#silent shadow comic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowyolks · 9 months

Text

TO DULL THE SHOVELS & SMOKE

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: In which Simon Riley doesn’t hear the gunshots and yells when he’s around his next door neighbor.

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of gore, mentions of torture based on the Ghost comics, drinking, major PTSD.

At first, it annoyed him.

The thin walls of his Manchester apartment blocked absolutely no sound. From one end, near his desolate kitchen, he heard the half-arsed sounds of a couple at all hours of the night. At the other end, nearly midnight on the dot, a bow would pull over strings.

He thought it to be a violin, but the sound was so horrendous and screeching that he couldn’t quite figure it out. Never less, he couldn’t find it in himself to move from the spot on his hard mattress.

It wasn’t like he could sleep anyways.

Gunshots bled into his ears warm and sticky, curses and cries of civilians slammed against his chest and made his eyes feel like sinking weights. Bombs screeched and blinded him, even though he could see the shadows of his wardrobes and chipped wallpaper.

He was there. On the battlefield.

That was until a particularly awful note would catch his ears, digging through all the horrible sounds of war.

It would make the corners of his lips perk up, especially when he heard the gentle curse of the “musician.” He figured horrible orchestral music would do rather than gunshots. He even managed to acquire at least an hour of sleep before he was stirred awake again by the sounds of death.

He’d wake up as he always did. A horrific grunt and a call for his teammates. It was pathetic, but the usual. Simon couldn’t recall the last time he woke up refreshed. He hadn’t slept well in decades, even his childhood was thrashed with harassment from his father who kept him up. He maybe had a couple good nights of rest as a recruit, while his brother and mother were still alive and his father was long gone festering in the hospital with cancer.

Still he was used to the dark circles under his eyes and the constant urge to yawn.

He’d gone about his civilian life as he usually did. Wake up in a sweat, take a cold shower, drink some breakfast tea, and watch the news. That was until three knocks sounded from his door chipping green paint. He had half the mind to ignore it, Simon didn’t know anyone around the area— After all, he was a Ghost. He chewed on his lip, If it was a threat they wouldn’t have knocked. He settled on placing his steaming mug on the wooden side table and huffing to stand. Curiosity won him over as his creaky joints shuffled its way over to the door.

He creaked it open only a couple inches, cautiously glancing around to see no one in the hallway. Scratching his five o’clock shadow, he blinked, feeling slightly paranoid that maybe he was imaging the knocking. That was until his dark eyes settled upon a half open box of what looked to be tea bags.

A note lay scotch taped to the front, written in the most interesting handwriting Simon had seen.

Heard the screams, I won’t pretend to know what it’s like. I figured you wouldn’t want me to pester you, so I’ll save you from the awkward small talk and leave these here. Not sure if you’re a tea person, but they help me sleep.

-your next door neighbor

He couldn’t find himself to move for a short while. His brain clashed in conflicts, as if he couldn’t settle on a single emotion to feel. It swarmed him at once— annoyance, embarrassment, gratitude.

His neighbor had took time out of their day to drop tea off at his door. He tried to think back to when the last time someone had done something genuinely nice for him. Besides his makeshift family of broken soldiers, he couldn’t think of a single occurrence. Zeroing in on the box, a twitch in his nose gave away his reluctance of the flavor. Lavender and Chamomile. So different than his simple breakfast tea.

But, it wouldn’t hurt to try it. Maybe then he’d be able to silently thank the mysterious neighbor for a good night of sleep.

He figured out who you were when he’d exited the shaky and completely unsafe lift onto his floor. In the crook of his arm he carried a brown paper sack full of his weekly groceries. It wasn’t the most fanciful of ingredients, the most extravagant being simple cuts of chicken breasts. He’d shoved the bag further into his grasp, reaching into his dark colored jeans for his room key when he heard your muffled curse.

You were hunched over your doorknob, pulling helplessly on the metal to unlock it. Hurriedly he changed his footfalls, switching from silent to knowingly hitting the creaks in the aged carpet. Your head tilted at the unpleasant noise, eyes widening in embarrassing anticipation.

It took Simon a moment to truly access the situation. It was as if his brain had slammed into a wall, colliding and knocking all of his thoughts astray. When he finally did come to his senses, the only thought he could repeat was— pretty.

Simon would be the first to admit that he had not been around many women in his life. Therefore, he didn’t have much to draw comparisons to—regardless you had to be the most beautifully unique person he had ever seen.

You wore a knitted sweater, likely homemade by the barely noticeable tears of threads and flaws. His eyes filtered down to your jeans, then his attention drew to the absolutely ridiculous socks clad to your feet and ankles. Bright purple, decorated with pink polka dots. He’d glanced up, embarrassingly distracted enough to not be able to listen to your moving lips.

“Hmm?” He grunted, thankful for his black surgical mask that covered half of his face. He felt secure being covered, as if all the bad things couldn’t penetrate through the flimsy material.

“Oh! Sorry for mumbling,” you apologized, which made Simon’s head tilt to the side. Why apologize for his lack of hearing?

You cleared your throat, releasing the doorknob from your hands and instead twisting them together in a nervous habit. It seemed you could hardly sit still, all in the span of thirty seconds Simon caught on to your spastic fingers and tapping foot.

“I don’t suppose you know how to pick a lock?” You squeaked, instantly cringing at the horribly put together question.

“Excuse me?” Simon spoke, a hint of surprised amusement coating his tongue. Of course he knew how to break into buildings and pick locks, but you didn’t need to know that.

“I uh, locked myself out of my apartment. I forgot my purse and I keep my keys in there. I was just in a rush for food before my favorite place closes, and well— I’m rambling.” You sputtered, looking like it would be a better option to break through your door than stand under his burning stare.

He didn’t expect himself to extend towards you, settling his bag of groceries on the floor near his door. You slid out the way as he approached, not before he caught a pleasant whiff of lavender and something floral.

Simon shuffled in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a floss pick from the material. Call it his nagging habit, but he hated having shit in his teeth. He wasn’t used to eating or drinking with his balaclava on at work, so on the rare occasions he ate, it absolutely irritated him. Now the floss pick came in handy as he bent the hard plastic to fit into the lock of your door.

He was aware of your stare as he lay crouched, catching the puzzled yet intrigued look from his peripherals.

“Are you some type of cop?” You blurted, making Simon’s lips peek up in a half arsed amusement. A cop? This girl was funny.

“No,”

With a final click, your door creaked open with a whine of its hinges. He rose off the old carpet with a sigh, immediately going back to his groceries so he could be left in his solitude. Then before he could reach down and pick up the bag, your words cut him short.

“Thank you. Um… did you like the tea?” It was a simple question, but not one he was expecting. “It was alright.” He lied, the untouched box still rested on his cold countertops.

“You didn’t like it did you?” You chuckled, reading right through him. All he gave was a shrug of his shoulders, not confirming nor denying. “I knew it. You probably drink your tea black and food bland.” You teased lightheartedly, making an equally playful offended sound fall from Simon’s lips. It occurred to him that he’d smiled more in these last five minutes than he had in a whole year.

“It’s only for mature palates.” He heard himself joke, nearly shocked at his own behavior.

“Sure…” You introduced yourself at last, finally able to have a name to your face. “Simon,” he only thought it fair to state his own. Although it sounded weird coming off his lips instead of the usual introductory Ghost.

“Well Simon, if you’re ever on Bakers Street, there’s a Korean Barbecue place that is delicious. Now that’s real food. I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow since I pulled this stunt. And thanks again!” You smiled, an awkward wave marking your goodbye.

Simon nodded and entered his dark flat, once again drawn into his own mind and the sound of warfare.

He made sure, a few days later to pay you back for your kind words and the disgusting tea. He knocked on your door, hurriedly rushing back to his own and out of sight, hoping the white takeout box of barbecue would make your evening.

He had a particularly rough morning on an autumn rainy day. The chill of the air and racket of raindrops on the window was enough to startle him awake. He was reminded of the cold chill of Russia, as well as the raindrops hitting way too similar to the sound of bullets. It nerved him, nearly taking him several minutes to be able to breathe properly again.

He’d done what his therapist had mentioned, pinpointing colors, sounds, and textures.

Yellowing wallpaper, humming ventilation, scratchy blanket.

Gray clouds, rattling ceiling fan, his own warm skin.

With a sigh, he curled his palm over his eyes, rubbing away the awful reoccurring night terrors, and settling for getting dressed. He wore the simple clothes he always did, black hoodie, jeans, and boots. Simple, yet effective.

He grew rather sick of the walls of his apartment. The plaster suffocated him, the air suddenly too stuffy. For a short moment he was stuck in that coffin again, maggots wriggling at his flesh and the scent of rotten meat flooding his nostrils.

He stood suddenly, attempting to calm himself. He was in Manchester, he was standing. Something he couldn’t do in a coffin. It was a shitty autumn day with rain battering his window sill. He wasn’t in the desert, he wasn’t half dead. He was here.

