surely they didn’t mean him , did they? Is there any chance what they said was an invitation? Even with their full face in view, he can’t tell what they’re thinking. They stare at him, their eyes wide and shining, and he desperately wonders what’s in that beautiful head of theirs.

“I… I think you will,” he murmurs, sliding in closer to them. “There’s not a doubt in my mind. Someone amazing is gonna fall in love with you and… be worthy of hearing that name.” He looks down at the lining of his pants, inspecting it closely and refusing to meet Bloodhound’s gaze. Surely they would just… tell him if they had feelings for him, right? They’ve been direct enough with him this whole time- wouldn’t they just be up front with him?

It strikes him then that they’re sitting right in front of him, face completely bare, presumably in some degree of agony because of the storm, and they’re remaining in agony because of him. They consciously chose to remove their mask in front of him. Bloodhound made the concrete decision to show him their face, and he’s sitting here wondering if they trust him and care for him?

Elliott, you IDIOT.

His head tilts up until his eyes are level with theirs again. Bloodhound stares at him, and their beautiful lips part slightly, their green eyes guarded but yearning all at once. Elliott knows he’s leaping over the edge of something huge here, but still, he leans in slowly, so slowly. He swears his chest is vibrating from how hard his heart is beating, and his hands tremble. His lips are so, so close to theirs, and their breath washes over his chin, cold and… minty? Elliott’s forehead bumps against theirs, and he inhales sharply, wanting so bad to close those last few millimeters of space between him and them. His eyes fall closed, and he leans in…

“Elliott…”

Their voice is barely above a whisper, slipping from their lips in a soft sigh that holds so much meaning and none at all. His eyes fly open and he watches their face carefully, scouring their hills and valleys for any sign of protest or discomfort. He’s frozen in place, his skin sparking where it makes contact with theirs. Can he… should he...

And then they pull away.

Bloodhound does not meet Elliott’s eyes. “Ég get það ekki, ” they whisper, and while Elliott doesn’t understand, the meaning is clear. I can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the cavern of his stomach dissolving into shame. Rejection rises in his throat, coating his airway and tightening it. Slowly, he pulls away, but he keeps their hand in his. “I’m so sorry.”

Bloodhound pulls away from him, stands swiftly, and strides toward the kitchen. Their sudden absence from his side sends a chill down his spine, and disappointment shreds his heart into pieces. He was wrong. How could he have been so wrong? How could he have been so stupid? Bloodhound doesn’t think of him that way- of course they don’t. Why did Elliott even assume they did? What makes him special to them in the slightest? Stupid, stupid Elliott, being nice to someone doesn’t mean they want to jump into your arms, he thinks. They’re probably better off without me, anyway. They don’t need a distraction for the Games. God, I’m stupid. They’re probably not even interested, or maybe-

“It’s that doctor, isn’t it?” he questions, his throat beginning to close up without his permission. He clears it and brushes a nervous hand through his hair. “Boone, or something, right? I mean, he’s really attractive and he speaks your language, so I get it. You said you grew up together, and I just assumed that maybe you guys were just friends, but I guess I just totally misread the situation and you guys are- t-together together, or whatever, I don’t know. That’s fine, that’s totally fine, you know- I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Elliott, please ,” they implore, and their voice comes out stressed and pained. Their face is in their hands, and the firelight flickers across their being, making the drying ends of their hair glow. “It is not Boone. We are not together. We once were, but… that was many years ago.”

Elliott stares, utterly confused and frustrated. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, but still… why? Did I mess up or say something wrong?”

Bloodhound growls a sigh, a short sound that stings Elliott as it comes. “No,” they answer, their hands going to rub the back of their neck as their body tenses up. “No, you did nothing wrong. I just… I am not worthy of you, kæri vinur. I never will be.”

His jaw drops open and all he can do is stare at them, dumbfounded. Bloodhound? Not worthy of ME? Their back is to him, and he wishes he had the guts to go to them and take them in his arms. “W-What do you mean? You’re not worthy of me? I, uh, I was gonna say it’s the other way around.” Saying it out loud makes a funny feeling leap in his stomach, a feeling that he very much does not like.

A short, sharp sob hisses between their lips, and he’s not even really sure it is a sob. It sounds like a strangled laugh, but he can’t be sure. They turn to face him and he’s alarmed to find tears in their eyes. “I assure you, Elliott. The forréttindi- privilege- of being loved fully and completely was made unavailable to me long ago. There is no denying it, and no retrieving it. I have done too much, hurt too many, k-killed-” Their eyes go impossibly wide, and they slap a hand over their mouth.

Killed?

“...I’ve killed people, too, Bloodhound,” he murmurs, but the admission feels hollow. He hasn’t really killed anyone, not fully and completely. But the memories of broken bodies and spilled blood floats in the forefront of his mind- memories and images that often keep him up at night from how horrifying they are. Being in the Games had given him ample opportunities to be around death, though he had to admit, none of it was permanent. Bloodhound’s slip of the tongue feels… much more damning.

“You do not understand,” they hiss, and even though he knew it was coming, the pitch and force of their words slips a knife between his ribs and twists. “You could never understand.”

“Let me at least try,” he begs, standing from the couch. “Bloodhound, how can I understand if you won’t let me?”

“You do not need to understand, Elliott!” Their voice is desperate, raw, and the timbre of it makes Elliott’s heart ache inside him. Anguish etches into every line and scar of their face, obscuring the kindness and fear he had once seen there. “I will never be worthy of you, and it is directly because of my own aðgerðir og val- actions, choices. I came to terms with that long ago, and I suggest you do the same.” They lock eyes with him finally, their green irises swimming in tears, and their jaw is trembling as they try to keep it in place. “You deserve someone whole, untainted, hreinn og laus við þessar syndir sem ég hef framið-” They slip into their native tongue as sobs begin to press at their frame, and they make no attempt to correct themself.

He takes a few steps forward, holding out a hand to try and take one of theirs. “Bloodhound, I-”

“Don’t .” They push his hand away and step backwards, their heel hitting the corner of the couch. They wince, and Elliott has never wanted anything more than to gather them in his arms and hold them there until their grief was spent. He stares at them, his own lips beginning to tremble, and he swallows back the lump in his throat. He knows there is no changing their mind, no convincing them otherwise, and the lost opportunity hangs between them like a feather caught on an updraft, unlikely to touch down again.

“I think it is best that you leave.” Their voice is tight and low, almost as low as it would be with the mask on. They do not meet his eyes, and instead walk to the door.

Elliott’s body nearly crumbles under the waves of shame and pain crashing over him, but some unseen force keeps him standing. The warmth that had once surrounded them has been replaced by a stark cold, even though the fire still blazes in the hearth. The comfort he had felt was gone, replaced by a grating pain that rubs against him over and over again. “If that’s what you really want,” he replies.

They nod.

He bites his lip as he gathers his shoes and socks and pulls them on. They’re still the slightest bit damp, but he’s numb to the texture of them, too focused on the anguish starting to stir inside his chest. He moves as though he’s in a trance, and his feet carry him to the door. He wants so badly to reach out and touch them again, but there’s an unmistakable wall between them now, and to breach it would be unforgivable.

It’s entirely up to them to scale it now.

Bloodhound opens the door and makes sure to stay behind it. “I am sorry,” they murmur, their jaw still trembling.

“Me too.” He can’t meet their eyes.

Elliott steps out of the apartment and into the hallway, and the door shuts behind him with a soft click.

#apex #apex legends #miragehound #miragehound fanfiction #mirage #bloodhound #mirage apex #mirage apex legends #bloodhound apex #bloodhound apex legends #elliott witt #elliott witt apex #elliott witt apex legends #my writing

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mystic-shadows42 · 4 years

Text

Imagine: Argument Pt. 2

Roman awoke from the serum. He was disoriented for a while but he managed to will himself to stand.

He looked over at the table where he last saw you. When he didn’t see you there he hurriedly snapped out of it. He turned in circles not knowing where Dr. Pryce took you.

Roman had run out of the lab and noticed some of your clothing strewn across the sink.

It was full of blood and smelled foul. He picked up your bloody shirt and gripped it tightly. He caused this. All of it.

When he heard a sound come from a room he was quick to go over to the next room.

Sure enough, Dr. Pryce was in the room holding up a needle and flicking it with his finger.

“Where is she?”

“She’s not ready yet.” He stated not bothering to look at him.

“I need to see her.” When Dr. Pryce continued to ignore him, Roman grabbed his arm in a tight grip. “Now.”

“Very well but you should know she won’t be the same. She’ll have some impulse controls that’ll be difficult for her to be tamed.”

“I don’t care. I’ll deal with the consequences.”

“I’m not sure if you can,” Dr. Pryce challenged.

Roman was starting to lose patience now. He pushed Dr. Pryce back glowering down at him.

“Cut the bullshit.”

Dr. Pryce was familiar with the Godfrey family’s short temper. He knew never to keep them waiting for long.

“Fine.”

He walked over to one of the freezers and opened it. Roman’s view of you was blocked but he could see Dr. Pryce was injecting you with whatever was in the needle.

He held his hand out to what Roman was assuming was to help you walk. When your face came into view Roman was quick to be by your side.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what happened.”

When he touched your hand you retracted from his touch. You looked into his eyes knowing they looked familiar.

You touched his face lovingly, caressing his smooth skin. He closed his eyes at your touch. He felt relieved to have you here with him again.

Roman was surprised when you reached up to kiss him passionately. You slipped your tongue in his mouth smiling when he didn’t expect it.

When you stopped kissing him, Roman opened his eyes and was met with your eyes open. He saw your breathing quicken and your face contort to one of anger.

You bit his lip drawing blood. Next, you gripped his chin in a harsh grip then pushed him away from you. Roman was flung in the air knocking him into the back wall.

You ran out not knowing where you were going to go.

Roman grunted at the shard of glass he felt in his back. He pulled it out and tossed it aside.

