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lecsainz · 4 months

Note

A headcanon of Percy Jackson x reader daughter of Zeus, where he has been in love since the first day he saw her, and he had also recently arrived at the camp, please

˒ ⌕ SHE IS LIKE THUNDER

parings: percy jackson x zeus!reader

an:I know I disappeared, forgive me 🤧, but picture me writing this at 3 AM, dying of sleepiness after watching the last episode of PJO, AND ANNIE USED THE NICKNAME 😭 THIS EPISODE IS STILL TOO MUCH FOR ME TO PROCESS!!!!

summary: the one where you're a daughter of zeus, exploring your relationship with percy.

( my last work || my last work for riodanverse || go to main masterlist )

You and Percy crossed paths during one of your training sessions. Luke was giving Percy a tour of the camp, and when Percy laid eyes on you, he halted abruptly, as if struck by lightning. For some inexplicable reason, he felt an urgent need to know who you were, as if the gods themselves demanded it.

Percy's eyes widened as he observed you from across the training grounds. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing a finger in your direction. Luke suppressed a chuckle, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Her? Oh, that's Y/N, daughter of Zeus." Percy squinted, trying to decipher your actions, as you accidentally summoned a small lightning bolt that fizzled out near your feet. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Does that happen often?" Luke grinned. "Only when she's particularly excited, which, by the way, is most of the time. You should see her during thunderstorms!" Percy blinked, watching as you waved sheepishly, causing another faint spark to crackle in the air.

You and Percy found common ground in venting about the gods upon his arrival.

"Hey, little thunder, how's it going?" Percy grinned. "Don't call me that," you replied, trying to keep a straight face. "I'm good too, thanks for asking, Lightning Rod," Percy joked, emphasizing his newfound nickname for you.

Attempts at using your powers together proved futile, as water and electricity didn't exactly make for a harmonious combination.

According to Percy, Cabin 3 was way too big for just him, and assuming you felt the same way about Cabin 1, he started a tradition. At 12:00, he'd show up at your cabin, asking to share it, turning into a routine of hosting pajama parties in each other's cabins.

After you discovered that your half-sister, Thalia, had been turned into a pine tree to save her, Percy couldn't resist teasing you about it.

"Do you think your dad would turn you into, what, a fountain? Or maybe a cherry blossom tree would suit you?" Percy grinned, enjoying the opportunity to rib you. "Jackson, shut up," you retorted, rolling your eyes at his antics. Later, when Grover and Annabeth intervened, trying to keep you two from frying each other, Percy couldn't resist a parting shot. He had soaked you with water from a nearby forest stream during the mission, leaving you drenched and fueling your desire to electrocute him. "Next time you want to electrocute Percy, make sure I'm not around," Annabeth teased as they separated you, noticing your soaked state. Grover, being the peacekeeper, started singing the song of friendship, encouraging both of you to hug it out and apologize. Percy, however, observed that you were shivering from the cold as you walked. Realizing this, he handed you his jacket, concerned. "You'll catch a cold if you stay wet like this," he said, offering you warmth amidst the chilly aftermath of your water-based altercation.

Since neither you nor Percy admit to having feelings for each other, you find yourselves in constant teasing and banter.

During a mission, you two start a squabble because you want to lead everything, and he just wants to do his thing or isn't paying attention to what you're saying. Grover and Annabeth exchange glances, seeking a way to mediate.

It takes a long time before you muster the courage to admit you have feelings for the son of Poseidon. You decide to confess first because, knowing Percy, it would take ages if you waited for him.

"Percy, I need to talk in case we don't get out of here." "Spark Plug, we're getting out of here; trust me." "I like you, Seaweed Brain." He stands there in shock, mouth hanging open, unable to believe that you like him back.

After Percy managed to confess that he also liked you, you enjoyed teasing him about his stunned reaction. But deep down, you were terrified that he might have said he didn't like you back.

Percy becomes incredibly protective of you.

"Touch her, and you'll be dead."

You love stormy days and spend hours on the beach with Percy because he can control the water, ensuring you both stay dry.

"Isn't it beautiful?" "What, little storm?" You pause, gazing out at the tumultuous sea, the waves crashing against the shore. "It's like the ocean is in harmony with this storm. It's as if they understand each other, finding peace in the chaos." "Maybe," Percy finally responds, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Maybe storms and the sea have a way of finding peace in chaos because they understand that even in the wildest moments, there's a certain kind of order."

You appreciate the profound simplicity of his words, and in that moment, he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder. For the first time in a long while, you feel at home

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celluloidbroomcloset · 3 months

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I'm gonna say it again: OFMD is not niche. It was a major sleeper hit when it came out, big enough for Max to take a Season 2. It has major talent behind it (yeah, sorry, Taika Waititi is a name, he has a lot of clout, and he put his weight behind this). It has been critically acclaimed for two seasons.