He let his body lead him out the door with no destination. All his mind happened to scream was out, out, out.

He’d barely been able to grab the door handle and twist, fingers shaking in such a pathetic way it had him wrinkling his nose. He was underwater, shoved into the bucket as they held him under, making him lose his breath and weakly fight.

No he was here. Manchester! In Manchester.

“Simon?”

He was suddenly lifted up, finally able to push the freezing water out of his lungs and suck down oxygen. His head swiveled weakly to you, eyes likely looking dead and cold.

You were dressed warm. A coffee-colored sweater swaddling your form and a burnt orange cardigan hanging from your shoulders as well. You wore typical jeans and slip-ons, but bright orange knitted socks peaked from your jeans. They were even littered with pumpkins and leaves designs.

He hummed in your acknowledgment, letting himself worry about his breathing once again. Colors, sounds, textures.

Orange Cardigan, your slow breathing, soft knitted socks.

“Are you okay?” You’d squeaked, barely audible over his massive heaving breathes. He instinctively nodded his head, knowing that if he showed any sign of weakness he’d be terminated. That’s how it’s been since he was four years old, being terrified of his father but not being able to express such fear.

“You know, it’s okay to not be okay.” You read right through him. Taking an inching step towards him. He said nothing, still shocked that you hadn’t left in a disgusted manner. He was weak and terrifyingly broken, and yet your sweet gaze never broke into pity.

Orange cardigan, quiet steps, smooth skin against his wrist.

He’d instantly felt relief from the lack of stinging pressure against his palm. Not realizing he’d been digging his nails into the calloused flesh, causing angry red crescents to print into his skin.

“Would you like a tea? I was about to go to the place across the street?”

His mind screeched no. He wanted so badly to be alone. To break something, to laugh as he bloodied his knuckles. He also wanted to shield his too pleasant neighbor from his violent tendencies. To keep her from him, to protect her. But his cold and dead heart managed to thaw and break all in one. The vile organ spoke for him as he found his head bobbing, lungs sucking in a big breath.

“M’kay.” He mumbled, following after your sweet lavender perfume down the lift like a sickly bloodhound.

He’d followed like a shell, hardly memorizing the turns and passing civilians until he was blasted with warm air from a cozy little cafe. He was slammed with comfort instantly, thrown back into the present world instead of the bloodied one he was used to seeing in his mind.

String lights hung above your head, illuminating your warm skin and kind smile. You’d ushered him to sit in the far corner, the leather booth squishy and comfortable. Simon had tuned into the fluttering orchestra of some jazz band, relaxing his bones and tired muscles only slightly.

Golden lights, swaying music, brewing coffee.

He startled when a thick paper cup slid in front of him, the fresh scent of breakfast tea relaxing him further, among with the smiling face blinking at him.

“Got your favorite, bland breakfast tea.” You quipped, taking a sip of your own lavender fruity tea. He let a soft grin cross his lips, pushing the invasive thoughts away while you were with him. “I told you it was an exquisite taste, you drink tea for a child.”

A bubbly laugh escaped you, making Simon freeze in pure awe. He’d never heard something so beautiful, a real authentic laugh. One that he caused.

“You should try it.” You eased, pushing your cup towards him with amusement. Simon’s eyes managed to squint in disgust, glancing down at the odd beverage.

His hand fit around the paper material, warmth meeting his fingers as he brought it carefully up to his scarred lips. The taste was sugary, but floral and rich at the same time. His tongue retreated away, and instantly he swallowed it like it was burning alcohol.

“I don’t like it.”

This tea perfectly matched your personality. Bubbly, overly sweet, and calming like the essence of lavender under his tongue. He’d rather have you than the tea.

“Well what do you like, oh mysterious neighbor?” You chuckled, taking back your tea with a happy grin. His dislike hadn’t irked you at all, instead you seemed more intrigued than before. As if he was enough to quirk your interest.

“Football.”

“Man United?”

He nodded.

“I’m a Liverpool fan.” You sighed, a guilty and mischievous grin passing over your lips.

“That’s more disgusting than that tea!” He growled out, a chuckle breaking through his chest at your lit up face.

“Yeah? What’s your favorite food or drink then? If you’re so quick to bash my tea!” You bickered back, happily noticing his shoulders relaxing and eyes softening.

“One of my Sergeants lives in Glasgow, he frequents at this pub with the best fry up you’d ever eat.”

“Breakfast in a pub?” You questioned, taking a sip of your tea again.

“Best hangover medicine.”

You’d scoffed, hiding your smile between your empty cup. Simon was surprised just how easy it was to talk to you. Here he was, just a man having a tea with a woman. Perhaps even a date? He didn’t have to worry about following orders or barking protocol to privates. Here he could be Simon, the man under the mask and war paint. It was… nice.

“So you’re in the military. That makes sense why I haven’t seen you over the last couple months.” You observed, but didn’t push. You were hanging the metaphorical bait, but he didn’t have to bite it if he didn’t want to.

He nodded, simple enough to confirm, but not enough to feel exposed.

“Well Simon, I have a train to catch. I’m going into Liverpool to see my Mum.” You explained, offering a polite smile.

“Sure.” He mumbled, watching you shuffle to leave the booth. “We should do this again sometime, it was nice to talk to someone besides my cat.” You urged, a laugh encasing your words.

His heart threatened to bounce out of his chest, but he pulled himself together with a subtle pinch to his thigh.

“Sounds nice.”

Dried blood coated his mask and stained his gloves to the point that he had to pull extremely hard to take them off. His shoulders slouched significantly and his eyes grew such large bags under them he could feel his skin sink into his skull. He was tired, exhausted, and needing a warm, long shower.

“Good te’ be back, yeah, L.t.?” Soap threw himself against a bench, groaning as he bent down to untie the laces of his boots. The Scot likely had the same idea as Simon, to shower all this blood off their bodies.

“Sure. Back to morning drills and bland Mess Hall food.” He added in monotone, eyes twinkling in amusement as Soap let out another dramatic groan.

“Oh don’t be like that.” He teased again, constantly pushing Simon out of his dramatic and lone atmosphere. It was nice in ways, how Soap managed to brighten up his day and keep him on his toes.

Speaking of toes, a frown worked its way onto his face as he caught the state of his freshly knitted socks. Dark mud and seeping blood rubbed uncomfortably against his toes, soaking the material of all its purity.

Soap followed his eye line, latching onto the pattern of white ghosts against black knitted material. A chortle escaped him, “Where the bloody hell did ye’ get those?”

“My Neighbor.” He answered shortly, taking note of the crimson color bleeding into the white ghosts.

“D’aw, little gran’ made ye’ some socks?” Soap teased, making the wrong assumption that you were some sweet elderly lady. Simon shook his head, peeling off the socks begrudgingly as he looked forward to his hot shower to warm his bones.

“She’s my age.”

His mind travelled to you. How you’d begged and begged for him to tell you his callsign, bringing up Top Gun of all things.

“Oh my gosh! You need to watch more movies. I can’t believe you don’t know who Tom Cruise is. Top Gun!” Your ecstatic voice carried as you sat in the now familiar booth the two of you shared.

It’s become a common occurrence for him to go out with you on Saturday mornings, sometimes you’d bring your laptop and study for an upcoming test in uni, other times you’d ask him any question under the sun, just to get to know him better. He was comforted by your mindless chatter, even more so when you’d avoid certain topics that made him uncomfortable.

You’d hardly pushed on his childhood or career, that was until you’d thought him traitorous that he’d never seen either of the Top Gun movies.

“Maverick and Goose? Never heard of them?”

“No.” Simon shrugged, sipping on his tea as your eyes sparkled again. “Do you have a callsign?”

His teeth grit at the question as his airway slightly closed. It was dangerous to identify himself off the clock, even more so in a public area. He studied your antsy form, noticing your hips hanging off the booth in curiosity, as well as the soft flesh of your lips pulled between your teeth. How could he ever say no to a creature so effortlessly beautiful?

“Ghost.”

A few days later, a knock on his door startled him from his routine of watching the local broadcasting. He’d approached the door, only to find a black pair of socks with little white ghosts knitted against the seams.

“Is she fit?” Soap found himself asking, a happy grin shining through. Simon was glad for his mask, for when he pictured your smooth skin, beautiful eyes, and stunning frame he could picture no flaws. Fit? That didn’t even begin to describe you.

“You have no idea, mate.”

He’d returned home Christmas Eve, tired and worn from all the flights and jet lagged beyond belief. His muscles were stiff and his heart was heavy. This was always his least favorite time of year.

Horror flashed before his very eyes, usually he’d get away with spending the holidays on base, catching up with his paperwork and training privates a little more to reduce his thoughts of his late family. Instead, Price all but forced him to go home, after a certain Scot let slip that his Lieutenant fancied his own neighbor.

He had nowhere to hide this time. He was home, and at the worst time of the year. Near instantly his nostrils filled with the smell of burnt Christmas ham, charred and ashes by the time he’d opened the front door. But that wasn’t the worst smell, not even close. Coppery tinges of blood clouded his nostrils as his eyes glazed over.