“You scared her.” Dr. Pryce told him. “The last thing she remembers is you killing her. She’ll be easily frightened of her new profound abilities.”

“Abilities?”

“I brought her back to life. When you bit her your DNA mixed with hers. She’s a part of you now. Intertwined together as one.”

Roman was quiet trying to process all of this. He just wanted you to be safe.

“Go bring her back. We can’t have her encountering anybody right now.”

Roman stood up dusting off the broken glass on his body. He ran outside looking in different directions.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply trying to find your scent of blood. He narrowed his eyebrow when he indeed smelled blood, but not yours.

When he followed the scent he found you on the floor hunched over shuddering. Roman spotted a man, a woman, and a teen all dead on the floor.

“I couldn’t stop. I don’t know what’s wrong with me?” You said with your voice cracking. You turned to face Roman who was calm through it all.

You had a mouth full of fresh blood that was still dripping from your mouth.

“It’s okay. I can cover this up. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Roman said in a soft voice.

“I was just so hungry.”

You held onto Roman who then embraced you in his arms. He kissed the top of your head trying to soothe you.

“I’ll help you. We can control this I promise.” He held your face in his hands and looked into your eyes. They were bloodshot red. “Are you still hungry?”

You gripped his arms digging your nails into him. He instantly saw the change in you.

“So hungry.”

He caressed your hair trying to calm you down.

“I’m going to take you home so you can be fed properly, okay?”

You nodded your head eagerly.

“Why’d you do this to me?”

Roman was alarmed at how quickly your emotions had changed. You went from losing control to being guilt-ridden, to being angry, to now being sad.

“I didn’t mean to. I did this because I love you. You’ll learn to control it, I promise.” He held your hand with his. “We’ll get through this.” he gestured to the bodies. “We’ll clear all of this up like it never happened.”

Roman was ready to do whatever it took to keep you safe even at the expense of others. He knew for sure his mother wouldn’t like it and would probably do what she could to rid of you.

Though now Roman has Dr. Pryce on his side. He’s always fond of his creations and likes to see them succeed.

It was a challenge Roman was willing to take.

#Roman Godfrey #Roman Godfrey Imagine #Hemlock Grove #Hemlock Grove Imagine #Roman Godfrey fanfiction #Hemlock Grove fanfiction

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vhsrights · 3 years

Text

Only Losing You Matters

A jemily first kiss story, based off of the Minimal Loss timeline

for @top-jj-rights :) ily jame

WC: 1956

“I can take it.”

Maybe Emily could, but JJ couldn't. Hearing each blow against the agent flipped her stomach. She was nearly in a mind of her own, but there were other things to think of.

First off, this was an entire covert operation and any rash decisions on her part would further endanger Emily, let alone exposing Spencer as well. Second, she was pregnant, thanks to the imbecilic detective that had done that to her. JJ knew that her feelings against him were over-exaggerated, but she couldn’t help it. It had felt like his every move was actively against what she wanted, solely for his comfort. That didn’t do well to add on to the fact that he had told the team about her pregnancy and that she had a generally strong disliking towards most men. The thoughts fell to the background of her mind as she once more focused on where she was.

The crash of what sounded like broken glass made her throw the headphones down. Why the hell was she so irresponsible? What made Emily think that she could just toy around with her own life like that? How dare she? JJ had a thousand words in her head to throw at Emily. Some were more emphatic than others but she couldn’t help it. The only thing that mattered was Emily. She needed the woman safe again, in her arms, and this situation made it seem impossible.

Eventually, the sound from Emily’s side of the mic died down. They heard her get moved to her room, kept alone. JJ almost let out a sigh of relief. Almost. Hearing the door to Emily’s room open caught her breath in her throat. They were no strangers to cases like this and she understood that Cyrus had virtually no limits. The soft, nurturing sound of an older woman’s voice through the mic was the closest to relief that she had felt in hours.

They made much haste in relaying their signal to rescue Emily after the woman had gone. Once Emily had confirmed her side of things, all they could do was wait. Unfortunately, that was not something that JJ had always been adept at doing. The woman paced frantically, her eyes shifting, and hands hurriedly tangling and detangling. She checked her watch over and over again, willing the needles on the timepiece to approach 3 AM faster.

When the time showed 3 AM, it was time. They were ready to free the compound and save their agents. JJ’s heart beat in her throat. What if they didn’t find Emily? What if she had been moved? What if they hadn’t accounted for one of Cyrus’ contingencies? What if JJ lost Emily?

What if, JJ lost Emily?

The question bounced around her in head unanswered. JJ had the answer but didn’t dare voice or think it. That would shatter her heart beyond repair. She wouldn’t be able to take care of herself, let alone the baby that she had on the way. Not without Emily. Emily had always had her back, supporting her no questions asked. Emily had always held her hand and kept JJ’s head up high, reminding the blonde: she was right at her side. That was what JJ had loved about her since day 1.

Love. Of course, it had to be love. JJ had fallen for her best friend, the woman who deserved the world in her hands, knowing that she would never get it back. Some days she cursed herself for it. Other days, she could do nothing more than to marvel at Emily and the woman she was.

Once more, JJ was ripped from her internal war. The compound that they had been watching, that had been harboring Emily, burst into flames. People slowly emerged from the spreading embers that kept the flame ablaze. All JJ could think of was Emily. She only needed Emily in that moment, forgetting the rest of her team and responsibilities. JJ prayed to whatever higher power she could imagine. To simply bring her Emily back to her. She couldn’t go on without her, not like this and not ever. The blonde screamed out for Emily.

She screamed and searched. She went as close to the compound as she could. JJ felt the crushing weight of futility begin to sink onto her shoulders.

What if she had failed?

The woman had no more time to speculate before Emily emerged from the cinders. Her arms were wrapped around a woman that was begging to go back in. Emily’s clothes were ragged, her body littered with injuries, and her gait was reduced to a supported limp. JJ had heard the screams of the compound members when the fire first erupted. However, now, with Emily in her sight, nothing else registered. JJ ran as fast as her legs allowed towards the brunette. She just needed confirmation that Emily was okay.

She needed to feel the breaths that Emily took in. She needed to feel the woman’s heartbeat against her damaged skin. She needed any inkling of hope that things would be okay. She needed to know that she wasn’t dreaming.

Their bodies collided and JJ could have sworn that the universe shifted. The blonde had Emily in her arms, alive and breathing. Her grip tightened around Emily, never wanting to let go. JJ could feel the life in the agent and the plethora of adrenaline-fueled insults surged through her head again.

“Please don’t ever be that stupid again.” The words escaped JJ’s lips with a shudder.

“I can’t promise that.”

Even having just gone through brutal events, Emily made time to quip. JJ simply rolled her eyes and squeezed the woman harder. She could give her a piece of her mind later. The women stood in the locked embrace for longer than either cared to count. Eventually, Derek broke them up to get Emily medically checked out but JJ stuck to her side.

JJ stayed by her side for the rest of the day. She drove them back to the hotel, mulling over what she could say to the woman that rested in the passenger seat. Her anger was beginning to bubble up again. It was purely out of worry and care for Emily, but she wondered if the brunette would ever understand.

JJ looked over to Emily again, gently resting her hand on top of hers. She couldn’t hold it but the position gave her enough solace in the moment itself. Emily barely stirred in her seat, catching up on the restless hours that she had spent in the compound cot.

They were able to get up to their shared room without any more chaos or mishaps. However, once the door closed behind them, JJ’s anger had other ideas. Words came out of JJ’s mouth before she could stop, think, or even process where her head was at.

“Why are you such an idiot? Huh?” She spoke harshly, with her back turned to Emily, undoing her things. “Can you please tell me that it’s not just for kicks?”

“Excuse me?” Emily stood baffled at JJ’s outburst, still partially disoriented.

“I don’t know. It’s like you have some kind of tendency to always just headfirst into fire without a second thought.” JJ had turned to face her best friend now, the concern and anger clear as day on her face.

“Jen, I was just doing that to protect Reid. You guys didn’t hear it but he cocked a gun to Spence’s head. What else was I supposed to do?!” Emily’s voice rose at the end of the sentence, sending JJ an unspoken invitation to do the same

“Talk Cyrus down! Isn’t that what you do as a profiler?! Right now, as bad as it sounds, I don’t even care about Reid!” JJ’s words were loud and clipped. They had no hesitation in delivering her harsh message. “The only thing that ever mattered to me was losing you!”

“JJ, that isn’t always an option! I tried, but neither of us would have made it out of there alive!” Emily slammed the clothes in her hand down on the bed.

She truly couldn’t believe what JJ was saying. When she was taking the beating by Cyrus and splayed out in her compound cot, JJ was the only thing on her mind. She had been the main thing on her mind since she met the woman. The woman was Emily’s only place of solace, regardless of the fact that she thought it would never be returned.

“God damn it, Emily! Can’t you see what I’m trying to tell you?! Don’t you understand that I can not go on without you? Don’t you see that you are my home? How can you not see that I need you with me? When will you get it through your thick skull, that you’re the only one I want? How can I make you understand that I can’t do this without out you? What magical words do I have to say? HUH?!”

The words had shocked Emily. She truly hadn’t expected such a visceral reaction from the blonde. Then, JJ words sunk in. You’re the only one I want. Emily couldn’t tell if it was intentional or simply a Freudian slip. Either way, the message JJ was sending couldn’t be what she thought it was.

JJ would never have feelings for someone like her. After all, she was damaged and messed things up. Today was the proof for that. Emily could barely hear the rest of what JJ said. She just wanted to retract away.

JJ watched the brunette slowly retreat into herself. The harsh words came to a stop and all of the feelings rose. To this day, JJ can’t tell whether it was some kind of invisible push or the weight of her emotions that drove to the other woman. She likes to believe it was the universe pulling them together when they clearly needed each other.