Post-merger, Max tried to bury Season 2. (Zaslav likely couldn't actually cancel it because of contracts, but that's just my assumption. We know that Zaslav is homophobic and racist, and we can see that in what has happened across WB since he took over. Dude is a Major Villain, and not solely because of this.) They cut the budget and episode length. Cast members had to be let go, filming locations rearranged. They released it on a ridiculous schedule that allowed for no longevity or word of mouth to develop. The network was trying to kill it.

They failed to kill it. Damn thing got rave reviews and big numbers, despite little promotion AND a writers' and actors' strike (in which a lot of the cast and crew visibly and audibly participated). Publications were shouting that it was a flagship show for Max. Publications do not say this because one of their writers likes a show; they say this because the numbers look right to them.

This is not a niche show that a few people liked and that fizzled out. It is one of the more prominent queer shows out there, and it is also one of the more prominent comedies on streaming. Max tried to kill it and it has failed to stay dead.

This doesn't mean that some other streamer will definitely pick it up, but stop with the narrative of "get over it" or "there are other shows." Your fave is next, my friend, because if this one has to fight tooth and nail to maybe possibly get a third season...?

#ofmd #our flag means death #the whole history is symptomatic of what's going on in hollywood right now #you don't have to love this show but if you miss what's happening or think it's negligible #you're very wrong and you're about to be hit with some serious shit in the near future

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matrixbearer2024 · 2 months

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I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THE “GET OFF MY SCREEN” SERIES

I can’t stop thinking about the idea of Reader playing video games and Vox is just watching like it’s a twitch stream and judging their gaming skills and even backseat gaming 😭😭

It’s like my brain is working overtime thinking of this AU

Oh Shut Up Vee!

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: Yeah- I'm pretty sure Vox would literally dunk on the non-gamer Readers out there, hell- he'd probably find our concept of horror games pretty tame compared to what he sees and deals with daily in hell. Though I'm pretty sure Vox himself would backseat game the fuck out of you- he's not that great at video games either. He just doesn't have the time to really get into them aside from the basics HAHAHAHA- I'll still be writing scenarios and just adding them into the masterlist if you guys think of any. As always, I hope you guys enjoy and happy reading!

"Wow, doll- you... kinda suck at this."

"Vox shut up and let me focus."

You cursed under your breath as you continued to mash buttons.

The loud repeated clicking from your incessant spamming kind of made Vox cringe.

He didn't even want to imagine what you'd do to your keyboard when you were fuming-

Your poor controller was just not having a good day-

So... how did you end up like this?

It was another long weekend for you with the back-to-back holidays around the corner.

So of course you kind of spent it doing whatever you could possibly think of.

Productive or not you didn't really care.

In this instance-

You chose to play some fighting games with a friend online.

It wasn't your preferred genre of game, but it was better than boredom.

So you plugged your computer into the TV to get a bigger view of the game-

Only for Vox to end up popping in at some random point in your session.

He could see your game like a stream from his end, moving it to a separate screen so he could still watch your reactions.

You on the other hand had to deal with a slightly obstructive minimized box on the screen at all times.

At least he tried to stay out of the way-

"Aaaaand you're dead again-"

"FUUUUUCK!!!!"

You wanted to chuck your controller into the ground at this point-

But those things were expensive so you just put it down on the coffee table and started violently punching the shit out of a nearby pillow.

"Seriously, you've just got to punch the dude and block- it's not that hard."

Vox had been watching you play for a little over thirty minutes by now.

And you've probably won like... thrice?

Out of twenty matches?

Not a great looking statistic in his opinion.

You glared up at his minimized face on the TV and huffed.

"If it's so easy why don't you face me head on then huh? Coward!"

"Fine, but don't cry if I end up kicking your ass!"

Vox ended up shooting back, already messing with your computer settings to make way for a local player 2.

Of course most games had that option anyway, it just wasn't immediately recognized by the game since you didn't plug another controller in.

Vox wasn't exactly being arrogant this time either.

He knew his way around video games, and given his profession and work-

That wasn't really surprising.

Though, he wasn't an avid gamer or anything like that.

Lord knows he's too busy to even try-

But he wasn't going to be dumbfounded simply because of complicated controls.

So here's the hilarious fine print our tech savvy TV man didn't realize.

You weren't actually a bad player when it came to 2D fighters.

It just so happened that your friend was quite well-versed in that kind of game.

In reality- you were losing because they were just that good.

And it easily showed when you fought against your overlord buddy.

"NOT SO EASY NOW IS IT ASSHOLE?!"

"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! PUSSY!!!"

You laughed upon seeing Vox's minimized face on the TV just glitch and fizzle as he continued to swear up a storm.

Serves him right for underestimating you, but it was still hilarious seeing him just completely lose it after only five rounds.

Well, five rounds where your game character royally kicked his shins in but who's counting?

He continued to just lag and glitch while possibly exhausting every expletive known to the English dictionary.

You on the other hand-

You just calmly and smugly drank some water and watched the chaos.

Who was the raging pissbaby now huh?

It only made you laugh so much harder when his face disappeared off the TV and you realize he'd disconnected.