Hidden and reflected off the ornaments on the tree was his family. His poor sweet mother, who’d done so much and tried so hard to raise two boys with an abusive husband— she lay face first on the festive rugs. He’d rushed to her, only to nearly trip over his brother. Tommy’s hand was outstretched, blood trailing as he’d likely tried to crawl to his dead wife.

He couldn’t breathe, sheer panic and despair crawling on him like millions of slippery bugs. He’d vomited all the contents of his stomach as he caught the crib in the corner. Not his little nephew, not little Joseph.

Loud honking from below drew him out of his mind. He’d been standing idly in front of his door, duffel clutched so tightly in his hand he was sure he’d had punctured skin.

White snow, soft violin, warm coat.

Violin?

His feet had already carried him to your door, hand cautiously rapping against the thin wooden material. He knew it was late— hell, it was likely already midnight and Christmas Day. Yet he needed something, he needed to hear your voice and smell the lavender and floral ofyour perfume. He even wanted to see the orange fur of your pet tabby cat.

“Who is it?” Your soft voice carried through the door, successfully halting some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Simon.”

The door cracked open almost immediately, revealing you in red flannel pajamas and sleepy eyes. He’d never felt such a relief as he had just now. Seeing you, your warm smile peeking through all the tiredness.

“You just get back?” You asked, slippered feet already sliding to the kitchen to turn on the electric kettle.

“Yes.” He replied, bending low to pat the orange ball of fur dubbed Garfield. The cat mewed happily, even going as far as letting his belly be scratched. He’d missed your eyes curiously glancing at him from behind a cabinet, two mugs clinking as you pulled them out. He’d had the same cloudy eyes and sagged shoulders he always did when he was plagued by bad memories and PTSD.

“I was just about to put on a movie, if you want to sit on the sofa.” You’d suggested, seeping the leaves of his breakfast tea in a fluid motion. Your warm and inviting voice broke him away from thinking of his family, especially when the steaming scent of tea crept up his nose.

“What movie?”

“I was thinking Home Alone, or maybe even The Grinch. Tis’ the season and all that.” You bubbled, taking your own seat against him. He’d stiffened slightly at the mention of the holidays, but his thoughts quickly vanished at the subtle brush of warm skin against his side.

He wasn’t able to breathe properly as you laid your cheek upon his shoulder, right in the dip between his neck and clavicle. But no, it wasn’t the suffocating and violent loss of breath like before, when he thought of war and bloodshed. No, this was a dull ache of his heart, as if telling him that yes, this is where I want to be.

Red Flannel, shifting bodies, soft lips.

“How about we watch Top Gun?” He asked in a whisper, still feeling the absolute sweetness of your lips, the pleasure and love that was you.

You’d single-handedly dulled his pain, silenced the noise, and picked him up on the darkest of his days.

He loved you.

Tag list: @mykneeshurt

#simon ghost riley #cod #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you

2K notes · View notes

mariasont · 26 days

Note

can you do aaron x wife reader who also works in the bau with him & on a case a police officer openly flirts with aaron in front of the team and reader so she stakes her claim on her husband && the team ( mostly derek & pen ) are teasing the two of them for it ??

Marked Territory - A.H

A/N: AHHHHH thinking ab claiming aaron hotchner as ur man has me giggling & kicking me feet

THANK you sooooo much for requesting angel <3 hope you like it!

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

wk: 1.2k

pairings: aaron hotchner x wife!bau!fem!reader

warnings: heavy makeout, jealously

You stood a few feet away with a watchful gaze, arms locked across your chest. The consultant was laying it on thick, her eyelashes sweeping up and down in a practiced rhythm aimed at Aaron. It made you want to throw up. You couldn't help but let out a soft, almost inaudible scoff. The consultant's laughter pierced the quiet, an exaggerated display that felt out of place. Her hand rested on Aaron's arm a moment too long. Your glare could have set the room on fire, you were sure of it, and it only seemed to intensify when Aaron offered a polite, yet distant smile in return.

"Careful there, sugar," Derek joked, sliding into place beside you as he nudged your side. "You're about two seconds from turning this into a crime scene."

You offered a half-glance towards him, "I suppose I can't fault her taste," you said with a forced lightness, even as a twinge of jealously coiled tightly within you, your attention fixed on the hand that dared to claim familiarity with Aaron. "But good taste doesn't come with good sense, apparently."

Penelope swept in with a gasp that could rival a Greek chorus, her eyes wide with a feigned shock. "Wow, I could practically taste your fury from down the hall! Mrs. Hotchner, are we in strategy mode, or should I grab some popcorn?"

You rolled your eyes with a dismissive wave. "You two are ridiculous. What do you expect me to do? Drag her by her hair? Please, I trust Aaron," you stated firmly, because, well, you did. This, however, didn't stop the tiny spark of irritation that flickered within, unbidden and unwelcome, but you squashed it with a laugh. "Besides, if I started a catfight every time someone flirted with him, I'd need my own filing cabinet for all the assault charges."

A glance was all it took for Garcia and Morgan to share their amusement. "Sure, sure," Garcia drawled, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

Morgan's eyebrow arched in silent agreement as he smiled knowingly. "Of course, you're calm. But we both know if that bubble of anger pops, it's going to be one hell of a show."

You tried to ignore it; you really did. You buried your nose in your work, determined to keep your mind off that infuriating woman. You shuffled papers, dove into your case files, and tapped away at your computer with a vigor that doesn't go unnoticed by the team. Every time you caught a glimpse of Aaron, there she was--the consultant--hovering like a shadow. It's almost comical how she mirrored his every move, but you were not laughing.

You found reasons to be anywhere but where Aaron was, taking your coffee break when he's in the break room, opting for the stairs when he took the elevator. It's a dance of avoidance that has you mentally exhausted, but you're trying to channel your inner zen, and being around that woman is doing you no favors.

The office air is thick with tension, a tangible presence that envelops your desk, your focus splintering with every laugh and hushed conversation that drifts over from Aaron's direction. You're the very image of concentration until you see it--the consultant, her proximity invasive, her hand lingering on his shoulder with a familiarity that sears through your veneer of calm. It's the tripping point, the moment your restraint fractures.

You stand, a fluid motion that betrays her anger that charged the room with an energy that has the whole team's attention snapping to you. They recognize the signs--the firm line of your jaw, the fire in your eyes--a rare display that signals an unstoppable force is about to be set in motion.

"Hotch," the name is a clear, firm declaration across the room, a tone you usually reserved for the field. "Can I speak to you for a second?"

The room falls still, a collective breath held by the team as Aaron excuses himself and follows you into his office. The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving just the two of you. His gaze meets yours, a furrow of worry creasing his brow as he takes in the tempest swirling in your stance.

"Honey, are you alright?" he asks, the professional facade giving way to a soft undertone of worry, as he takes a deliberate step towards you, his eyes searching yours for signs of distress.

With a swift assurance of privacy, your eyes lock on the drawn blinds, and you waste no time diminishing the space between you, hands clasping up to his neck with an urgency that pulls him down to you. Your lips found his in a fervent collision, coaxing a surprised murmur from him. He softly pulled back, his chuckle deep and knowing, as his hands encircled your waist.

"Honey--I, we're in the office."

His words may have carried a hint of reprimand, but the gentle exploration of his hands across your back drawing you nearer seemed to contradict him. An innocent smile graced your lips as your fingers wove through his hair, eliciting his head tilting back in contentment. "Just missed you is all."

An eyebrow lifted in amused acknowledgement. "Mm, is that so?"

Gently tugging his head closer, your lips crashed against his with a desperate intensity, your hands gripping him as if he were a lifeline.

With deliberate strokes, you raked your fingers through his hair, creating artful disarray. Your hands glided to his tie, tugging it just enough to break the perfect line, then across his jacket, crumpling the fabric with feigned carelessness. Each touch a strategic step in enhancing his unkempt image.

A gentle exhale escaped you as he pressed you back against the desk's edge, his hands forming a cage around you, both protective and possessive. Your lips curved into a smirk, your teeth capturing his bottom lip and tugging with a teasing pressure, probably a little harder than you should have, causing him to pull back. "Christ, sweetheart."

Instinctively, your hand rose to trace his bottom lip, smoothing over the swollenness your teeth had caused. A soft smile graced your features as you took in the delightful disarray of his appearance. With a satisfied nod, you left a featherlight kiss on his cheek and glided towards the door. "I love you, Mr. Hotchner."

His eyebrows knit together in loving exasperation as he observed your retreat, his hand absentmindedly caressing his lip. God, you kept life interesting. "I love you more, Mrs. Hotchner."

Emerging from Hotch's office, your hair perfectly disordered, a small smirk etched on your lips. You watch as the consultant's eyes stretch wide, a flush of embarrassment covering her cheeks. With a sly wink tossed her way, you glide towards Penelope and Morgan.