She took long, hurried strides to reach Emily. Nothing else was making sense in the moment. There had to be some way to get Emily to stay with her at that moment. That was when she felt some sort of electricity buzz through her body. The blonde jumped forward and grabbed Emily’s lips with her own. That was good enough to bring Emily out of her trance.

At first, Emily didn’t register what was happening. She thought she was dreaming. Then, when JJ’s hands wrapped around her waist, she knew it was anything but that. She pushed back into the kiss with the force that she had been met. The women stood for a solid minute, lip locked.

Her lips are soft and taste sweet.

Her lips are rough but they feel like home.

They finally pulled back, entranced, and simply looked at each other. However, this wasn’t simply watching the other’s features. The two saw what each other was, how they were, and what the two of them could be. Emily was the first to smile which led to the women laughing out of relief.

“Don’t scare me like that again, Em. I’m not joking. The only thing that matters to me is losing you.”

She spoke again before Emily could ask the question she knew was lingering in her mind.

“I broke up with Will that night in New York. I couldn’t stand him and I was also infatuated with someone else. So what do you say, wanna take a try at us?”

Emily wrapped her arms around the blonde and looked from her to her pregnant belly. A smile that shined bright enough to light the world came to her face.

“Absolutely. I would be more than honored to.”

#mc thinking hours #writing #jemily #minimal loss #prompts #mc content hours

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dear-yandere · 4 years

Text

ungrateful.

yandere! rohan kishibe. tw: self-inflicted starvation, forced drugging, confinement. au: rohan is a normal mangaka with no stand bc ... that would complicate things.

art credit: zzyzzyy.

6 am.

his day starts at 6 am, an hour spent pain-painstakingly crafting a balanced breakfast for his picky little muse — a fucking ungrateful one at that. food would paint the floors as soon as you awake because you’d act like nothing more than a child throwing a tantrum on good days. he expected it, at first, because that’s all you really were to him — a childish pest. at least...that’s all you used to be. another burden on his shoulders, another annoyance that had sauntered into his life — a wasp’s nest built just beneath his nose, waiting to bite.

falling in love with you truly was a joke, but rohan was a fool for letting it happen.

leftover food, coated with a thick layer of translucent spit, dribbled down your chin and stained the napkin stuffed down your shirt. the fact you needed a bib to eat was disgusting, but you’ve proven how uncooperative you intended to be as you rejected every meal. there’s no trying with you, was there? so why try? the question itself is stupid to him, he soon found, because as infuriating as it was, he still kept trying — he still kept hoping. is this what it means to be in love? is this why he could never understand this incessant feeling?

what a fucking tragedy.

“can you at least try to chew?” rohan clicks his teeth and shoved the chopsticks against your lips, frustrated when you didn’t listen for the tenth time. “you’re acting like an ungrateful child. do i have to spell it out for you? you’ll die if you don’t eat.”

talking to you is silly, really; he never expects a response, considering you refused to open your mouth whenever he’s around. your lips were already bleeding from how harshly he’d shoved the utensil against them; he hates using force, but he was running out of options and dealing with a dead body on his hands would be another burden he doesn’t need. “you don’t want to die, do you?” he asks, giving you one last chance to earn his forgiveness — no response.

“at least respond when you’re spoken to.” he hisses, moving away slowly as if backing away from a rabid animal. your eyes brightened at that, the tiniest hint of hope fluttering into the light of your eyes — until he pulls a sedative from his pocket.

“rohan--”

“oh? talking now, i see. don’t give me that look. you brought this on yourself.” he preps the clear fluid, flicking the tube and letting the liquid settle against the plastic syringe. the sight of it was unsettling to him, ironic at best, but he couldn’t bear watching you slowly wither away. you were nearly skin and bones at this point, and rohan has never done well with guilt — especially when he has to clean up his own messes.

“sit still.”

“no! get away from me!” toenails dig against wooden floorboards,catching in the divets when you try to crawl away. if your eyes weren’t trained on him like a deer caught in headlights, you wouldn’t hear his approach in the slightest — blood rushed against your ears as if you were drowning in an ocean. desperate. you were desperate, completely at his mercy, an animal ready to be butchered.

“rohan, please!”

— why was this happening to you and not someone else?

“this hurts me more than it’ll hurt you.” he insists, but you couldn’t wrap your head around his twisted way of thinking. forcing you to eat is far more painful than inflicting it, and if he did it wrong, your lungs will collapse. at best, you’ll choke and die on your own spit. you’d trusted him, at some point, but it’s hard to believe he’s the same person as back then.

“i’m sorry! i’ll do anything, but please don’t do this—” you hardly felt the needle dig into your skin, but the effects were immediate. like they’d been shot with liquid lead, your arms fell limp at your side. a disgusting, numbing sensation spread across the length of your leg and pinned it against the hardwood floors.

“you’ll do anything?” came his condescending, velvety reply. “you act like you’re full of regret , but i know you don’t really mean it.” he retracts the needle and watches as you lose feeling in every limb and muscle — it was amusing really, a learning experience for his manga. he’s tempted to take notes, but for once, someone other than him took priority. what an unusual feeling, to put someone’s health above your own; perhaps he was wrong, perhaps this was love. he’ll certainly take notes on that later...

a faint shine catches the corner of his eye, and his lips twitch into a condescending smile at the sight of your tears. right now, you must be feeling so scared after realizing your limbs and muscles no longer work. he feels a twinge of sympathy, but that’s easily overshadowed by the curiosity of your sheer gall. “why are you crying? you knew this would happen.” he remarks and wipes the stray tears with your bib, face twisted in disgust. you haven’t even started eating and you’ve already made a mess of things. truly, you’re lucky he loves you. any other sane person would’ve thrown you to the curb by this point.

“i told you this would happen if you don’t listen.” he chastised, but again he expects no response, as if he’s talking to a doll; though, he imagines it’s hard to respond under the influence of a tranquilizer. it doesn’t take long for your eyes to hesitantly close, though your tears refuse to relent. no matter...

“you’ll thank me later."

#yandere rohan kishibe x reader #yandere kishibe rohan x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #kishibe rohan x reader #rohan kishibe #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #*scenario #tw starvation #tw drugging #tw confinement

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angelsfalling16 · 4 years

Text

“You can have it. You know you can have it, Baz.”

I wrote a little something that was inspired by the asks that @adamarks answered earlier. It’s a little longer than I thought it would be, but I really enjoyed writing it. (Also, it was a great way to procrastinate writing smut haha)

This isn’t on ao3 yet because I couldn’t think of a real title, and I have no idea to tag this.

Summary: Simon dreams about Baz drinking his blood, and he imagines what happened with the Humdrum in the woods on Christmas day going a little bit differently...

***

Simon

I can't stop dreaming about it.

I know that Baz would never agree to it. He's always so careful with me, not wanting to hurt me, but I trust him. I trust him with everything that I have, and I trust that he could do this without hurting me if he wanted.

The dream is the same most nights:

It begins that fateful Christmas morning when I wake in Baz’s room to find him missing. I move through Baz’s house, following that familiar bad sucking feeling that only comes from the Humdrum out through the snow and into the private forest that lines one side of the Pitch Manor.

I keep going, trying to push my magic down and ignoring the way that the tree branches scratch at my skin like fingernails. I barely feel it because all I can think about is the Humdrum and whether Baz is in danger.

It’s while I’m talking to the Humdrum that I finally hear Baz, and without even casting a spell, my magic makes me glow bright, illuminating the space around me. But I still can’t see him. All I can imagine is that he’s somewhere in pain.

“Simon?” A voice that is unmistakably Baz’s calls, and a small wave of relief rushes through me.

“Baz?” I call, looking around for him. “Are you okay?”

He shouts my name and I finally catch sight of him, about twenty feet in front of me, clinging to a tree. The Humdrum has moved to sit in a tree above us, watching us with a wild grin like he’s simply a spectator of a sport and Baz and I are meant to be fighting each other.

I won’t fight him, though, not anymore.

I run towards him, calling out to him, and when he looks up, I can see that his eyes are so dilated that they’re almost fully black, and his fangs have filled his mouth.

Every bone in my body is screaming at me to get away, to move towards safety, but I don’t listen to it, moving between the trees to get closer to him.

Baz backs away though, shaking his head. “Something’s wrong. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

He shakes his head again, like he’s trying to shake something away. “It’s different. I saw a younger you in the forest. You looked just like you did when I first met you.” His eyes go distant for a moment as he thinks about it, but then the wild look is back. “At first, I thought you were dead,” he growls, sounding almost choked as he says it. “I thought that it was a Visiting.”

“It wasn’t me,” I tell him, taking a careful step toward him in the way you would if you were trying not to startle a wild animal. “It was the Humdrum.”

Baz looks at me, but it’s like he looks right through me. He seems to be struggling, and I wish that I could help him.

“You put your hand on my face, and you pushed it into me,” he says. I try to tell him that it wasn’t me, but he still steps backwards, away from me. “It wasn’t magic, though. It was like a void. You pushed it into me, and it pushed everything else out to make room for it.”

“Baz,” I say. “Let me help you.”

He shakes his head again and keeps shaking it, like he can’t really control it.

I want to move closer, to help him, but I’m not sure how.

The Humdrum speaks again, and he is standing behind Baz now. He reaches out to touch Baz’s spine as he says, “With creatures, all I have to do is take what I got and give it to them.”

Baz makes a whining sound that cuts me deep. He sounds so pained as he unfolds so much that his back arches.

My hands shake with the need to do something, to help him, and my magic is flying off of me in sparks, uncontrollable.

“What?” I ask the Humdrum. “What do you give them?”

He shrugs, something I do a lot, and I can see why people might get annoyed when I do it. “Nothing,” he says calmly, matter-of-factly. “I give them some of my nothing.”

Baz finally looks at me again, and he somehow looks even more wild than he did before. His fangs look more menacing, and there’s even less of him in his eyes as he takes a forced step forward.