Bro really just left because he got extremely skill-issued.

You continued to play for a little while longer-

Without any spectators this time-

Before your phone buzzed with a message.

You were initially a little excited before realizing it was just a friend inviting you to go out.

That hope was pretty short-lived.

A part of you kinda wanted it was Vox, and that he would've forgiven you for sort of hurting his ego by now-

Honestly he was asking for it with the backseat gaming earlier so you weren't really sorry-

But it wasn't and you reckoned it probably won't be him for another few hours.

Taking up on your friend's offer though, you figured it wouldn't be so bad to just go shopping or something.

Maybe you could even bring back a gift for your pissy TV companion.

Vox spent nearly the entire day just trying to calm down by throwing himself into his work.

He was so confident he would be able to beat or even match you, only to lose fucking spectacularly.

He slightly wondered if the whole reason he was even this irritated by it was because he wanted to show off to you.

Ya know, make it seem like he had the skills to pay the bills and all that jazz?

It was just a video game but still-

The embarrassment and your laughing at him didn't help.

That and his continued losses reminded him of that one time Alastor bullied him so badly that the entire pentagram city lost power.

He was glad he didn't really get to that point this time, even if he was already on the cusp of it from anger.

His phone buzzed to life from where it was on the coffee table in front of him, snapping the overlord out of his thought train and back to reality.

Vox slightly glared at his phone, he wasn't over his losses quite yet and chose to ignore it.

"Aren't you gonna answer that?"

"I'll get to it later."

Velvette was just sitting on the couch next to him, raising an eyebrow at her colleague's more than peculiar behavior.

Especially when Vox looked at his own phone like it had personally scorned him.

First it was him brushing both her and Valentino off because of some living person who'd apparently caught his fancy.

Then it was him totally careening off the rails when said individual went and got themselves into a relationship.

Eugh- the amount of times she's had to drag his drunken ass into bed otherwise he'd fall asleep anywhere else when it happened-

Not that Valentino helped much, constantly singing a tune of "I told you so" only rubbed salt into the wound.

Only for Vox to eventually be okay again, or at least tolerable and stable.

The fact he kept swinging so far left and then so far right whenever this living person got involved was both hilarious and exhausting to watch.

Velvette tried to pry sometimes, now that Vox had nothing to hide-

Only for him to still be uptight with what he knew and where his stance was.

What a killjoy.

"What if it's your girlfriend?"

The tech overlord just sputtered and looked at the other Vee next to him with a confused and slightly embarrassed expression.

Meanwhile Vel simply had a deadpan at her currently glitching companion.

"I- zZzST- They're n-N-not my girlfriend!!!"

Vox cursed his systems for nearly overloading from just a simple tease.

Immediately glitching and buffering as he tried to calm himself back down.

It wasn't like him to lose his cool so quickly-

That slightly worried him.

"Oh yeah? Maybe stop gushing over anything on your phone and I'll believe ya."

"F-f-FuCk you Velv-vVetTe."

Vox just grabbed his phone and left, heading towards his monitor room with a grumble.

His colleague's words just replayed in his head as he traversed the halls.

Girlfriend...

As fucking if.

It didn't explain why he felt a sense of dejection though.

His phone buzzed again, this time he checked it.

"You didn't reply so I dunno if you saw my message but I wanted to say I just went out for a quick trip to the mall earlier. I'm back home and the computer's connected to the TV again if you wanna talk."

"Yeah, I'll be there in a bit."

Staring at his phone after he hit the send button-

Vox felt a little annoyed with himself for agreeing so quickly.

It was like he couldn't even stop himself from wanting to be near you.

He must've been really just fucked up over earlier.

By the time Vox had connected once again to your TV, you were on the couch messing with something in your hands.

"Ah- Vox! Look, about a while ago-"

"If you're going to apologize because you beat my ass at a game, don't bother. You won fair and square, I just have to get better at it to beat you next time."

"Sooooo... you're not mad?"

"Irritated, but not mad."

He swore he heard you mumble about there not being much of a difference but didn't bring it up.

"Well either way, I made a thing for you."

Vox had to kind of squint to understand what you were showing him.

At first he just thought it was a crocheted mess, just a bunch of tangled yarn and threads.

Though upon closer inspection, it wasn't difficult to notice what it was.

Was that meant to be a plushie in his likeness?

Valiant effort, but was it supposed to look so...

Odd?

"What even is it?"

"Ehhh??? You can't tell? It's you!"

"That's- huh??"

You seemed to pout at his bemused expression, shifting your gaze to the plushie you made instead.

"My friend knows how to crochet so I asked her to teach me, this was the first thing I ended up making."

"Shouldn't you have gone for something easier first?"

"Well yeah, but I wanted to make a gift for you to make up for earlier's fiasco."

Vox's eyes softened, he'd be lying if he said your words weren't endearing to a degree.

And... you got him a gift-

Kind of, he couldn't actually get it but it was the thought that counts.