"Well, well, well," Morgan drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face as he watched the scene unfold, arms folded confidently over his chest. "I had a feeling those claws were just waiting for the right moment to strike."

"That's our girl! Showing the world whose boss without breaking a sweat." Penelope chirped. "Well, I mean, maybe a little sweat. I'm seriously striving not to speculate about what you two were doing in there."

A playful smirk dances on your lips as you peer over your shoulder at Hotch's door. "Just wait for it," you tease, fingers poised for the dramatic reveal as you count down. "3, 2, 1.."

Right on cue, Hotch steps out, looking every bit as ruffled as you'd intended. His tie hangs crooked, his suit crumpled, and you didn't miss the dark red tint around his bottom lip. The sound of Morgan and Penelope's laughter filled the air as you offered a nonchalant shrug.

"It's all in the day's work, besties. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x your #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic

735 notes · View notes

jelloooverse · 10 months

Text

in my yhk stupid era

[ID: An Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint comic. Kim Dokja says curiously, "I wonder how Lee Seolhwa and Yoo Joonghyuk are doing..." and Shin Yoosung perks up and exclaims, "Ah!" She pulls out her phone to show a picture of Seolhwa smiling and holding hands with a blank figure labeled Y/N and exclaims, "Ahjusshi! I heard that Seolhwa unnie is dating someone! they went on vacation. "I don’t know about Joonghyuk ahjusshi though...)"

Dokja, a shadow stretching from him, says, "Oh. I see." Behind him is a collage of imagined Dokjas looking despairing over a broken heart containing a smiling Joonghyuk and Seolhwa, overlaid with the all-caps text "OTP is dead?"

Shin Yoosung cheerily waves, "Bye ahjussi!" and Dokja pensively contemplates, "..but if Yoo Joonghyuk isn't with Lee Seolhwa then..." He imagines Joonghyuk surrounded by sparkles and with his chest bared and thinks, "Maybe his personality could use some work.. But with his looks he'd be dating someone by now, right..?"

He then looks with surprise over a corner to encounter a sparkle-surrounded scene of Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung with their heads leaned together. Joonghyuk looks down at Sooyoung soulfully while she laughs with a hand on his chest. Dokja hides behind the wall and wonders with shock, "With... HAN SOOYOUNG?!" Behind him, the real Joonghyuk and Sooyoung are arguing, looking annoyed and aggravated.

Dokja, sweating, goes, "No, that's... hard to imagine working out.." and envisions Sooyoung crossing her arms and exclaiming "Yoo Joonghyuk! You're an annoying prick!" plus Joonghyuk glaring "Han Sooyoung. You are intolerable." to equal cartoony versions of them being "lovey dovey" and sharing a censored kiss. A cartoony, flustered Dokja waves the thought away.

Then he looks back and thinks, "Well, if they're happy then.. I'll be a little lenient on our company's no dating policy..." He later walks in behind them to catch Sooyoung saying, "Blah blah that's fucking dumb. Right, Kim Dokja?" Dokja, looking disinterested, replies, "ugh, leave me out of your lover's quarrel."

Sooyoung turns to him with incredulous disbelief and raises a middle finger. "Shut the hell up??" Dokja grins, laughs, and returns her middle finger while Joonghyuk emits a question mark.

Then Dokja looks at his phone before beginning to grin increasingly obnoxiously as he says, "Should I leave you two alone this time, haha. Am I your guys' third wheel again? It's okay, I don't wanna get between you two! (Get a room alreadyy.)"

Sooyoung and Joonghyuk look at each other silently, Sooyoung looking bewildered and exasperated and Joonghyuk with his eyes coolly raised. Sooyoung runs a hand through her hair and says, "..Kim Dokja, did you develop a new strain of idiot?" Joonghyuk, looking put-upon, says, "A common case for him." Dokja looks offended before they both move around him, and Dokja goes "What-" as Sooyoung takes hold of his coat.

Sooyoung kisses Dokja on the cheek, leaving him blank with shock. Joonghyuk takes Dokja's chin to kiss his other cheek. Dokja is left standing small and comically stunned against a white backdrop.

The last panel simply shows icons of their heads. Sooyoung asks, "Hey, can we just order chicken for dinner this time?" and Joonghyuk frowns, "No. I already prepared for tonights dinner." Sooyoung shouts an incoherent "UGHGGH" of frustration. Dokja still looks shellshocked. End ID]

#orv #yoohankim #jello.png #honestly no idea what this is i just miss them #also dont listen to kim dokja. yoohan is my lesbian yaoi forever<3

2K notes · View notes

emissaryofearthbreadofficial · 2 months

Note

The beasts cookies are coming beware of them Meringue cookie for these cookies are basically like gods and this time the Ancients will be powerless to stop or maybe not if they can fight back against them but please be careful when you see them they are stronger than you can ever Imagine prepare yourself to fight them for this will not be You'll hear from them good luck in the war you going to need it

Sorry if this one is vague, but the Beast-Yeast storyline is gonna show up in Book III, so I can't reveal too much about it in worries of spoilers, especially regarding the Beast Cookies.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #crk #cookie run: kingdom #ask #anon ask #asks #cookie run comics #comic #comics #shadow milk cookie #burning spice cookie #mystic flour cookie #eternal sugar cookie #silent salt cookie

36 notes · View notes

spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

Text

@ramlightly graciously let me write a fic based on this comic. Check it out, it's so cool!

"Dominate Person" is a nasty spell that can fully submit a humanoid to your power. It's unclear if the victim has self-consciousness in the moment but since it's possible to throw Wisdom saving rolls I think you can feel that you are controlled.

Thanks @bhaalbaaby for beta-reading!

Puppet Master

Synopsis: Astarion is enchanted by the "Dominate Person" spell and almost kills Tav.

Tags: angst, comfort

TW: A description of physical violence

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion wants to move. To hide in the shadows and shoot the necromancer from there.

You are surrounded, but you keep doing your work.

But he can't.

His body is paralyzed, and he feels a wave of panic.

No, not this. Not "Hold Person"!

He can't do this. He can't make it.

Paralysis is like being sealed in a tomb with too little space to move. Helpless, voiceless.

What if something happens to you when he is like this?

"Astarion, use your daggers!"

Is it you? Or one of the adventurers you've teamed up this morning to kick necromancers out of the town?

Astarion just has to wait. The spell wears off when the spellcaster is down. Or a healer manages to find a way to get rid of the invisible chains.

Or...

USE THE DAGGER

The voice is intimidating, too loud, and too powerful.

It's like the Cazador's voice in his head again. Suppressing. Ordering. Torturing.

No, no...

Astarion feels his hand move toward the dagger. The strings make him move.

It's not "Hold Person".

It's "Dominate Person".

Full control of the victim. The voice your body cannot resist. You become one of them, fighting for them.

Murdering your loved ones.

KILL

Astarion rushes forward to you. To the only person he loves and cares about. The only person in the entire world who has never hurt him.

"Astarion! Help me! Astarion, what's wrong?"

Astarion pushes you into the ground with all his newfound vampiric strength.

No, no, please, stop it!

MURDER THEM

The dagger stabs through your stomach, causing an internal rupture. The second dagger wounds your chest.

You stare at him in pain, in silent prayer. You watch your lover killing you.

Blood. So much blood. Your blood.

A strong hand pulls Astarion from you, but it's not enough.

Astarion has an order from his new master.

To kill you. To make sure you are dead.

It is the worst type of dissociation. He is just an observer.

His hands rip you apart as if you are a prey he's found in the woods. Your eyes are full of terror and pain.

VAMPIRE, DRINK THE BLOOD.

No, no, I won't do it. I don't take the blood without consent... NO!

His fangs pierce into your neck, taking the blood non-stop. To satiate him, to let him feel alive.

And to drain you.

He is less than a slave. A puppet. With his locked mind in agony.

CRUSH THE SKULL

Astarion grabs a handful of your hair to smash you against a stone. Your body is motionless. Broken. Almost dead.

And then...

The agony of death pierces the mind. It's an acid flare of horror - too familiar for the undead.

It happened to him once, many years ago. When he was killed by Cazador and revived as a vampire spawn.

That's how death feels.

But he isn't dying. More than this, his body is his again.

Astarion stands up, feeling the nightmare wearing off.

Your body lies on the ground in blood and gore.

Astarion falls to his knees, his hands shaking.

And yells.

You wake up, your body sore and in terrible pain.

Astarion.

Your mind reacts with a panic attack - a near-death experience causing mental anguish. Your body remembers how Astarion jumped on you with his daggers.

How he ripped your throat.

How he almost crushed your skull.

You try to collect yourself. "Dominate Person". One of the nastiest spells necromancers know. Create a humanoid puppet and make them kill their friends and loved ones. While they silently scream, locked in their minds.

Some people never recover from that. Offing themselves, not being capable of dealing with what they did.

Damn, and what did it do to Astarion? It's what happened to him during his enslavement. Orders impossible to resist.