“Get away, Simon,” he warns. “I’m so hungry.”

I stand my ground. I won’t back away. Not now. Not ever. I will stand by Baz even if it is an immensely stupid thing to do. Even if it kills me.

The Humdrum repeats the thing about how he gave Baz some of his nothing before continuing. “The creatures are drawn to the biggest something of all – you. Which causes you to give me more nothing, and it’s like a game.”

I was right about him being a spectator. This is all just a game to him. My life, Baz’s life, all of it. It’s just some sick game where no one wins, and I don’t see a point to it. And I don’t know how to stop it.

I don’t have long to think about it, though, because Baz continues to creep towards, but I continue to stand my ground.

He yells at me to get away, telling me again that he’s hungry, but I don’t budge.

“What are you hungry for, Baz?” I ask him.

“For you!” He yells, like the words are ripped out of him. “For magic, for blood. For everything. “For you, for magic,” he repeats.

A tree stands between me and Baz, and he rips it from the ground, tossing it aside. I freeze. Not in fear, but in a weird kind of awe.

Baz charges at me, and I catch him as we roll to the ground. We struggle for a while, my magic working against his strength until I finally manage to grasp his face.

“You can have it,” I tell him, holding his head back and trying to get him to meet my eyes. “You know you can have it, Baz.” Me, my magic, my blood. Anything. Everything. He can have whatever he wants from me.

One hand grips his hair while the other cradles his jaw firmly, and I let go of my magic, pouring it into him. I push as much as I can into him. He can have it all if it will make him feel better.

He makes a sound like a sob, and he stops trying to fight me. I can feel the emptiness inside of him, and I can feel my magic pouring into him and filling him up. It just keeps flowing. And flowing. Until Baz’s body starts to sag against mine.

My magic fills him, but it isn’t enough this time.

I can still feel an emptiness inside of him, a hunger, but it isn’t for magic anymore.

Using my grasp on his hair, I push his face into my neck.

“Take it,” I whisper. “Take whatever you need. You can have it.”

“No, Simon,” he says, his voice strained.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I want you to have it.”

I can feel him try to fight it, fight the hunger that his body is still filled with, but he can’t fight it for long. He gives in, and the next thing I feel is the piercing of his fangs into my neck.

I gasp, but it only hurts for a moment, the way a needle stings when it goes into you. Only this time it’s two needles, feeding on me, draining me of my blood. Then it starts to feel good almost.

It’s a strange feeling, and I don’t have the words to describe it, but I know that Baz isn’t hurting me. He can’t hurt me. I’m giving it to him, giving him whatever he needs, and that is enough.

I’m not sure how much time passes before he pulls away because I feel a little dizzy from the weird pleasure and drained feeling that I derive from him drinking from me. All I know is that I’m still alive when he manages to stop himself, pulling back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

I am alive, and so is he.

His fangs slowly retract after a moment, and his cheeks flush a light shade of pink as he finally meets my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t,” I say weakly. I’m tired after giving away some of my magic and my blood, but I feel good. “Don’t apologize.”

I pull him into my arms, ignoring whatever the Humdrum says next, and I press a kiss to his temple, trying to convey to him that it’s okay, that I’m not mad at him, that we’re both okay.

I usually wake up after that, and the dream is always the same. He always stops. He only takes what he needs and he doesn't turn me.

I believe that him drinking my blood would change things between us, but only for the better.

In the dream, it feels like it brings us close. So much closer than I'll ever be with anyone else. It creates a mix of love and trust and want. It’s amazing, and I want to experience it for real.

I look over at Baz who is still asleep, and I push a strand of hair out of his face.

I imagine telling him what I want, that I want him to bite me - not turn me but just taste me. I want him to know that I trust him to do this.

But I can already hear what he'll say. "No. It's too dangerous, Simon. I won't do that. I will never drink human blood." Then he'll turn away from me and be broody for the rest of the day.

There is only one way that he would ever drink my blood, and that’s if he was desperate enough. And even then, I would probably have to make him do it, just like I had to in the dream.

With a sigh, I let my eyes fall shut again. If I can't have what I want in real life, at least I am able to experience it in my dreams.

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childrenofthesunny · 3 years

Text

Seek Him Who My Soul Loveth (2/2)

Part 1: link

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

Crowley somehow managed to keep his feet coordinated enough to carry him up the stairs without incident, eyes locked on the broad expanse of Aziraphale's back. Aziraphale glanced back over his shoulder as they reached the landing, as if making sure Crowley was still following.

With a smile, Aziraphale opened the door to his bedroom, gesturing for Crowley to go in ahead of him. Crowley had never been inside Aziraphale's bedroom before, but was entirely unsurprised to find the contents of the bookshelf overflowing, spilling out onto every stable flat surface in the room. Aziraphale kept the main light off and dimmed the reading light to the lowest setting possible, in deference to the sensitivity of Crowley's eyes.

The bed was the same as Crowley's, albeit with far paler sheets. Somehow, it looked so much more inviting than his own.

He should have taken the floor downstairs. He was going to get all sorts of ideas being laid out in Aziraphale's bed, and he wouldn't be able to act on any of them.

"So, we'll start with your neck and work our way down, how does that sound?"

"Nyeah, sounds good," Crowley said vaguely, trying very hard not to feel let down by the perfunctory, business-like clip of Aziraphale's words. The other man was doing him a kindness, he shouldn't be so ungrateful. It wasn't Aziraphale's fault that he didn't understand what having Aziraphale's hands touching him was going to do to Crowley.

"Excellent," Aziraphale replied, clapping his hands together briefly before gesturing towards the bed. "Please, won't you lie down?"

"Shouldn't I take off my shirt first? Make it easier for you?" Crowley asked, feeling both bold and stupid. It was a risky suggestion, he knew. In many ways, it would make things harder for him, place him further along the path of temptation. And perhaps that was why he'd done it to begin with – to give Aziraphale a chance to realise that it would be impossible for Crowley to experience something like this innocently. To give him the opportunity to firmly remind Crowley that he shouldn't be reading into things, or to retract his offer of assistance entirely, and tell Crowley to leave his room.

Wouldn't it be better, in the long run, for Aziraphale to reject him now? To leave Crowley to suffer this pain as a form of penance, without the guilt of having forced Aziraphale into doing things that he might only realise the significance of after the fact?

Aziraphale's breath hitched and he paused, staring wide-eyed, finally seeming to realise. Silence descended between them, heavy like a shroud, and for a moment, Crowley felt the first threads of panic beginning to curl around his heart, his lungs, threatening to tighten like a vice. Much as he knew it would be for the best, the prospect of putting Aziraphale in the position of having to let him down gently made Crowley want to bury himself alive.

"No," Aziraphale said, and the threads turned needle-sharp, piercing Crowley's organs and leaving him feeling like he was drowning. Then Aziraphale continued, shakily, the formal tone completely gone, "Please, allow me. I wouldn't want you to put any more strain on your back than you have already."

The words were hesitant, like Aziraphale couldn't quite admit, even to himself, that the two of them touching skin to skin might not feel entirely platonic.

He had to know. Surely, he knew, deep down, he wouldn't be behaving with such uncertainty if he didn't.

It was still a flimsy excuse, but Crowley was far too weak to resist. He stopped breathing entirely as Aziraphale reached for him with trembling fingers. He didn't dare move an inch as the other man approached him, terrified of frightening him off after all.

Aziraphale's fingers grazed the underside of Crowley's chin as they curled around his clerical tab, working it loose and setting it down gently on the bedside table – or, more accurately, setting it down atop the precarious pile of books stacked onto the bedside table. Crowley swallowed desperately, trying in vain to calm the goosebumps that had erupted over his skin all the way down to his wrists. The glancing path Aziraphale's fingers had travelled blazed with heat, like he'd been branded. Like anyone who looked at him, now, would instantly be able to see all the lustful thoughts that had immediately jumped to the fore of Crowley's mind. How he imagined those soft, steady fingers cupping his jaw and drawing him in close, solid arms curling around him in a protective embrace, pink lips pressing gently against his own–

Aziraphale turned back around and reached for the top button of Crowley's shirt, then paused, the heat of his palms bleeding through the thin black cotton as his hands hovered less than an inch from Crowley's chest. "All right?" he asked.

"Yup," Crowley replied, slowly dying.

Aziraphale worked the buttons of Crowley's shirt open a fraction slower than propriety demanded, forcing Crowley to finally gasp in a fresh breath of air or risk passing out. The shuddering of his chest made Aziraphale's fingers graze against him again, and Crowley all but keened at the sensation, knees close to buckling.

As a rule, Crowley avoided touch. He'd always felt that it was the better option, that any deviation would invariably set off a slow descent into sin. That by denying himself entirely, it would be easier to suppress his urges, as he wouldn't truly know what he was missing out on. He wondered, now, whether that had been a mistake – that by refusing to allow himself to receive a kind touch for all these years, he had only made himself that much more susceptible to the effects of a gentle hand against his bare skin. If this was how he was already reacting to an accidental touch, how was he going to survive Aziraphale's hands pressed against him with intention?

The bottom button of his shirt finally popped free, almost making Crowley sway into the motion as Aziraphale's hands began to pull away. Horrified, Crowley hastily forestalled the movement of his hips, very carefully keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Still, he saw Aziraphale's hands drift upwards to the parted front of Crowley's shirt. Instead of taking hold of the fabric to ease it off over Crowley's arms, however, Aziraphale's hands slipped beneath, warm palms brushing along Crowley's shoulders as he pushed the shirt down over his arms.

Crowley made a broken little sound and kept his face resolutely turned away, knowing that if he met Aziraphale's gaze now, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from kissing him, and ruining everything.

"Sorry," Aziraphale murmured.

It took Crowley a second or two to parse the fact that Aziraphale was giving him the excuse of his sore back for the sound he'd just made. "'S OK," he managed. "My own fault, anyway."