You wanted to make him feel better because you thought you upset him.

That- that realization made Vox feel a little funny.

When you looked back towards the TV, you were surprised to find the screen tinged a baby pink instead of blue.

What...??

"Cute, still looks shitty though."

Vox's words immediately got you to stop focusing on the color of his face and instead get grumpy.

"Hey, at least I tried!"

You'd probably bring it up eventually, if you didn't forget it along the way from the ensuing word war.

Or, well- maybe it would be wise to forget it anyway.

You've just got to make it happen again.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin vox x reader #vox #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox x you #get off my screen series

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rovermcfly · 2 years

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hey. hey look at me. I need you to look at me and listen to me:

A League of Their Own (2022-) is about queer women.

and I'm not talking subtext or one gay kiss or a dead lesbian. I'm talking about the overwhelming majority of the characters are queer women. even black queer women. even a black trans man.

I implore you to support this show. get a trial month on amazon or borrow someone's password to stream, boost the show on social media, do whatever it takes but please. please don't let this show fizzle out after one season into obscurity. it is finally a show about sapphics that is good and complex and both entertaining and emotional and it's about real history and it still said "we will make them all queer". at least let the world know there really is a demand for these stories. stop posting about that show you hate for killing the one queer woman or for being about lesbians but being really biphobic or racist and instead start posting about this one. please.

even if you don't like the show, do it for all the shows centering queer women and telling diverse stories that will follow if it's a success.

#a league of their own #a league of their own tv #amazon #lgbt #queer #lesbian #bisexual #trans

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inkykeiji · 26 days

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⋆₊˚⊹♡ vox + cum

character: vox warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, snowballing (cum eating), cum play, a hint of implied blood, fem!reader words: 735

when vox cums, he cums in thick dollops of teal cream.

when vox cums, he cums so much that it oozes out of your hole—past the tight seal of his shaft, cock still buried deep inside of you, to trickle down your thighs and ass in the prettiest streaks of shimmering streams, staining your skin in strokes of him.

when vox cums, he forces you to stay fucking put while he watches, eyes glowing with a bright voracity, as it dries to a hard glaze, large hands wrapped around your thighs so tightly his claws pierce your flesh—cute little pricks that weep thin ribbons of scarlet—legs folded to your chest and knees nudging your chin, muscles gone stiff and achy from being held in one position for so long.

when vox cums, you beg him to feed it to you; sweet stringy whines that drip in a steady stream of drool from your raw lips, precious pleads that have him wedging his large head between your thighs and impelling them to spread wider, your muscles trembling beneath the strain. his long tongue unfurls from his mouth, slow and steady, drizzling buzzing webs of glimmering saliva across the intimate flesh at the apex of your legs.

he appreciates the calculated mess for a breath before he finally shoves his tongue inside your cunt, massive muscle extending to brush against your cervix with a sweet kitten lick, eliciting a squeal mangled by a giggle, hips squirming beneath his grasp. a growl vibrates against your hole—a wordless warning to hold still, to be good—tongue held motionless for a moment, tip pressed snugly to the sensitive mound of tissue as he waits for you to obey (which, you do, instantly, because of course you do).

he takes his time with it, meticulous as he is with all things in his life, his tongue diligent and careful as it delves into your cunt, hooked and hungry. it wiggles, rubs, scours and then curls, skillfully scooping the substance from your body, cum cupped in his tongue like it’s fucking precious.

then he’s giving you what you want, tongue busting past your lips and into your mouth, dragging along your own and depositing his cum in thick strokes. he takes a moment to admire it on your tongue—vibrant cyan, glowing gently against slick pink—before he allows you to swallow it, gaze heavy as your throat bobs with the dense gulp.

when vox cums, he kisses you with such ferocious vigour that his screen bruises your nose, glass pressed hard against your face, fingers hooked behind the hinges of your jaw keeping you still, keeping you trapped, his tongue popping with tiny glints of electricity as it stuffs your throat full, spilling growls and grunts and airy little moans into your mouth.

when vox cums, his spit cracks and fizzles with sparks of energy, little jolts that seep into those tangles of thin vessels beneath your tongue and zip through your veins, leaving your blood frothing and humming for more, your eager mouth siphoning more of the viscous saliva onto your tongue as it twines around his own and sucks it clean. a responding chuckle flows into your mouth, vox mumbling out an affectionate so greedy against your lips, his tongue still tied up in your own.

when vox cums, he cums fucking hard, bolts juddering through his body as his hips slow to an uneven stutter and then finally still. electric aftershocks ripple his skin as his moans hitch viciously in his chest, stammering in time with the blocky distortions glitching on his face, fragment pixels clashing against one another, splintering into different colours.

when vox cums, it looks so fucking pretty splattered across his navy skin—art created by your conjoined pleasure, crystal aquamarine smattering smooth planes of sleek muscle gliding gently beneath his skin with each of his ragged breaths, with every tense of his stomach as another silky rope stains his flesh, a perfect contrast. and he can’t help but laugh when you ask, oh-so-obediently, if you can lick it up, gazing at him with twinkling eyes, the melody soft and tender on his tongue as his thumb skims across your cheek—along the curve then tracing the edge of your jaw, glowing eyes dimmed and leaden with love as they follow the trajectory of his touch, murmuring out a syrupy of course you can, sweetheart.