You want to call for him, but your body refuses to act. It remembers.

His hands, his fangs.

And his eyes in such desperation you've never seen.

Before you manage to collect yourself again, you fall into oblivion.

Astarion is silent.

His nails pierce his scalp. His teeth are clenched. His eyes open wide as he stares at the wall.

The companions who murdered the necromancers ignore him, but he doesn't feel any hostility.

Just a spell. It happens.

"Astarion... Is this your name, right?" a young fighter approaches him. "You need to take a bath."

Astarion looks at himself. His clothes are covered in blood. Your blood.

"Tav will be fine. We have good healers here. Don't blame yourself."

As if enchanted again, Astarion walks away. In silence, he locks himself in the bathroom - a small wooden room with a tub full of hot water. But instead of putting off the dirty clothes, he submerges himself fully clothed.

The fabric clings to the body, and Astarion hugs his knees. The blood mixes with water.

His back hurts as if his scars are bleeding.

He doesn't know how long he spends there. An hour? A day? A week? The water is cold. but he can't care less still hearing your cries.

The door creaks, and he notices familiar soft steps.

"Astarion? Are you alright?"

He can't look at you. Can't make himself. Can't witness the damage he caused.

"I almost killed you, and you ask how I am doing?" his voice breaks.

"The necromancer almost killed me," you say firmly. "Not you. Hey, look at me!"

Your head is heavily bandaged. There are bruises all over your face, and he knows there is much more evidence of his violence below your shirt and trousers.

"It wasn’t you. It was them. You would never do this to me."

"I did."

"You didn't. Come on, take off your clothes. They’re all wet."

He wants to make you go, make you leave. He will be happy knowing you are somewhere safe and far from him.

You touch his neck, and he can't resist. Astarion allows you to pull off his shirt and then manages to take off the trousers as well.

"I am sorry," he whispers.

"Don't." You start rubbing his back, and he flinches when your gentle fingers touch the edges of the scars.

"Tav... You need to rest..."

"Don't be selfish. I need this, too."

"What? Why?"

You take his chin and make him look up at you. "Because my body remembers you killing me. Because my subconscious tells me to run away. Because I remember these gentle hands of yours driving blades into my chest. I need to forget it before it's engraved forever. So please, don’t push me away. Not now..."

You keep rubbing his back, hands, and chest. You plant kisses on the clean skin. You wash his hair, stained blood, and gore, and make sure your touches are light and tender.

"If you want to talk about it, I am here. I know what exactly it reminded you of," you whisper in his ear.

And at that moment it's too much.

His body shudders as he starts crying, hiding his face from you in his palms. You drop the rags and wrap your hands around his neck.

You sit like that for an eternity, lulling each other until the healer starts banging into the door, demanding you to return to bed. You reluctantly let Astarion go.

You kiss him goodbye and leave, hoping the darkness won't hold his mind again, and he won't run away from you and his guilt.

The bed is comfortable as you lie motionless on a blanket. The healer did a great job patching you together. But you will need to fully recover. And gallons of healing potion.

Astarion enters the room. He wears fresh clothes, and if it wasn't for his facial expression, you could think nothing bad has happened.

"Come," you ask him. "I am sorry, but the night of passion isn't an offer today."

"Don't be ridiculous. How are you feeling?"

"Beaten. Wounded. Tired. And you?"

"Violated"

You both are silent. Finally, Astarion lies beside you and wraps his hands around you.

Your body stiffens against your will. Astarion feels it and tries to let you go.

"No. Hold me like that!"

He obliges and gently places your head on his chest. His cool skin feels nice.

Astarion loves me. He won't hurt me.

You repeat it like a prayer before finally being able to fully relax.

"I love you," he mutters. "I won't hurt you. You hear me?"

You nod.

"I love you, too," You smile, and your heart rejoices when he smiles back.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx@astarion-beloved@tallymonster@caitlincat-95@tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars

860 notes · View notes

lalacliffthorne · 10 months

Text

🕯midnights🕯

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: for once, Azriel isn't the only one with fucked up sleeping habits

notes: okay I can't, this is cute.

______________________________________________________________

“Shouldn't you be in bed?”

I jumped, whirling around as a series of curses slipped from my lips, and Azriel cracked a grin, my heart skipping into my throat for an entirely different reason than being startled when the shadow of a crease formed in his cheeks.

For the past two weeks, I had been staying at the townhouse. My apartment in the Rainbow was currently inhabitable since my upstairs neighbour accidentally flooded not just her own place but half the building with a bath, and Mor hadn't even hesitated before relocating me to the guest room on the top floor of the townhouse. It came with her waffles in the morning, an Illyrian General that gave hugs instead of greetings which ripped you off your feet, a mattress so soft I contemplated stealing it, and another Illyrian warrior that seemed to have the same fucked up sleeping schedule as me.

“Shouldn't you be in bed?”, I grumbled, glaring at Azriel in a way that probably looked as half hearted as it felt, and the shadowsinger's gaze dragged over my face, one corner of his lips curving into a light smirk. His gaze tracked down, over the shirt that barely reached the middle of my thighs, and suddenly, my cheeks felt warm.

Clearing my throat, I sent him a crooked smile.

“Did I wake you?”

Azriel's eyes moved back up to my face, deep and piercing as always. Then he raised a brow lightly, and his low, deep voice was like a soft stroke down my spine when he said: “Looking for a book?”

My gaze flickered over him, his tousled hair and eyes, deep like melted caramel before nodding lightly.

He hadn't answered my question, but I didn't push.

Turning around, I slipped the book in my hand back onto the shelf. I had picked it out two nights ago, another time I had run into the Spymaster in the silent house in the dead of the night.

It had become a sort of strange nightly routine over the past two weeks. No matter how late or early, if I was looking for a book or browsing the kitchen cabinets for something to sate a nightly craving.

The first night, I had nearly gotten a heartattack when I had ransacked Mor's stash of hidden pastries and turned around to find the tall, looming figure of the shadowsinger in the doorway. My small squeak had caused Azriel to crunch his brows, his usual unreadable mask slipping and turning into an almost comically confused expression about why I was clutching my chest.

Then I had thrown an empty wrapper at his head and his lips had quirked.

Now, it made me jump less and less to turn around only to find the Spymaster a few feet away like he had stepped out of the shadows that surrounded him day and night.

Something warm brushed against my back, tearing me out of my thoughts, and when I looked over my shoulder quickly, something skipped high into my throat.

Azriel had reached past me, a wave of his scent washing over me as he slipped the book from his hand to its rightful place on the shelf. His breath brushed over my hair, and suddenly, something was fluttering in my chest.

Azriel threw me a look, and I was almost sure to see his lips curve just barely in amusement. Then he raised a brow.

“How was it?”

I needed one second to realise he was referring to the book; one second that made the curve of his lips deepen into a barely there smirk. Then I blinked.

“Oh. Awful.”

Azriel squinted, almost looking like he was suppressing the urge to smile. “Awful?”

“Yes.” Turning back around, I grumbled under my breath: “Bawled my eyes out at the end. It was fucking heartwrenching.”

Azriel made a deep sound that almost sounded like a suppressed chuckle, and something skipped high into my throat at the crease forming in his cheek.

Taking a step back, he moved past me, and my eyes got caught on his back. My breath hitched a little as my eyes darted over the muscles shifting under his smooth skin past his folded wings and the tattoos raking up his neck.

Blinking, I quickly turned my gaze away and looked back ahead, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I tipped back my head to consider the shelves, letting my gaze flicker over the spines, looking for anything that piqueed my interest.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel throw me a look as I began to move along the shelves towards him, ducking my head a bit to catch a glimpse at the lower rows before stepping around his wings, placing my hands on his sides to squeeze past him.

Azriel's muscles shifted, and his body tensed and grew deadly still under my touch.

My heart leapt into my throat, and my eyes darted up, only to find his head turned to look down at me. His eyes were piercing, and quickly, I pulled my hands back, my nose scrunching a little when I smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry. Habit.“ Throwing him a lopsided grin, I tipped my head back to look up the shelves again, trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel's gaze flicker over my face, narrowing in, his amber eyes dark in the night. He looked a little like he was debating something. Then he blinked and moved, his scent washed over me, and my heart got caught in my throat when his chest lightly pressed into my shoulder.

My eyes shot up to his face as my chest expanded, my breath faltering as they widened. But Azriel wasn't looking at me, instead reaching past my head to pull a book from high up the shelves. Carefully blowing off some dust, he scrunched his nose lightly like he was trying to hold in a sneeze and handed me the book.

“Here.”

My breath hitched as I reached out slowly, and something warm started spreading in my chest, growing and fluttering more with every second as Azriel's piercing, steady gaze moved over my face and I realised he wasn't moving away.

Staring up at him, I blinked, and my heart skipped a little as a cheeky smile spread over my face.