He dared to pray that Aziraphale wouldn't notice, or at the very least wouldn't comment on, the fact that his nipples were stiffly standing at attention.

Aziraphale caught the shirt before it could fall and stepped away, also avoiding eye contact as he rebuttoned the shirt. Crowley couldn't help but think of how it would still be warm from sitting against his skin, that Aziraphale would still be able to feel some of Crowley's heat beneath his fingertips.

"You can go lie down, now," Aziraphale said over his shoulder, voice only a little unsteady as he carefully folded the shirt and laid it out on top of a stack of books, next to the one beneath Crowley's collar. Crowley nodded jerkily, all but rushing for the bed, grateful for the opportunity to hide the shameful reaction his body was already having to Aziraphale's proximity.

He laid himself face-down on the bed, arms tucking in around Aziraphale's pillow. He settled in, breathing in Aziraphale's scent from the pillow as subtly as he could.

The mattress dipped beside him, presumably Aziraphale taking a seat. Only, Aziraphale then shifted further. Crowley realised he hadn't sat down at all, just put one knee up on the bed so that he could swing his other leg over the back of Crowley's thighs, all but straddling him.

"Wh– Aziraphale–"

"Is this all right?" Aziraphale asked, hands resting atop his own thighs. "I just wanted to be sure I had the best angle, but I can do it differently if you aren't comfortable."

"'S fine," Crowley managed, swallowing the quiet sound he wanted to make when Aziraphale took that as a cue to settle more firmly against his thighs. Crowley was still twisted part of the way around to look at him, and he was finding it difficult to not let his eyes linger on the thick barrel of Aziraphale's chest towering over him.

"Neck first, yes?"

"Mm," Crowley agreed, unable to summon words when he was trying so hard to distract himself from the coil of heat unfurling low in his abdomen.

"Face down, please."

Crowley shuffled the pillow down a bit, tucking it under his chin, so that he could press his forehead against the mattress and still breathe. Not that he seemed to be doing a particularly good job of that, air catching in his throat in near-inaudible little gasps.

One thick, warm hand curved gently around Crowley's shoulder, fingertips brushing along the inked lines of the snake coiled around his arm. It was the first time anyone had touched his arm since he'd had the tattoo done. He wanted so desperately for Aziraphale to trace along every curve and scale, to openly admire the artwork and the canvas beneath it.

He didn't, of course, hand instead pressing Crowley down onto the bed and keeping him still. The other curled around the juncture of Crowley's other shoulder and his neck, thumb digging into the tension that had built at the base of his skull.

"Mrghhh," Crowley groaned, unable to help but react to the touch. Just a slight change of motion, and Aziraphale could be running his fingers through Crowley's hair, tugging gently on it to make him gasp, slowly petting it and telling him how lovely it looked–

No. He had to stop thinking like that. Their duty was to the Church first and foremost, that sort of personal intimacy wasn't something either of them were destined for. This was the closest they were going to get to anything like that, and that was fine.

It would be fine.

The firm press of Aziraphale's fingers made their way to the nape of Crowley's neck, sending a shudder all the way down his spine.

Crowley bit down on the blasphemy that surged to the tip of his tongue. But would it even be taking the Lord's name in vain, when Aziraphale's hands on him made him feel closer to Heaven than any prayer that had ever crossed his lips?

Still. Better to not risk it.

Aziraphale's hands skimmed over his shoulder blades in a way that Crowley allowed himself to think felt almost reverential, and then his thumbs pressed into a particularly knotted muscle to the right of Crowley's spine.

"Hgnhhhk," Crowley garbled, back arching involuntarily away from the pressure of Aziraphale's touch, even as he quite literally ached for more. Dizzily, he wondered whether this was what divine ecstasy felt like, an overwhelming sweet agony that left his eyes watering and his lungs breathless.

"There's the culprit," Aziraphale said happily, thumb rolling in firm circles as he eased the muscle loose.

"Nghhhhn," Crowley grunted, turning his face to press it against the pillow, hiding his tears. Aziraphale's scent filled his nose and he trembled, the tension in his shoulders slowly giving way under the steady, sure pressure of Aziraphale's hands.

"How does that feel?" Aziraphale asked softly, fingers digging into flesh. "Not too hard?"

Crowley was, in fact, very hard at this point, but somehow he doubted that was what Aziraphale was asking. "No, no, 's perfect, more'n perfect," Crowley babbled, words slurring together in his haste. "So good, you feel so good, I–" Crowley promptly shut his mouth with an audible clacking of teeth, knowing that he was straying far too close to unacceptable territory. Instead, he let his words shift into a formless groan as Aziraphale found a new knot to press his thumbs into.

Aziraphale tsked at him. "Just look how knotted up you've gotten, you really must take better care of yourself."

Screw that. Crowley was going to toil in the gardens from dawn to dusk every day, if his reward would be the firm pressure of Aziraphale's hands against him.

Aziraphale moved down along Crowley's shoulders in inches, seemingly able to home in on every tight muscle with unerring accuracy. His hands didn't seem to tire at all, and Crowley bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to distract himself from the desire to turn around and watch the flex of Aziraphale's arms as he worked.

It was hard to remember just why he wouldn't be able to get away with that. The soft glow of the reading light lent the whole scene a dream-like quality, almost made him believe that if he turned around and reached out, that Aziraphale would reach back, draw him in and hold him close.

Crowley gripped the pillow beneath him tighter, and didn't turn.

Aziraphale's thumbs nestled into the valley of Crowley's spine, hands spread like wings as they pushed up along Crowley's back, forming perfectly to the contours of his shoulder blades. They slowly swept back down and fluttered over the divots of Crowley's ribs, making the breath he drew beneath them shudder in kind. His waist was slender enough that when Aziraphale's hands eventually travelled that low, his fingertips curled partway around Crowley's sides.

At this point, it seemed like it would actually be better for Crowley if he were to come to fruition, as it were. He knew how to keep himself quiet – teenage years spent living with paper-thin walls would do that to you – and at this point, it would take him so long to calm down after the massage was done that even Aziraphale would have no choice but to grow suspicious.

"That's the spot," Crowley croaked, hips jerking in a way that he hoped looked like an involuntary response to the pressure being placed against the base of his spine. Aziraphale obligingly shifted forward, driving down more force through his thumbs. Crowley felt something loosen and shift, and groaned in relief, hips rolling against the mattress in a slow, subtle grind.

When Aziraphale settled back down on the backs of Crowley's thighs, Crowley felt something hard pressing against the bottom curve of his arse.

They both froze.

Is that a Bible in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? Crowley's brain supplied, a little hysterically, and Crowley had to tamp down on the mad urge to start giggling.

Aziraphale's hands had gone rigid against Crowley's skin, like he wanted to pull away, but couldn't remember how. When he spoke, his voice was thick and strained. "Crowley," he rasped, sounding both shocked and horrified, like he hadn't noticed his own physical state until it had been pressed up against Crowley's rear. "I'm so sor–"

Crowley, struck by a flash of boldness that he couldn't quite place the origin of, shifted under Aziraphale's hands and pushed himself more firmly back against the other man's lap. Aziraphale let out an agonised sound, like he'd just been shot.

"Crowley," he said again, this time even more shakily. "This isn't, I don't– we can't. We can't."

"Can't what?" Crowley replied, only a touch sullen.

Aziraphale made an exasperated noise at him, voice sliding up the octave in his panic. "You know very well what!"

"You're just helping ease the pain of your fellow clergy member, that's all," Crowley told him. "We're both still dressed – well, mostly, in my case, but that's only to make it easier for you to ease my pain. Nothing untoward about that."

They could do that, couldn't they? Just pretend, both of them operating under a veneer of plausible deniability, and then…

And then, after, Crowley would leave the soft golden glow of Aziraphale's room behind like it was just a dream, and they would both keep pretending that's all it was.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale sighed once more, with an inflection that Crowley recognised from the theological debates they'd had where they took diametrically opposed positions on a topic.

His heart sank. So, they wouldn't even have that, then. Aziraphale could be so stubborn when he made up his mind on something. And there was true pain in his tone, a bone-deep regret that made Crowley's very marrow ache in sympathy. Would Aziraphale even be able to bear looking at him come morning? Would he have a quiet word to Gabriel whenever he next visited, tell him that Crowley wasn't a good fit for Tadfield after all, giving the bishop the excuse he needed to have Crowley shuffled off to another parish? One with more oversight, one with clergy members that would take a far dimmer view on his past, one that would make him repent more fervently for his sins–

"You were right, you know," Crowley said softly, letting all his desperation pour out of him. It wasn't as if he had anything else left to lose. "I've been pushing myself too hard, with the garden. It's just, I… I can see the potential that it has, the beauty it could hold if it's treated with the care it deserves. I want to nurture it, see it properly bloom and grow, if…" His breath hitched a little. "If only it will let me."

Crowley didn't push back against Aziraphale again, not wanting to force anything that wouldn't be welcome, knowing just how fragile this moment was. Tellingly, however, Aziraphale hadn't moved away at all, either, and Crowley dared to let his heart rise up in his chest once more.

Finally, Aziraphale murmured, "How is your back feeling now?"

Crowley swallowed hard, fingertips digging further into the mattress. "Not quite there yet." He took as deep a breath as he dared. "Would it be all right if you kept going, for a little bit longer?"

There was another long stretch of silence, then: "What kind of man would I be, if I left you when you were still in pain?" Aziraphale answered, quiet and trembling. "Where does it hurt most?"

His instinctive reaction was to sit up and take hold of Aziraphale's hand, then press it against the flesh and bone covering his heart. But there were any number of reasons why he couldn't do that, least of all because Aziraphale was still straddling him and pinning him down by the waist. Instead, Crowley reached back and traced a thumb alongside the dip of his spine. They both stifled a gasp when Crowley's fingers inadvertently grazed along the inside of Aziraphale's wrist as he pulled away. "Both sides," he croaked, returning his grip to the sheets next to his head to keep himself from reaching back and caressing Aziraphale's thigh.