#vox x reader #vox smut #vox x you #vox x y/n #vox headcanons #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x reader #inky.vox #inky.hazbin

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celtic-crossbow · 9 months

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I Can Sabotage Me By Myself

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD violence, descriptions of injuries, temporary character death (I promise)

Summary: You always knew it would hurt to lose Daryl, but you never imagined it would feel like this.

A/N: Honestly, today has not been a good day for me. So I needed some super angst. I apologize in advance.

“Don’t touch him!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, your hands pulling away from the man on the ground for a moment. Rick backed away, his wide eyes shining with unshed tears. He didn’t go far but just away was enough. You leaned down, smoothing back the archer’s hair, not even caring about the blood that was wetting the strands you touched. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here. Just look at me, I’m here.”

Daryl’s eyes were wide and focused on you; god, the prettiest blue eyes you had ever seen. You always told him you could see everything you had ever wanted in his eyes. Even now, when they were filled with pain and fear, you could still see everything.

“Ssshhh,” you tried to soothe him, even as blood streamed over his lips. The bite in his throat was deep. It was fatal. You knew that. He did, too. Still, you held pressure against it. He would bleed out faster if you didn’t. You were selfish. He was in pain, choking on his own blood and all you could think about was hoping he’d last one more minute. And then one more. And then one more.

Daryl brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek and leaving a crimson print on your skin. You didn’t care. That’s not what you felt at that moment. You felt his touch, cooler but still warm. Still alive.

“You’re alright.” You lied. You knew that he knew that too, but even as he coughed and red burst past his lips, he smiled at you. It was small and pained but genuine. When his hand fell away from your face and you clearly heard the sounds of your friends sobbing over the gunfire and struggles still happening around you, you knew you couldn’t pretend any longer. “Please, don’t go.”

Daryl was still now, blinking slowly, any fight left in him fizzling out. He was still watching you. You could tell there was so much he wanted to say. “Please, Daryl, I can’t. I can’t do any of this without you.” The movement was so slow and soft, the very last of his energy. He put his hand on his chest, over his heart, and then pointed a trembling finger at you. You nodded, grabbing that hand to kiss his palm and hold it against where your own heart was beating. “Me too.” You whispered, watching his eyes close. “Me too.”

All other sounds faded, no longer mattering. You stayed frozen to that spot, his hand still held against your chest. You kept it there, trembling as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his forehead and then his mouth, ignoring the blood there. Your fingers gently grasped his chin and turned his face away from you before you took hold of the hilt of the knife strapped to your thigh. The flames burning all around you reflected on the blade as its sharp tip pressed in just below the base of his skull. “Me too.” You whispered again. The wail you released echoed as you drove the knife forward, all you could hear over and over and over and over and then darkness.

You sat up with a gasp, skin glistening with sweat that had your camisole sticking flush against you, heart pounding a tattoo into your ribs. There wasn’t enough air. You were looking frantically around the room. The lighting from one small window was dim at best, but you could see the bed you were lying on. There were clothes on the floor, in a pile against the wall. One small shelf. Two nightstands. A door, half open. You could barely make out the toilet and shower stall. Next to the main door, propped against the wall, was a crossbow.

Daryl’s room.

Had you come down here and passed out after it happened? You were so confused. Your chest ached, both from lack of air and something else. Still gasping through an onslaught of tears, you looked down beside you to Daryl’s pillow. You fell onto your side and pulled it against your chest, sobbing through uncontrolled breaths. It still smelled like him.

The door creaked loudly as it opened. Daryl had always scowled at the thing and said he would fix it. You didn’t know who had entered but they turned on the light. You were certain they’d be distressed at finding you like this: tangled in the sheets, crying, and hugging the archer’s pillow. Surely, they’d understand.

“The hell ya doin’ to my pillow?”

You froze. You stopped breathing, eyes wide open. Sitting up quickly, your bloodshot eyes landed on the very man you had just been mourning. He was standing in the doorway, slowly closing the thing behind him while he kept his worried gaze on you.

“Ya alright? Ya look like shit.” He drawled. He took a slow step toward you, hands up like he was showing you he was unarmed. Your breathing had picked up again but your body didn’t seem to be getting the signals your brain was sending it. “Y/N?” He was at the foot of the bed now, leaning down with his head tilted.

Before he could say anything else, you launched at him, arms winding around his neck. Your body collided with his so forcefully that he stumbled back with a grunt, able to catch his balance even as your legs wrapped around his waist. He didn’t say anything as you all but wailed against his neck. His arms, which had been hovering outward, found their way around you so he could gently rub your back.