“Please tell me it has a happy ending; I'm not sure I can handle any more heartbreak after the last one –“

Azriel huffed, but his lips curved, and my heart did a light flip when he nudged the book into my arms, arching a brow silently.

I grumbled under my breath, something fluttering against my ribs when I took the book and Azriel's warm, rough fingers brushed against mine. For another moment, his eyes pierced my face, deep and dark and looking strangely close to twinkling, then Azriel raised his head again, tipping it back lightly to consider the shelves. My breath hitched when my eyes flickered over his profile. His straight nose, those annoyingly perfect cheekbones, the sharp jaw and the curve of his throat –

I blinked when his arm brushed against my back and quickly turned my eyes away, pulling the first book from the shelves my eyes landed on and handing it to him.

Slowly, Azriel took it from my grasp, a strand of dark hair draping over his forehead as he raised a brow at me and tipped his head down to consider it.

Apparently, he was content with my choice, because one corner of his lips tipped upwards.

“Alright, let's go; my feet are getting cold,”, I mumbled the last part, quickly slipping past him. I swore I heard a soft, deep chuckle, and when I looked over my shoulder, the shadowsinger followed after me.

Making my way up the stairs, Azriel's steps soundless behind me, I slowed a little when I reached the floor with Cassian's room. There was a strange noise coming from his door at the end of the hall, pulling my attention away from the silent Illyrian behind me and the way I could feel his warmth even though he was not touching me. The sounds were slightly muffled but –

I blinked before stilling. I could feel Azriel slowly move onto the last step behind me, his shadows whispering as they gently nudged my ankles.

For another second, I listened, my lips parting slowly in disbelief. Then I whispered: “Is that Cass?”

My hushed voice was so incredulous, it sounded amusing even to my own ears as I turned a little to look back, and my heart skipped when Azriel propped an arm onto the banister, one corner of his lips turning upwards. For once, we were almost on eye level, with him leaning against the stair railing, slightly hunched forward, his iris tinkling a little when he just raised a brow.

“Oh - my Gods; no wonder none of you want to sleep on the same floor as him!” I could feel my lips rise until I was beaming widely, my voice still barely above a whisper, and Azriel huffed, his chest brushing against my shoulder and making my breath stumble when he shifted his weight a little and threw his brother's door a look, mumbling: “We'd have to sleep in the basement to not hear him. It sometimes sounds like he's sawing through my floor.”

I barely smothered a giggle, quickly hiding my quiet laughter behind my book as my shoulders shook, and Azriel stared at me, his dark eyes twinkling as Cassian's muffled snores echoed through the quiet hall.

“Wait.” My laughter faded a little, and I looked at him, still smiling broadly as I widened my eyes. “How can you read with him snoring like that? Or sleep?”, I added in a disbelieving whisper, and Azriel actually smirked.

The sight of deep creases and his teeth flashing left my heart staggering.

“It's not always this bad. It's only in spring, when the pollen get carried here. Means his nose gets clogged up.” His quiet voice barely carried, strangely intimate in the silent house. His eyes looked like molten honey in the soft lights, slowly tracking over my face.

“Gods.” I listened to the deep, rhythmical snores coming from Cassian's room, then I breathed a soft giggle and shook my head.

For a moment, I hesitated, feeling my heart beat steadily against my ribs. Then I looked over my shoulder, my gaze finding Azriel's as I sent him a crooked smile.

“If you want, you can come up to the guest room with me. I don't think you can hear him from there. Then you don't have to,”, I felt a light grin push onto my face, “deal with that.”

Azriel's lips curved up as his eyes moved over my face, and for a second, I expected him to decline. Then he blinked.

“If you can handle the distraction.”

His slow, deep voice needed a second to register. Then I blinked and looked up at him, and my lips parted softly when I saw the barely detectable twinkle in his eyes as he arched a dark brow.

My breath hitched, and suddenly, something started fluttering against my ribs, growing stronger every second as slowly, very slowly, a wide beaming smile took over my face as I stared at him in awe. Then I blinked, my grin growing as I raised my brows.

“You know, I think you've been around for Rhys too long; that was so him,”, I narrowed my eyes, “are you sure you're okay, do I need to check if you are, because –“

With a soft snort, Azriel moved up the last step, and my breath hitched when he slipped a hand over my mouth to muffle my words.

The flutter in my chest got caught in my throat, my heart did a double flip before stopping, and I was sure Azriel had to feel the way my whole body froze when his chest pressed into my back and he started to push me towards the next flight of stairs.

Oh, this had been a bad idea.

I was so screwed.

_________________________________________________

part II

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel imagine #acomaf #acowar #azriel/reader #az/reader #az x reader #az imagine #lalacliffthorne

923 notes · View notes

monster-disaster · 9 days

Text

[tentacle] Monster in the hospital

tentacle!monster x human!male!Reader Good to know: porn without plot Summary: You are well taken care of in the hospital.

Long shadows stretch away from the cold hue of the lamps filtering through the half-open door. Under the pale illumination of the lights, the room seems even more barren than usual.

"Mr. Y/L/N?" The mention of your name pulls your attention away from the sterile white walls and the dark screen of the small TV in front of you. "Yes?" Your voice is hoarse from being silent for so long. "Everything is alright?" The nurse asks, standing at the door. "Do you need anything?" "No," you reply. "I'm fine. Thank you." "Try to sleep," she says. "You need rest."

You nod without speaking, and she leaves with the soft click of the door as she closes it behind herself. Now, the only light you get is from the streetlamp not far from the window outside. Your eyes linger on the clean glass and the dark sky above Meriad. The traffic around the hospital is muffled and slow. Your room feels too quiet without the soft buzz of the equipment and the quiet conversations coming from the corridor.

You are lying in the bed with pillows plumped under your head. The white sheet is crisp, and the thin blanket hides the ugly, freshly washed hospital gown you wear. A slight grimace pulls on your face at the thought. You don't want to know how many times you flashed your bare butt just today.

It's almost midnight, but you can't sleep. You slept more than enough for the last two days since you got into the hospital because of your migraine. There is something impatient and restless in your muscles as you fidget and adjust your position every few minutes. You want to go for a walk. You want to go outside and get some fresh air to get rid of the scent of chemicals.

The sudden movement under your bed makes you grab onto the edges of the hard mattress. It pulls you out of your thoughts as you look around, surprised at the sight of long tentacles emerging around you. The light pink limbs almost look comical in the too-sterile, too-clean and too-barren environment.

"Hello," you break the silence a bit awkwardly. "Uh-"

You want to sit up, but two tentacles stop you by your shoulders before you can move. They are gentle but firm, keeping you in place.

"Oh," you exhale, relaxing back onto the mattress while remaining fixated on the monster. The pink skin looks soft and smooth under the dim lights, and you can see the muscles working without pause. The tentacles move slowly and lazily as they get closer and closer, slipping under the blanket covering you.

Even though you expect it, you still jump with surprise when they reach your bare legs. Two limbs curl around your ankles, pulling them apart slightly. Your heart flutters in your chest with excited anticipation as you watch the moving bulges under the cover. Another two tentacles glide up on your shins, tickling the hair on your skin and caressing the insides of your thighs. Your cock jerks at the teasing touch, and something tight and warm gathers in your lower belly. Your fingers tighten on the edge of the bed, and your nails dig into the mattress.

The air leaves your lips in a sharp gasp.

The monster's touch is cool and surprisingly slick around the base of your cock as you lay still with your half-hard length between your thighs. The tentacle squeezes you teasingly, making your blood rush down to your lower body to the point you feel dizzy and lightheaded. The tentacle squeezes you teasingly, stroking up on your shaft until your cock is hard and pre-cum drips from the tip. You shudder and sigh at the feeling. The tentacle smears the pearly liquid all over your shaft, making its own stroking motion smoother and easier on your length. Your cock jerks and twitches in its hold, pointing upwards under the thin blanket. The tip of the limp circles around the crown, caressing the sensitive skin there. You can feel the muscles moving and working around your erection while you can do nothing but twitch and jerk in its grasp.

"Fuck," you pant into the quiet room. The dim light filtering through the window glides over your sweat-covered skin. Your lower body moves on its own accord. Your heels dig into the mattress as your hips thrust up, chasing every sensation and pleasure you can get from the monster.

With a trembling hand, you grab the edge of the cover to pull it off your body. A relieved sigh leaves your chest when the cold air runs over your heated skin before a moan escapes your lips at the sight of yourself in the grip of the long, pink tentacles. The hard cords of your legs are tense and still look so fragile compared to the thick limbs. Your eyelids are heavy as you force yourself to keep your eyes open. You stare at the tentacle around your cock, milking you from the base to the wet tip.

"Fuck," you groan again, letting your back arch up from the bed as your chest heaves. Like a raw nerve, you twitch and tense at every touch and firm caress.

"Fuckfuckfuck!" Your voice is breathless and high as you moan. Pleasure strikes through your body when another tentacle appears between your thighs. It slips under your cock, licking over your balls. The touch is slick and sudden. White hot pleasure bursts under your eyelids, making you tingle all over to the point you forget how to breathe.