Fingers dug into the muscle of his lower back once more, but what really made Crowley moan this time was the feeling of Aziraphale hesitantly, deliberately pressing himself against the cleft of Crowley's arse, only a few layers of cotton separating skin from skin. He whimpered at the thought of that final barrier being removed, even though he knew it wouldn't happen – he still couldn't quite believe what was already happening – and moved back slightly to meet the motion of Aziraphale's hips.

Did Aziraphale realise that this was Crowley's first time doing anything remotely like this? He knew the general shape of Crowley's past, would Aziraphale simply have assumed that he had at least some worldly experience?

Come to think of it, did Aziraphale have any experience himself? He was certainly hedonistic enough when he chose to be, with all his creature comforts, but that didn't necessarily mean he'd done anything like this before, either. The roll of his hips against Crowley's rear was certainly uncoordinated enough to suggest that he hadn't. Crowley tried very hard to not let that make him feel special, but it was hard not to when the belief system he'd been brought up under told him it was.

Aziraphale's scent filled his nose, weight heavy on his legs, hands steady against his back, surrounding Crowley completely, encapsulating him in his entirety–

Crowley groaned and buried his face in the pillow, breathing in deep as he shook himself apart. Dimly, he heard Aziraphale groan in kind behind him, hands tight around Crowley's waist as he pressed himself hard against Crowley's backside.

Stars danced in Crowley's vision, his entire body lax and warm. The frantic whirring of his mind was momentarily stilled, and he couldn't help but let his lips part in a smile, a soft sigh escaping them. He felt safe, and satisfied, and calm in a way that he hadn't expected. He had expected guilt, and for his stomach to curdle with horror, and his throat to close over in fear, as always happened after he took himself in hand to thoughts of Aziraphale.

Instead, he simply felt content.

They both stayed as they were, panting breath slowly steadying into regular rhythms. Aziraphale was the first to pull away – not that there was really an option for Crowley to be first, pinned as he was – and awkwardly clambered off of Crowley's thighs, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. He'd left ample space for Crowley to sit upright, so he did, swinging his legs out and grimacing slightly at the shift of the damp patch at the front of his pants.

At least the rectory had its own washing machine, and they didn't need to risk anyone else seeing their stained clothing.

"You feel better, I hope?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

"I… yeah, I do. Thank you." Crowley swallowed, trying for a little bit of laughter as he added, "Reckon I'll need another shower, now, though."

But Aziraphale didn't look at him, instead staring down at his own fingers as they twisted tightly together in his lap. Crowley could scarcely believe they'd been pressed so firmly against his own skin only mere moments prior.

"You should probably go do that," Aziraphale said, still staring at his tangled fingers.

A lump formed instantly in Crowley's throat, all the guilt he'd expected earlier suddenly slamming into him full force. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but the rising tide of shame within him drowned any words he might have spoken.

Aziraphale regretted it. He'd regretted what they'd done together.

Of course he did. What was Crowley, but a temptation? Aziraphale's life could only have become more complicated by Crowley's presence, bringing up questions he was far too frightened to find the answers to. All Crowley had done was push, and push, and now this.

He had no one but himself to blame. He had known already that this was how Aziraphale would react, deep down, but had allowed his own stupid naivety to convince him otherwise. What right did he have, to force his own feelings and doubts onto Aziraphale? Was Crowley so weak, that the moment someone showed him the barest kindness, all of his own faults came surging to the fore like a flood, drowning them both? How was it fair that Crowley had clung to Aziraphale like flotsam in a storm, only to drag them both under?

"I did mean now," Aziraphale whispered, like the words had pained him. His knuckles had gone white from how tightly he was clenching them.

Crowley shot up from the bed as if he'd suffered an electric shock. He wanted to say something, anything, but what words that he could offer would possibly have an effect on the turmoil Aziraphale was surely feeling? What comfort could he give, what apology could he make, for the violation of an oath that they'd both sworn to uphold?

Instead, Crowley fled the room like the coward he was, with the sinking certainty that he'd been right, earlier.

Come morning, Aziraphale was going to pretend that nothing had happened at all.

#good omens #good omens fic #crowley #Aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #priest au #priest aziraphale #priest crowley #sunny writes

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skylarmoon71 · 4 years

Text

Earth 2 Harrison Wells x Reader-Imagine

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Flash.

“Woooo!” you grinned listening through the com link as Jesse and Wally were helping with a robbery. Harry had that constant frown and you just directed your gaze back to the two dots that were zipping after the car. They passed the car easily, forcing the criminals in the vehicle to pull up to a stop. “Alright, cuff them quick, remember don’t let him touch you. “ Barry instructed.

In a matter of seconds both criminals had no choice but to walk out of the cars. All three speedsters had them cornered.

“Mission completed. “ Wally said. You fist pumped. “We’re coming in.” Barry said. You pulled out your earplug, awaiting their arrival. You twisted your chair, ready to maybe get a bite to eat. Barry was probably carrying those guys to iron heights. “All in a day's work.” you spoke. When you looked back Harry was still leaned over the desk. You had a feeling you knew why.

“Hey Oscar, quit being a grouch.” he turned to you with an annoyed look.

“I don’t appreciate the nicknames you and Cisco insist on using on me.”

“Well maybe if you smiled once in a while we wouldn’t have too.” he just looked back at his computer.

“Stop worrying. Jesse’s a smart girl. She knows how to handle herself. She’s your daughter after all.”

A ghost of a smile made its way on his face. You and Harry never really got along, but every once in a while you would have moments like this. Honestly, you were sporting a huge crush on him. That’s why when he first came you made it your mission to avoid him. Whenever you did bump into him you gave him the cold shoulder.

You couldn’t trust him, and for good reason. After what happened with Eobard you told yourself you’d never trust anyone with that face again. Little did you know there was an entire multiverse of Wells.

Lucky you.

As time went on though, it was becoming harder to deny your growing attraction for the man. When you found out about his daughter, your wall slowly crumbled and you made any and all efforts to comfort him. The both of you still bickered though.

At that point you decided it was better to just give up on your feelings. He obviously didn’t feel the same way. And it didn’t make sense chasing after a man that had no interest in you.

With that thought you turned, exiting the cortex.

“Maybe I’ll stop by the store and get some beer.” you could tell it was going to be a long day. Might as well treat yourself with some booze and outdated movies.

~~~

“So what do we have today?” When you strutted into the cortex the next morning you were shocked to see no one there. Harry was the only one at his desk. He looked up, making a face when he saw you. You frowned. You were going to deal with this once and for all. You could deal with him not having feelings for you, but that didn’t give him the right to treat you like crap.

“Hey what’s your deal with me!” you demanded. He looked over, wondering if it was him you were yelling at.

“Excuse me?” you pointed. “Don't pull that excuse me crap, you know what I’m talking about. Ever since you got here you’ve treated everyone like the dirt beneath your feet. I allowed it at the beginning because you were a grieving parent, but your attitude still stinks, especially with me.” He slammed down his tool.

“I don’t recall being obligated to be a nice person. I’m not Ramon and Allen. I’m not here to be your friend. My only goal is to help with the new threat that’s it. “ you scoffed.

“You really are something else. I’m not asking you to be a saint. But would it kill you to wear a smile, or say good morning!!” he walked towards you like a lion approaching it’s prey. You almost backed down when he was standing right in front of you. He was staring you down, and all at once you seemed to lose the ability to speak. He towered you, blue eyes pinning you in your spot.

“Is there anything else you would like to get off your chest.” his voice was lower and you felt like the air had been smacked right out of you.

“N-No I-I..I uh..” somehow you forgot how to make actual sentences.

“I have no desire to be your crouch. Snow told me about your relationship with the previous Wells.” His words made you take a step back.

“W-What does that have to do with…”

“He broke your heart. Maybe it's your fault for being so naive. “ you felt a pang in your chest at his words. You looked up at him, eyes watering. You weren’t sure how, but at that moment Harry looked like he actually regretted the words he said. He looked down running a hand over his face.

“Listen that was..I didn’t mean it like that I just-” you didn’t want to hear his explanation.

“I think you’ve said all that you wanted.” you replied coldly. You tried to hide the tightening in your throat as best you could when you spoke.

“I won’t waste time trying to get close to another Wells. I should have learned my lesson the first time. “ with that you were gone. Upon your exit you almost crashed into Barry. He held you by the shoulders apologizing. When he saw your fresh tears he tried to find out the reason. You pulled away from him, rushing off. Barry’s eyes moved in Harry’s direction. He looked pissed.

“What did you say to (Y/N)!” he accused.

“You don’t have to lecture me Allen. I already know I messed up. “ Harry turned back to his desk. He wanted to punch himself.

~~~~

That night you were tucked in your bed, legs pulled to your chest. The memories of Dr. Wells, or Thawne for that matter replaying in your head. All the sweet words he said to you. How special he said you were. It was all a lie, a facade to ensure he accomplished his goal. You regret everything you ever felt for him. In some sick way Harry was right. If you weren’t blinded by your feelings for him maybe it would have been easier to see through him. Even when you found out about him you never wanted to believe it. But all the evidence was there, and when you confronted the man, when he was standing right in front of you, he never even looked sorry. He just wore that stupid smirk on his face. That sinister smile as he ripped your heart out of your chest and threw it in your face.

“(Y/N). “ you cursed at the voice behind you. After your little spew with Harry you made it your mission to avoid him. You succeeded for about a week. Of course he was going to find you sooner or later. The person who called you wasn’t Harry though, it was his daughter. You turned to her, forcing a smile on your face. “Hey..” you said a bit awkwardly. You could tell by the look on her face that she wanted an explanation. “What’s going on with you and Dad. “ you were hoping she wouldn’t ask that. “Nothing, you know us we could hardly stand each other.”