“Ya gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” He walked forward and sat down with you still firmly attached to his front. You shook your head against him. “Fair ‘nough.” He shrugged and continued to rub your back until your sobs quieted to occasional hiccups. You finally pulled back, eyes swollen and red. Daryl gave you a concerned once over and then tucked some hair behind your ear.

“I had—I had a nightmare.” You knew now it had been just that. Your sleep-addled brain had earlier left you confused and emotional, unable to pull yourself out of the terror you had endured. You were able to remember going hunting with Daryl that morning. The two of you had returned with a small doe. A headache had been threatening to build all day, so Daryl had sent you off for a nap and reminded you to take something for your head. “Alexandria was—there were walkers everywhere—Daryl, you were bit—” Your hand quickly pressed against his throat, as if you were assuring yourself there was no wound. “I watched as—I had to—”

“M’right here.” Somehow, he made sense of your ramblings. He tried to catch your eyes but you lowered your head. “Hey.” His finger hooked beneath your chin and guided you to look at him. “M’fine. Been helpin’ Carol for the past couple’a hours. M’good.” He released your chin only to take one of your hands. He pulled his vest aside to place your palm against the shirt he wore beneath it. His heart beat strongly against your touch, if not a little fast. “See?”

You laughed in spite of yourself. You were awake now and had already figured out that it had all been a grizzly nightmare, but this somehow brought you a new level of calm. Before he could say anything else, you pressed your mouth against his, smiling at the ‘oomph’ that escaped him. He proceeded to kiss you breathless, until you were just a boneless heap in his arms.

“Ya good now?” He asked, pushing you back a little to see your face.

“I’m good.” You smiled softly, tracing your fingertips along his jaw.

“Good.” He grabbed your arm and pulled while standing, his other arm behind your thighs hoisting you the rest of the way across his shoulder. Your laughter bubbled up and out of your throat as your fists lightly pounded against his back. “Let’s getcha fed an’ then we can spend the rest’a the night lettin’ ya find out just how alive I am.”

“Oh my god, Daryl! Shut up!”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon drabbles #the walking dead daryl #daryl twd #injured!daryl dixon #Spotify

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ghouljams · 10 months

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So glad I’m finally getting notifications!! I go through your blog like it’s the morning paper 💕

Happy belated 4th of July!!🦅 It’s the only day out of the year I’m patriotic lol. May I ask how crazy our cowboys got for the holiday??

It is a recent but honored Price family tradition that Soap and Goose almost burn down the barn every fourth. This is Ghost's first year seeing it actually happen.

"I assume you're both tired of having 10 fingers," Simon tells you nice and even, watching you and Soap tie cakes and mortars together.

"Haven't lost one yet," Soap responds at the same time you remind Simon,

"We've got a bucket of water nearby."

"Look we're at least a hundred extra feet from the barn this year, I've got a nice long fuse, nobody is losing any fingers." Soap nods, you nod.

"If you set the barn on fire again you're going on probation." Price gripes sitting back in his lawn chair. You give an affronted gasp and he nods solemnly, "both of you, shit mucking for the next month."

"I am your pride and joy!" You tell him.

"You're a fire hazard," you dad tells you, smoking a cigar on the edge of your safety perimeter. You don't think he fails to see the irony in that statement, but you do think he chooses to ignore it.

"I think it's a deserved punishment," Simon nods, Soap at least has the decency to glare at him for agreeing.

"We're not gonna catch the bard on fire, we've got plennae of room." Soap twists the last of the fuses together and inspects his work. "Somebody get Gaz out of the house, he's going to miss the show."

"Think that's the point," Simon mumbles as you go to drag your last guest off the porch.

"You're both insane," Gaz gripes, putting up more of a fight than you'd thought.

"Quit being a baby, nobody's ever been exploded before." You tell him, enjoying the noise Gaz makes at your joke.

"Ha ha, you're so funny," Gaz drags his feet as you tug him closer to the lawn chairs, "people die Goose, people die every year because of shit like that," he points at your explosive pyre.

"And yet you always have fun when we do this," you roll your eyes, pushing him down into the seat you'd put out for him.

"I really do," he settles into the lawn chair and takes the offered beer from your dad. You're pretty sure Gaz only puts up a fight to pretend so he can pretend he wasn't a cheering party when something unintended catches on fire.

"Alright everyone back up, I'm lighting this beauty." Soap announces, you grab Simon's hand and drag him back to the lawn chairs, sitting him down next to Gaz. His hands grab for your hips to pull you into his lap.

"Watch those hands Lieutenant," your dad barks. Simon's hands fly away from you, raised by his head like Daddy might point a gun at him to enforce the rule.

"I gotta be on stand by with the water anyway," you whisper to Simon, "but maybe I'll knock later?" He smiles behind his mask, eyes narrowing just enough to tell you what you already knew as he takes your hand in his.

"Doors always open." There's unspoken "for you" that settles between you two. Simon presses your knuckles against his mask, gentle and affectionate. He doesn't let anyone else into his private space as readily as he does you. Even Soap still knocks.