The tentacles tighten their hold on you to keep you in place before you trash and shake yourself off the bed, but you barely notice it. The monster works on your cock and balls in sync, chasing you to your orgasm with rapid speed. Convulsions seize your thighs, and your abs clench painfully so. You look and sound desperate as you fuck the tentacle around your length. Every nerve and fiber in your body is fixed on the sensations that drive you mad with pleasure and need. The monster dominates you without a sound and plays on you like it would on an instrument.

Your mind goes blank when your orgasm strikes through your nervous system like a jolt of electricity. It makes your muscles tense and takes your breath away for long seconds. Your lungs burn, and maybe even your heart stops beating. Your cock erupts, and rapid bursts of cum shoot all over you and the tentacles. When your orgasm ends, and your body finally goes limp on the bed, you and the monster are soaked in your semen.

You are drained and spent with no thoughts in your head.

You fall asleep within seconds while the tentacles let you go, clean you up, and cover you in the blanket while the night goes on in the sterile walls of the hospital.

- Masterlist Meriad Masterlist Patreon

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster smut #terat0philliac #terato #meriad #tentacle x reader #tentacle boyfriend #tentacle x human #tentacle smut

294 notes · View notes

transtravisstoll · 23 days

Text

Batkids Age Reversal List

want to do a age reversal AU for the batkids but why do the comics keep fucking up their ages this has taken me weeks of trying to figure out i’m gonna off the DC comic writers. if you have any better ideas for their ages pls let me know im going to gouge my eyes out if i have to do any more math.

alfred: ???

-immortal. fuck you. he looked death in the face and told him to stop tracking mud all over his freshly mopped floors and that dinner was at eight.

bruce: 39

-had damian at eighteen bc i wanted it to be as close to his age gap with dick in canon as possible but i am not having this man fathering a child at 15

damian: 21

-came to gotham at age 8, refused to be a normal kid bc he was literally raised an assassin and bruce doesn’t know how to encourage nonviolent activities in children so letting him fight crime seemed… better than being an assassin. he, at the age of eight, could not come up with a name that wasn’t fucking Terrifying so whenever gordon asked for his “little shadow”‘s name they were suspiciously silent bc no, damian, you can not call yourself Vengeance or Malice. the media called him shadow and it stuck.

duke: 18

-wanted to keep his age gap with tim similar, but with duke being the older one, instead of doing dick and jason’s age gap bc it makes more sense this way.

-his parents got jokerified when he was 12, and so did a Lot of people in the Narrows. it absolutely decimated their little community so duke became signal. he didn’t fight crime, he gave back to his community, he helped with the cleanup. bruce ended up basically kidnapping the poor kid. (duke ran away from his foster home because he wasn’t a glorified babysitter or maid, fuck you, he can crash on couches.)

STEPH: 16

-again, wanted to keep the age gap between steph and tim the same but keeping steph the older one. makes more sense this way!! leave me alone.

-became spoiler at 13, was only spoiler for a year before she became shadow at 14 for about six months in between damian and jason. there was a six month period as well where bruce didn’t have a shadow and alfred literally had to bribe steph to be shadow bc he wasn’t abt to let a kid run around the gotham night without knowing batman was two steps ahead of them. plus, having a kid with him made bruce more cautious.

TIM: 15

-FINALLY got to mimicking the age gap between dick and jason in canon

-never becomes shadow, actually, he takes bab’s spot as their computer wiz. doesn’t call himself oracle though because he fucking sucks at making names. calls himself override (barf).

-also, steph is the only one who hes told he’s override to and also knows the batfam’s identities

-duke knows tim is override bc he’s scary like that!! tim doesn’t know duke knows he’s override, but duke knows that tim knows their identities and tim Also doesn’t know that. duke is fr terrifying. love him.

-tim figured out the batfam because of duke’s meta abilities bc he’s also scary like that

Jason: 14

-oh, he’s… currently out of commission. became shadow at 12.

-didn’t die in ethiopia, because fuck that plot. he was doing a stakeout but the joker had kidnapped this itty little baby (an eight year old boy) who he found running around the gotham night. jason went out of commission saving that little boy. what does out of commission mean? who knows. could be dead. could be severely injured. kidnapped. the possibilities are endless.

-i think it’s fucked that the comic fans voted for a fifteen year old to die by the joker. y’all are crazy.

cass: 13

-mimicking jason and cass’ age gap with cass being younger bc it makes more sense leave me alone

-isn’t a Batman approved shadow (yet) but she shadows batman anyways after jason’s… indisposed. the bonus is that batman doesn’t Know he has a shadow but gotham is kept in the dark abt shadow being (redacted) because cass and jason had the same exact fucking build, okay, jason hasn’t gotten his growth spurt yet (because of childhood malnutrition) . weird how batman lost weight though, after he went on that rage incident after the latest arrest of the joker. he’s leaner now. (is it the same batman? who knows.)

dick: 8

-mimicking the tim and damian age gap, bc it’s six years in my head leave me alone.

-huh, jason went out of commission saving an eight year old and dick is eight… suspicious. coincidence? hm.

babs: 7

-mimicking the babs and dick age gap but with babs being younger bc i think she’s older in canon? unsure. DC please i’m going to kill you and then me.

#batkids #batman #dick grayson #stephanie brown #tim drake #damian wayne #duke thomas #jason todd #reverse robins #dc comics

181 notes · View notes

cyberfreaky · 7 months

Text

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY 彡 — KINKTOBER EDITION

— jake loves seeing his pretty girl cry, especially when it’s his fault.

tags: mean/toxic-ish!jake. sensitive!reader. p n v. clit stimulation. nipple stimulation. creampie. subtle breeding kink. daddy kink. dirty talk. pet names. mild dacryphilia. age gap (21 & 38). fingering. subtle tummy bulge.

masterlist ♡

it didn't take a genius to figure out your olo'eyktan favoured you most amongst the clan. he wasn't exactly subtle with his favouritism towards you, and he expressed it in several ways. giving you the easiest duties, plenty special treatment, being completely lax about your actions while scorning anyone else for doing the same. was it unfair? sure. but jake couldn't care less about what the anyone thought, and it wasn't like you were complaining about it, either.

these behaviours only brought the two of you closer, and jake had become more than your leader. you confided in him about anything and everything. he would happily listen to everything you'd vent, cry, babble or gossip about. you'd quickly grown to not just being his favourite amongst the clan, but his favourite person in general. jake loved the trust you held with him, how comfortable you'd become around him, the way you basically situated yourself permanently into his life. he adored you.

as much as jake loved you — pushing your buttons was something he couldn't help himself from doing. you were so easy to rile up and piss off, always giving jake the desired reaction he craved each and every time. it'd always end up with you sobbing, and he secretly enjoyed pushing you to that point.

it was the night after jake had made you cry for the millionth time. he’d claimed you weren’t the ‘prettiest’ girl in the clan, and boasted about how much more attractive the other women were. being the insecure girl you were - this destroyed you. and you’d avoided him all day, just like always. jake hadn’t bothered chasing you up and left you to your own devices. he’d make it up to you eventually, you never stayed away.

you were in your hut, wallowing in your own self-pity after yesterdays ordeal. you'd been avoiding jake all day, and it wasn't that difficult. surprisingly enough, he'd been doing the exact same to you.

you held your laundry in your arms, hanging them to dry on a makeshift drying line made of twine. it was positioned just outside the large opening in your hut, giving the morning sun the perfect opportunity to dry your tewngs and coverings once it rose the following morning.

just like clockwork, you felt a familiar presence in the doorway of your hut. there was a leering shadow that appeared on the floor, jake's scent was so acquainted with your senses at this point. you didn't bother to turn around and face him, refusing to give him even that little satisfaction. you continued on with your chores, a small pout on your lips while you worked in silence.

"still mad at me, huh?"

silence.

"sweetheart, i was jokin'. stop actin' like a child." jake sighed with annoyance, raking his fingers through his thick locs.

silence.

"y'know, you can't stay mad at me forever."

you scoffed at those words, knowing damn well you were just as stubborn as he was. while you kept your back to him, you did pipe up this time. "yes i can."

jake, being the man he was, took your response as a challenge. he entered into your hut with a smirk, taking a few strides over to where you hung your clothing. you were far too irresistible to walk away from.

his fingertips danced across your soft sides, circling across the smoothness of your azure skin. he was merely testing the waters and gauging your reaction to his touch - and you had gone with the route of simply ignoring him. jake found this comical, he had mesmerised your body to a T. only he could notice that very faint squirm, and that was invitation enough for jake to continue with his plan on earning your forgiveness.

"the silent treatment doesn't work with me, darlin'. y'should know this by now." jake says, embracing your smaller frame from behind and pressing his body against yours. his arms coiled around your waist, childishly interfering with your hands as you tried to hang your laundry.

it took everything within you not to smack his hands away, he kept purposely grabbing the fabric and trying to snatch it from your grasp. it didn't help that his chin was rested on your shoulder, chuckling lowly to himself as he watched your frustration grow by the second. it only heightened his excitement.