She placed a hand on her hip. “Yeah, usually you’re going at it like an old married couple, but you haven’t talked in so long and dad he’s..he’s not acting like himself.” you were a bit worried. Then you remembered why you were angry at him.

“That’s not my problem.” you stated flatly. You knew it was mean, but he was the one that said those things to you. He had no right.

Jesse looked ready to say something, but the person you were dreading walked out from behind her and you suddenly felt like crying again.

He stepped forward and just as he opened his mouth alarms started blaring. You flinched and Jesse braced. “Someone’s in Star Labs!” she bolted out to scope out the threat and Harry moved closer to you.

“You can yell at me later. Right now just stay close.” he instructed. You nodded. As much as he made your blood boil, it wouldn’t do any good if a dangerous meta was loose and either of you got hurt because of a spat.

You followed close behind as he moved in the direction of the cortex. When you made it to the entrance Barry was putting cuffs on an unconscious Jesse. Harry ran over in a panic.

“Allen what the hell are you doing!!” Barry waved his hands about to explain. Caitlin was kneeling down, retracting the needle from the girl's skin.

“Those metahumans we took down last week. Somehow they got out of Iron Heights. I think one of the guards slipped up. One of them has manipulative powers.” He informed.

“They twist your view. Jesse thought we were the enemy. “ Caitlin added.

“I had to take her out before she could get hurt. I locked one of them up in the pipeline but the other is somewhere here. “ Barry interjected. He looked down at the computer, trying to pull up footage of the halls.

“Try right behind you.” you spun around just in time for him to press his hands on your forehead. A red light glowed in his palm, passing through your skin. Barry zipped forward, shoving the male away from you. The meta crashed into the wall, falling down and passing out from the force of the blow. Barry wasted no time, cuffing him quickly.

Harry looked over to check you. “Stay back Harry, she's been hit.” Caitlin advised. She had a syringe in her hand, unsure of how to administer the shot without provoking you.

“Give it to me, I could get close enough in a second. “ You turned to Barry and you screamed in terror. He looked back, shocked to see the level of fear in your eyes as you backed up against the wall.

“Please don’t hurt him I’ll do anything please!!” you were pleading. Barry approached, raising his hands to show you he didn’t mean any harm.

“Hey (Y/N). Listen it’s me Barry.” he pulled off his cowl, but that just triggered you more.

“Don’t hurt them Dr. Wells I’m begging you! Please don’t, I’ll do anything!!” Barry froze, he recalled you saying those words before.

“S-She’s..she’s reliving a memory.” he muttered in recognition.

Harry stared. “What do you mean by memory? I thought he just manipulates your concept of the present reality. “ Caitlin shook her head. “They morph reality yes, but reality for everyone is different. Some people see their friends as enemies. Others face a reality they can’t control. One they feel powerless in” Harry couldn’t believe it. The level of horror on your face hurt him. When he made that statement about Dr. Wells he knew he crossed a line. What he didn’t realize was the level of emotional damage Thawne actually did to you. You weren’t a meta. So when he attacked you couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch as he tried to kill your friends.

Harry took the syringe from Caitlin’s hands, storming over to your direction. He couldn’t see you like this. When he was standing directly in front of you your eyes widened and you tried to scramble away.

“D-DON’T!” Harry pressed the needle into your neck. It took a while, but slowly, your eyes started to lower. Just as you were about to pass out you looked directly at him.

“Harry..” you said softly. He smiled, removing the needle. He tossed it to the side, cradling you into his arms. “I’ve got you, don’t worry. You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you again. “

Barry and Caitlin watched from the back, both a bit stunned by the level of care the man displayed when holding you.

You groaned, holding your head as you tried to sit up. When you finally came to, Caitlin was right at your side with a smile.

“Look who’s finally up.” you gave her a weak smile, leaning against the head of the bed.

“I got socked by that meta didn’t I?”

“Affirmative.” she said cheekily. You just laughed. “Wow, my head feels like I got hit by a bus.” She jotted something down before placing a hand to your forehead.

“I think that’s my fault. I made that in a rush in case those metahumans got a hold of our speedsters. Unfortunately a shot like that does the trick but the dose isn’t really easy on regular people. “

“Noted.” you looked over, noticing Barry and Jesse standing at the door.

“ You really gave me a scare. How are you feeling?” Barry’s question made you shoot him a look.

“Sorry, I guess it was a stupid question. But hey at least we caught the guys.” you nodded.

“That’s good.” Barry was still watching you. “(Y/N), I just wanted you to know. What happened with Thawne..it wasn’t your fault. We know it hurt you maybe far worse than any of us.” you looked at him a bit taken aback. A shaky breath exited your lips. “Y-Yeah, you don’t have to worry about it. I'm over all that. It’s been months.” He shook his head.

“There’s no time stamp on how long those types of wounds heal. If you ever wanna talk, we’re all right here.” Caitlin and even Jesse smiled, agreeing with him. You gave another nod.

“Thanks guys, I appreciate it.” Jesse grinned.

“Of course, by the way. There is someone who’s just as worried. “ before you could ask you felt the wind blow your hair back. When she reappeared there was someone with her.

“Jesse I told you not to-” his complaints stopped when his eyes landed on you. She unhooked her arms and at that moment everyone started to make their exit. You turned to Caitlin with pleading eyes, begging her not to leave. She gave you a thumbs up, vanishing around the hall.

When it was just the two of you, you shifted back into the bed.

“Listen I-”

“I apologize.” Harry cut you off. You stared at him. Not sure if you heard him right.

“Wait..did you just say..” he stepped closer, taking a seat at the edge of your bed. Him being so close made you readjust your position. You picked at the sheets nervously.

“I was unaware of how deep Thawne’s wounds scarred you. Then I made a comment that was uncalled for. I apologize.” you bit down on your lip.

“I’m sorry too.” you said finally. “It was childish of me to avoid you like I did. I should have just talked to you. The truth is you were right. I let my feelings dictate everything I do. The feelings I had for him and the ones I have for you.” Harry looked over at your words.

“I-I like you Harry.” you confessed. “Y-You look just like him so I told myself never to go down that road again. But little by little I couldn't help but be intrigued by you, attracted to you. I’m so stupid!” you said, fresh tears falling down your cheeks. Harry moved closer scooping you into his arms.

“Don’t say that you're far from stupid. “ you clenched your hands into his clothing.

“I am..I am the foolish one. I’m just as much attracted to you.” he whispered. You pulled back.

“W-What..” his hands rested on your cheek, wiping any evidence of your tears.

“I distanced myself because I thought you were only seeking solace in me to replace him. I was cruel to you because it was the only thing I could do to deny just how much your presence affected me. I’m completely and utterly infatuated with you (Y/N).” you swallowed. He was so close now. “If I haven’t already ruined my chances, I would like an opportunity to show you just how much I care about you.”

“Okay..” you mumbled. With the way he was looking at you now there wasn’t much you could say. His thumb traced the outline of your cheekbone.

Everywhere he touched felt like a spark to your skin. His lips met your own in a slow, hesitant kiss. It wasn’t much at first, just the innocent touching of lips.

After a few moments you wanted more. Your hands tightened their hold on his clothing as you tried to pull him closer. He complied, pressing you softly into the mattress. You sighed at the feel of him. Your hands slipped into his hair and he gave a soft appreciative sound. Your stomach twirled at the little noise. Your hands wandered, you hooked your fingers into the hoops of his pants, pulling. His hips thrusted into you and you gasped. Your lips disconnected and Harry continued pressing kisses to your skin as you tried to regain your breath.

“We should...probably...stop..”you forced out in between pants.

“Agreed, they could..walk in at any time..” he was still pressing heated kisses to your body. His leg moved between your own and you moaned, looking at him a bit startled. Harry smirked down at you. “Then again, I think I’ve been holding out too long. Something tells me you have too.” you gulped when you felt his hand travelling under your clothing.

“H-Harry..” you whined weakly. You whimpered when he squeezed your breast.

“I finally have you, I’m not sure I really want to stop..” he growled into you ear.

Someone clearing their throat made you both turn.

“Allen.” Harry said sharply. Barry looked uncomfortable, like he regretted even coming in.

“N-Nevermind, It can wait. “ he dove out of there faster than you’d ever seen.

Harry’s eyes fixed back on you.

“Now where were we.”

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heartbreaknow · 4 years

Text

Vampire!Peter Imagine

I’ve been sitting on my vampire!Peter imagine for a couple of months now, thinking about whether there’s any chance I might want to turn it into an actual fic, ever. But this week seems to be vampire!Starker week on tumblr (\o/), so I’m just gonna post the damn thing before I completely miss the boat.

NOTE: This takes a bit to get dirtysexy y’all, but it gets there eventually. This has been my one effort at self-promotion. That is all. 👍

The way it starts is: Peter gets bitten by something while on an Avengers mission in space. (Ever since the whole situation with Thanos, space missions have become a thing they occasionally do, much to Peter’s delight and Tony’s…whatever the absolute furthest thing from delight is.) So there they are, trekking through an oddly echo-less cave on some alien planet, and suddenly some kind of creature—smallish and not overly threatening—bites Peter and then skitters away into the darkness before he can even get a look at it.

By the time they get back to the ship, Peter can’t find any trace of a mark from the bite, and he’s not even sure how something could bite through his suit anyway, and honestly, Peter’s not sure he didn’t just imagine it. Maybe something in his suit just went haywire for a second and jabbed him. That could happen, right?

The Avengers return from the mission and everything is fine for a couple of days.

But then Peter begins feeling mysteriously light-sensitive and feverish, and by the time a week has passed he finds himself developing a…craving. At first, he can’t even put his finger on what it is he’s craving, but over time it begins to distill into a strange, relentless kind of hunger, and a corresponding urge to- well- bite people. (The first time Peter notices it, he’s in the lab with Mr Stark, and it goes away when he leaves the lab. But pretty soon its become a constant nagging hunger.)