Speaking of Soap. The man of the hour strikes a hot match and lights the first fuse, jogging over to safety with the rest of you. He gives you a thumbs up.

The first mortar ignights and shoots a stream of blue into the sky. The loud bang-pop of the explosion echoing in your ribs. The flower of sparks fizzles and another shoots up behind it. Then a cake goes off and sparks fly like feathers shoot a high train that almost instantly ignights the next mortar to send more pops into the sky. Another jet of purple sparks from the cake sets off a Roman candle. The 'tump' of it shooting flares up is offset by the crackling of another fuse burning and-

"That's not supposed to happen," Soap mumbles, watching two more mortars and another Roman candle light.

The five of you watch solemnly as a flare from the Roman candle soars over your heads and onto the roof of the barn. Simon drops your hand as you watch the sparks try to catch on the tar, short bursts of flame lighting up the roof. Your dad sighs and dials the fire department as Gaz runs for the hose.

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comatosebunny09 · 4 months

Text

with a pretty bow on top | astarion a.

summary: you’ve never been particularly good at wrapping things. but you want to ensure your friends have the best gifts of all, including a certain snarky elf who’s difficult to please. genre(s): romance, fluff, modern au, friends to (possible) lovers warning(s): alcohol, profanity, mentions of blood, mutual pining notes: merry chrysler! i hope everyone has a lovely christmas! thank you so much for reading! screenshot credit

For the umpteenth time, the paper rips.

And for the umpteenth time, you feel this is a lost cause. Deflate like a balloon, a sigh rushing past your lips.

You’ve never been particularly good at wrapping things. Usually had your mother or roommate to carry that burden.

You routinely opt for gift bags. Easier to drop a present inside, dress it up with pretty tissue paper and a witty card, and go about your business.

But you made a terrible mistake, forgoing the convenience store in your haste to get to your Airbnb.

It’s a tucked-away cabin in the woods. Secluded and ominous, shrouded by the night. The pristine blanket of snow building outside makes up for its creepiness. It’s nice to be away from the city, too, surrounded by people you adore. People who’ve filled the space between your ribs for years.

On cue, their merriment reaches your ears, streaming from the kitchen.

They’re hammered. You should be, too. But you want to ensure your friends have the best gifts of all. Wrapped neatly and tucked beneath the Christmas tree, waiting to be ripped open come morning.

You huff, balling up another sheet of paper and chucking it.

Errant pieces of tape litter your clothing. Strips of foil wrapping paper gleam in the light emitted from the fireplace. The ribbons you haphazardly cut shift in the ceiling fan’s breeze. Your battlefield.

The medium-sized box sitting between your spread legs leers at you condescendingly. You fold your arms, nudging it with your foot.

“I’m not your bitch,” you mutter, turning your nose up with a scowl.

“Well, that’s no way to greet an old friend.”

You start, your attention pilfered by the man wandering towards you.

He paints an ethereal picture in the firelight, curls flouncing about and glowing like a halo around his head. A bottle of wine and two Bordeaux glasses greet you from between his fingers. He wears that effervescent smirk beneath round frames. Brow pitches up with amusement, gait flamboyant whilst the kitchen blurs behind him.

You swallow, your lips trembling around a greeting when he plops down beside you. Cross-legged, scooting closer like a friend bearing gossip. Fills your lungs with the smell of brandy and cracked vanilla beans. He’s naturally corpse-cold, but the slightest bit of warmth radiates off his skin, permeating through the layers of your clothes.

Must’ve fed on something viscous wandering the woods before he found you.

He brings you back when he pushes a glass into your hand.

“I was wondering where you’d wandered off to,” Astarion purrs, his tone colored with alcohol. With your breath held in your esophagus, you watch as he pops the stopper off the bottle with a pointed tooth. Spits it out. “Mind if I impede on your party of one?”

Your lips twitch. Like you’d ever say no to him. “Course not.”

And no, you do not nearly jump some 50 feet out of your skin when limber fingers curl around yours, bringing the glass up for him to fill it. He catches your stare over the rim, scarlet spun eyes alight with mischief. You look away as heat branches up your neck.

The dark liquid sloshes about as he fills his own glass. Fizzles, the sweet fragrance curling around your nose. “Finally, some good shit,” you breathe, taking a sip. Release a content sound as it bubbles on the back of your tongue. The burn of it washes over your nerves, loosening them.

Astarion scoffs, leaning back on the hand he positioned behind you. Adam’s apple bobs in your peripheral as he takes a swig. He redirects his attention to you, something of a pout occupying his lips. “Darling, you wound me. As if I would bring anything worse than that cheap excuse for booze you lot rave about. Four Loko, was it?”

You snicker, nursing your glass. Turn the stem between your fingers, examining the hardwood floor beneath.

Sure, he’s always had this thing with you. This way of squeezing himself beneath your skin where no one else could, turning you into some flustered mess. But you can’t deny you’ve missed his company. His eccentricities. His smell.