"i hate you." you grumbled at jake, though you made no effort to push him away. you gave up on doing your task after his annoying tactics made it nearly impossible.

"oh, you hate me? is that right?" jake mocked you lovingly, his breath warm on the nape of your neck. "don't kid yourself, hon. 'ya love me."

you both stood in front of the dark opening of your hut, your narrowed eyes staring off into the distance as you kept your anger in tact. you refused to let him get the upper hand of whatever this was - it wasn't fair in your eyes. he'd hurt your feelings, and now he thought he could fuck you as an apology. you wished jake would just apologise instead of trying to brush everything off with sex...though, you still made no attempt at stopping him.

"no, i don't."

jake found your stubbornness that even more enticing. his rough hands began to trail up your body, feeling every inch of your smooth exterior with his fingertips. "well, i love you. so damn much." he whispered in your ear, his voice had grown much more lustful than before. he peppered kisses behind the lobe, making it even harder for you to resist him.

you felt jake's touch creep up to your chest, moving beneath the thin fabric of your chest covering. your breath hitched as his hands cupped your full breasts, kneading the soft skin of your flesh. "i love your pretty tits." he drawled, his thumb toying with your hard nipple.

an involuntary whimper escaped your throat, feeling yourself growing weaker in jake's arms. he kept his lips trailing across your neck and shoulder, gently nipping at the skin as his fingers pinched the sensitive nubs.

while jake massaged one of your tits, his other hand made it's way down to your tewng. just from his subtle touch alone, your arousal was already seeping through the fabric. your body jerked as jake palmed your wet cunt, his thumb pressing on your needy clit. you were puddy in his hands now, and there was no point in fighting back. his voice was low and sensual, almost groaning in your ear. "i love your sweet pussy."

"jake.." you warn him quietly, your knees buckling once his thumb began to rub circles into your bundle of nerves. you couldn't take it anymore, but still, you were adamant about standing your ground. "stop it." your voice was meek and breathless, still making no effort to push jake away.

"stop what?" jake smiled at your feigned hesitance, his long fingers exploring your sopping folds. he'd prod your entrance teasingly with two fingers, before sliding them inside your heat. "y'don't want me anymore or somethin'?"

your legs were on the brink of giving out, your golden eyes rolling back while jake fingered your cunt. "...y-you were mean to m-me yesterday..." you argued through breathless moans, biting harshly on your bottom lip as he began to pump his thick digits in and out.

jake would keep that slow, devilish pace - chuckling at your meek response. "don't be so sensitive, baby. you know i was kiddin'." he'd drawl, keeping that devilish pace between your soft thighs. you were so pathetic, a needy mess who couldn't even speak up for herself. jake loved it. "c'mon, let daddy make it up to you."

the older man could talk you into anything, that tone of voice and choice of words had you weak for him. of course you wanted him to make it up to you - of course you wanted him to fuck you dumb. why couldn't you have more backbone?

it wasn't long before jake had thrown you on the bed, the weight of his heavy body looming on top you. you could almost feel your breath restricting from the position, his bulky arms had you folded in half like a rag-doll. your soft thighs were pressed against your chest - taking every, rough thrust with shallow breaths.

"...auughh....f-ffuck, baby.." jake groaned, his forehead pressed against yours as he fucked you deep. your tight pussy had him seeing stars, the way you squeezed around his cock nearly made him cum right then and there. "...mm, couldn’t stay mad at me, could ‘ya?”

your sweet moans filled his ears, sharp nails clawing at his back while he pounded you relentlessly. jake could feel how good he was making you feel, how desperate you were for him. it'd made the older man smile as he leaned down to kiss you, swallowing those pretty sounds of pleasure.

the feeling was euphoric, his thick cock bullied into you harder and harder with each passing second. you had a hellish lock on jake's neck as he thrusted inside you, the ferocity of his movements causing your smaller body to jerk and bounce. you were like his little sex-toy, the perfect girl he could use whenever he wanted. and quite frankly? you didn't mind. you knew how easy you were.

"jesus...feel how deep daddy is." jake chuckled, taking your nimble hand and pressing it against your tummy.

you could feel his cock ramming inside you, the fat tip hitting your sweet spot and making you mewl in response. "o-oh my god." your eyes began to glaze over with tears, the pleasure was becoming almost overwhelming.

jake saw the tears roll down your flushed cheek, and the sight alone made his arousal peak. he picked up his pace, pounding you even harder as he watched you cry. "poor darlin', feels s'good, don't it?" he crooned meanly, his heavy balls slapping against your slick folds with every thrust. "yr'such a crybaby."

"..c-can't help it." you sobbed, your voice meek and breathless.

the older man smirked at your response, pressing his warm lips on your cheek and gently lapping up your tears. "so pretty when you cry." he'd moan against your skin, his kisses finding their way to your mouth and locking lips with you once again.

you could both hear how wet you were, as jake pulled out slowly and slammed back into you. his own voice had become hoarse, hips jittering faintly as he felt his climax building inside. "christ...this pussy was made jus' f'me, huh?"

"s'all yours, daddy." you sniffled, amber eyes rolling back in your head as he kept hitting the one spot that made your toes curl.

you kept whimpering tiredly, your face nuzzled into jake's shoulder as he stretched your pussy out. you were barely receptive at this point, instead broken down into cries and blabbering moans. how could you speak at this point? jake had gotten the better of you. it didn't matter how many times he made you upset, you'd always end up getting fucked dumb as a result.

jake's hand caressed your jaw, grabbing it gently and forcing you to look into his eyes. "that's right. all mine." he grunted brutishly, keeping half-lidded eye contact with you while he stuffed you full.

that familiar twisting was brewing in the pit on your stomach, and your sweet release was so fucking close. it was a high you were chasing, and it was addictive. a few more hard strokes and you'd be gushing all over the bedsheets.

but you underestimated jake as always. he was an asshole.

the older man could feel your soft walls clenching around his twitching cock. his baby was so damn close, but he didn't feel like giving you that satisfaction just yet. jake suddenly slowed down his thrusts, going at at agonising pace that made you whine loudly in response. "faster!"

he grinned at your pleas, the tips of his canines grazing along the side of your neck. "nah." jake simply taunted you, nipping at your skin with that smug smirk. "wanna hear 'ya beg me."

your tears of frustration welled up once more, and you had put aside all embarrassment. it pained jake to pull himself out, his hips hovering above yours as his tip slid through your soaking folds. you were crying hellishly below him, feeling him rub and tease your clit. all with that damn smile on his face.

"p-please."

jake tsk'ed at your response, prodding your needy entrance again and refusing to slide back in. "gotta do better than that, hon." he drawled, taking in your screwed up expression and misty eyes. eywa, you were so beautiful. so needy. "c'mon, use yr'big girl words."

as he kept nudging your sensitive clit, you couldn't handle it anymore. "please fuck me, daddy!"

your face flushed with pure embarrassment, and you looked away in shame from speaking so lewdly. but it paid off once you heard jake chuckle lowly, giving your raw lips a soft kiss as he buried his cock deep inside you once more. "much better."

all that shame meant nothing once you felt jake pounding into you just like before. you moaned in his ear, the squelch of your dripping pussy grew louder as jake slammed his hips against yours. it was so rough and fast — the absolute perfect pace.

jake's brows furrowed as he felt his climax approaching, forehead pressed against yours once against as he fucked you like his own personal fleshlight. the older man's head dipped down to your chest, lips attaching to one of your soft tits and sucking at your hard nipple. the added stimulation made your back arch off the bed, forcing your breasts harder against his face.

you kept squeezing hellishly around his cock, indicating you were nearly there. jake wasn't far off either, and he made it clear with how rough his groans had become. "f-ffuck, gonna fill this pretty pussy up." he whispered in your ear, his thrusts not faltering as his release rapidly approached. "y'want that, hm?"

"y—yes!" you nodded frantically, your nails digging so deep in his back that blood began to draw. "need it s'bad, daddy. wanna b-be stuffed."

that was all jake needed to hear.

he smashed his lips against yours again, wanting to stifle both your moans as you reached your orgasms in tandem. you were practically screaming, the high-pitched moans were silenced by his tongue shoving its way into your mouth. jake's eyes were screwed shut as his hips began to jitter, breaking off the kiss to catch his breath as spurts of his warm seed filled your pussy. you mewled at the sensation as you came hard, coating his thick cock in your milky cum.

jake's body fell on top of yours, neither of you able to speak as he continued to fuck his cum inside your creamy pussy. his movements were sluggish and languid, the sticky release dripping out of your hole and dripping onto the mattress below you. each thrust made you squirm, leaving you a sobbing mess beneath the older man.

his golden eyes would soon open, both your foreheads pressed against each others as he snickered tiredly. "you forgive me now?"

737 notes · View notes