Peter tries to ignore it for as long as possible, kind of downplaying it to himself and assuming it’ll pass, because it’s just too weird to really be happening. But the longer it goes on, the sicker he feels, and the hungrier he gets.

Until one night, nearly two weeks after the space mission, Peter finds a lost dog while he’s dragging himself weakly through his nightly patrol. The dog has an ID tag, so he catches it, with the intent of returning it to its owners—but then everything gets kind of weird in his head, and he goes into some kind of trance and drinks the dog’s blood. Which is horrifying, obviously, and also just objectively super gross.

Clearly, ignoring the blood-thirst and denying there’s a problem isn’t working.

(Also, even though the dog’s blood satisfies the obsessive hunger that’s been building in him for days, it tastes foul and gives him a massive stomach ache.)

So Peter, who is now very much freaking out, goes straight to Tony and explains the symptoms he’s experiencing. At first he kind of hedges a little, and doesn’t immediately tell Tony about the dog, because he can’t bear for Mr Stark to look at him with disgust. Unfortunately, that leads to Mr Stark not really getting how serious it is. He just makes a Lucy the vampire bride joke, and suggests it’s some kind of spidey version of Pica; asks how Peter’s nutrition is; tells Peter he’s a growing superhero, and he can’t subsist on ramen and Gatorade alone.

Until finally Peter blurts out, “Idrankadog’sblood!”

It’s kind of a showstopper.

Tony’s like, “Um, excuse me, you—you killed a dog?”

Peter is instantly aghast. “What? No! Oh my god, no, I just…bit it…some. And then I found its owners.” And then, after a second’s pause: “Oh god, what if the dog is a vampire now? And I just left it with that nice family! I’ve gotta go warn them!”

As it turns out, the dog is not a vampire. But Peter…kind of is?

Apart from the dog-biting incident, Peter has also suddenly grown a pair of retractable fangs, his pupils react weirdly to light, and when stimulated, his fangs disgorge a small amount of some kind of venom—the properties of which they are working on isolating.

As soon as they prove there is in fact something happening to Peter, Tony is immediately adamant they will find a cure for whatever it is. But the first couple days of tests yield no real answers, and by then Peter is getting hungry again.

That’s about the time they discover Peter vomits up bagged blood pretty violently. So that’s Plan A off the table.

When Peter starts looking sallow and jittery, and Tony notices him chewing his own lip until it bleeds and then licking up the blood, Tony thinks, Fuck it, and goes out and buys him a nice, robust-looking American Bulldog. PETA can sue him.

Peter tries to refuse Mr Stark’s, uh, provision, but his protests are weak. He’s so hungry. It doesn’t take long before he gives in.

Unfortunately, dog blood doesn’t work so well the second time around. This time, the taste is so foul Peter can barely keep it down, and what’s worse, within minutes of feeding he’s doubled over with the worst stomach pain of his life

They try a couple other types of animals, with the same results: nauseating flavor and crippling stomach pain.

So alright, Plan B is maybe not as viable as they thought it was, either.

Peter puts on a brave face, and insists that it’s fine, he doesn’t need to eat. He can tough it out, at least for a little while longer. But after another couple of days, he looks like death warmed over, and Tony suspects he doesn’t feel much better than he looks.

Also, Peter starts keeping at least a couple of steps between himself and Tony in the lab at all times. And when, out of habit, Tony gets close enough to give his shoulder a squeeze, Peter jerks away lightning fast, and Tony swears he sees a glint of something in Peter’s mouth, right before he clamps it shut.

So yeah, Tony’s worried about him.

The fifth morning without blood, Peter doesn’t show up in the lab.

Worried, Tony goes to check on him.

He barely makes it three steps into Peter’s room before he finds himself pinned to Peter’s bedroom door, with a black-eyed, fangy Peter leaning into him, panting and staring at his neck.

This new Peter, with his needle-sharp cuspids, and his demonic-possession eyes, should be terrifying—and it’s not that he isn’t, per se. It’s just that he’s Peter. And Tony remembers how Peter didn’t kill the dog either time he fed, even though he must’ve been pretty damn desperate the first time. So instead of trying to get free, or snap Peter out of it, Tony looks Peter right in his black, iris-less eyes, and says, “Okay, kid. Mealtime,” and tilts his head to the side, baring his neck. Then he reaches up, and guides Peter down.

Being bitten is incomparable to anything Tony’s ever felt before. It’s weird, and unnerving, and intimate, and probably incredibly dangerous. And Tony really, really wishes it didn’t feel so goddamn good.

He has enough to feel guilty about as it is (his feelings for the kid are something he’s been studiously not looking too closely at for a while now). He really doesn’t need to add “My mentee’s in the middle of a serious health crisis and I can’t stop thinking about what it felt like to have him latched onto my neck like the world’s hottest leech” to his laundry list of mental depravity.

When Peter’s head clears after the feeding, he freaks out and basically flees the tower, horrified at what he’s done.

A couple hours later he’s back again, looking defeated and miserable, and not meeting Tony’s eyes. He realizes he can’t be trusted to be among the general population unmonitored until they know more about his condition. And if whatever is wrong with him gets worse and they need to lock him up, the tower and the compound are the only places with rooms that can reliably contain him.

The second time Peter feeds from Tony, Tony suggests that Peter try feeding from his wrist instead. It’s mainly for his own sanity that he makes the suggestion, but outwardly he reasons that wrist feeding is probably safer and more comfortable for them both. Peter nods quietly and agrees, eyes meeting Tony’s and then quickly skittering away.

Tony does find the sensation somewhat less overwhelming when Peter feeds from his wrist instead of his neck—but only somewhat. It still feels bizarrely, almost maddeningly good, like somehow Peter’s feeding has turned his wrist into an erogenous zone. Or possibly his entire body.

Peter and Tony quickly find themselves falling into a routine: research, data collection, tests, and feedings.

Peter will hold off from feeding until his pupils begin to dilate and his skin gets sallow, and the way he looks at Tony as he moves around the lab begins to take on a sharp, slightly animal quality. Then, when Tony is pretty sure Peter’s desperate enough to actually give in, he says, very clearly, very directly, “Kid, come here,” and gestures Peter over with a jerk of his head that’s a hell of a lot more casual than he feels. And just like that, Peter goes to him.

At first, Tony thinks the feeling of Peter feeding from him might become less intense once he gets used to it, but it doesn’t work out that way. A bit the opposite, truthfully.

After a couple of weeks, Tony finds himself fixating: on Peter’s mouth, on his pliant lips and his defined jaw, on he way it hinges open over Tony’s pounding pulse-point. He finds himself growing to love the way Peter ends up curled around his arm every time he feeds, his side pressed against Tony’s front, tucked in close, shoulder to sternum. Generally Tony has to find something to brace against, or Peter will push him off balance with the force of his hunger.

Tony finds that the site where Peter has bitten him begins to feel hot and over-sensitive constantly, but especially right before a feeding. Like there’s too much blood too close to the surface.

Tony finds himself wanting to give Peter what he needs over and over again. Craving it, even.

But Peter’s made it pretty clear that no matter how much this thing in his head enjoys feeding, he himself hates it, and is intent on doing it as infrequently as possible. (Peter’s never overtly said he hates it, not in so many words, but the way he refuses to feed until he’s famished, and the tense, nervous way he looks at Tony whenever it’s getting close to meal time, is pretty eloquent.) And Tony can’t—won’t—allow himself to undermine Peter’s resolve about this. Not when the kid’s just trying to hang onto as much autonomy as he can while this thing runs roughshod over his hierarchy of needs.

So he watches Peter constantly, looking for signs of hunger—then forces himself not to say anything once he does see the signs. He makes himself wait while Peter works through the craving, hour after hour, his eyes getting slowly darker each time Tony catches one of his furtive glances. Until eventually Tony can’t stand it anymore.

When he unbuttons his shirt cuff and calls Peter to him, it’s all he can do to make it sound like a casual offer.

Tony hates himself for enjoying it—the feedings. For practically getting off on them. For literally getting off on them, later, when he’s by himself—his bruised, throbbing wrist shoved against his own mouth, tonguing lewdly at the place where Peter’s snake-like cuspids slid sharpnumbhot into his skin. Fuck. His other hand shoved down his boxers, jacking himself off to the thought of how Peter always clings to him as he feeds—how he struggles to stay lucid and only ever half succeeds. Tony tries not to think about Peter’s slippery tongue chasing a droplet of blood down his neck, the very first time he ever fed off Tony. He tries not to think about Peter’s mouth while he fucks furiously into his own fist, smothering a groan. Peter’s innocent mouth, smeared red and panting. Fuck, oh, fuck.

Tony hates himself for it, all of it. But he can’t stop.

- - - - END - - - -

It’s killing me to leave it here because I have so many more bullet point ideas written out for this imagine. But on the off chance I ever write some of this as an actual fic, I don’t want to have described the entire thing before hand. So I guess I’ll quit here.

But for context: I kind of like the idea of paired feeding being habit-forming for both parties. So like, not only does it feel really, really good, but over time they both start to get kind of physiologically addicted to it.

I’m thinking maybe whatever weird-ass critter bit Peter, feeding is part of its mating ritual. Like, maybe it’s a symbiotic pair-bonding species that mates for life, and determines the suitability of its mate base on how well the blood-drinking half takes to the blood-providing half’s blood, and how well the blood-providing half responds to the blood-drinking half’s venom. (Yes, this is really putting the pseudo in pseudoscience. Just go with it?)

The problem for Peter and Tony is that, despite being profoundly compatible, they keep repeating the mating behavior over and over without resolution—thus causing things to kind of...escalate.

#starker #starker imagine #peter x tony #vampire!peter #nff #not horror at all #but some light horror elements herein #sexy biological imperatives are my jam

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