The years have dragged you all apart. Pushed you in different directions, your careers casting you out to sea. But like driftwood, you all floated back to shore. United under the same roof to celebrate Christmas and usher in the new year.

It’s a pleasant sensation, idling with the wine warming your veins.

The hum of his voice eases through your musings. “Mm, what’s this about?” Astarion queries around another mouthful of wine, signaling to the massacre at your feet.

You shrink. An uneasy smile rounds your cheeks. “Yeah, about that. Kinda got carried away.”

“Carried away? By the hells, it looks like you got into a fight with a pair of scissors and…lost. Abysmally.”

You snort. “Alright, alright. Take it easy. We can’t all be gifted with our hands like some people, Mister Art Teacher.”

Your stomach plummets. Blood turns to ice. The double entendre hits you like a sack of coal. You bring your glass to your lips to mask your unease. To mask the shakiness of your limbs.

Astarion exudes smugness, admiring his nails with a flourish of his fingers. “Well, these hands aren’t just made for sculpting works of art, my dear.”

You sputter, speckles of wine flying everywhere.

Astarion chuckles, the sound of it smooth as velvet. Leans closer, his elbow brushing your thigh as he reaches for something in front of you. You stiffen, biting the rim of your glass. It’s almost like you two haven’t been friends for years. Haven’t seen each other bleed, cry, piss, for God’s sake.

“Come,” beckons Astarion, taking up a roll of wrapping paper and plucking the box from between your legs.

You huff a disbelieving laugh. “What are you doing?”

He scoffs. Side-eyes you as if it’s as apparent as night and day. “Well, clearly, no one’s taught you the art of wrapping a bloody gift. I mean, look at this. A child could do better.”

Your shoulders touch your ears. Astarion’s disapproval is akin to upsetting your parents. Even after all this time apart, he still knows how to lay the insults on thick.

It’s kind of comical how he grumbles like an embittered old woman, unraveling some of the paper. Still methodical in everything he does, positioning the box in the center. Concentration pulls his brows together. “Fetch me that tape.”

You give him an incredulous look. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you relent before doing as he demanded instructed. His fingers ghost over your hand in pursuit of the tape, and you bristle.

Astarion goes into full scholar mode hereon, paper rippling around him as he cuts away. Moves like a butler masterfully laying out a tablecloth. No trace of inebriation lies in the shift of his fingers. It’s as if he hadn’t polished off a bottle of brandy before finding you.

“Typically, wrapping paper comes with a template. A set of squares or lines you can use to gauge where you need to cut.”

He gestures for the scissors. You scramble for them like a student eager to please their instructor.

“Depending on how precise you want the wrapping to be, you must trim off as much excess as possible whilst ensuring you have enough left to cover your parcel.”

“Interesting.”

You angle yourself closer, sitting up on your haunches. The bulb of your glass grows warm, stained with your fingerprints. You nod, genuinely intrigued. Chin finds the pocket of his shoulder—an affectionate gesture amongst longtime friends.

Astarion tenses. You wince, flinching away.

“Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s quite alright, darling.” He clears some phlegm from his throat. Squeezes your kneecap, presenting you with a fraction of a smile. Dragonflies tickle the lining of your stomach. He resumes his lesson as if his muscles aren’t pulled taut.

Your lips twitch. Seems Astarion’s not the only one capable of disarming those around him.

You cant your head along the slope of his shoulder, watching him work with the curiosity of a child.

“It helps to tape here.” Carefully, he layers a strip of tape near the edge of the box where paper meets cardboard. “So as to keep your paper from shifting.”

As Astarion leads on, you find yourself terribly distracted. Your vision ebbs and flows. Body buzzes. From his proximity or the wine, you’re unsure. It’s a pleasant sensation, nonetheless.

The cacophony of the cabin and your friends fade into a dull hum. Only the rumble of Astarion’s voice fills the wrinkles of your brain. He’s surprisingly nurturing despite how he outwardly projects himself to the world. Soothing as he speaks to you, gaze occasionally flitting your way to ensure you’re still with him.

Try as you might to focus, you find your lids drooping, your vision blurred around the edges. An inebriated smile teases your lips. You could fall below the inky depths of sleep like this, led into it by his voice. Still would feel perfectly safe on your descent, knowing he’d be there to haul you back to the surface.

You sit up to take him in. To observe the furrow of his brows, the coil of his lashes. The gilded lenses perched on his nose like a librarian. His mouth pulls into a tight line while he focuses. Plump and petal pink. Skin’s still smooth and dewy, glowing in the firelight like he’s descended from heaven. His hands move seemingly of their own volition. Caught in a dance he knows all too well, still pretty and delicate-looking, untouched by time.

You imagine what they’d feel like, clasped in yours. Thumb cruising over the grooves of your knuckles, pushing reassuring beneath your skin. How he’d look with a careless smile, whispering the sweetest supplications into the crown of your head.

Reality comes pitching forward, the moment ending too soon.

You blink out of your reverie as Astarion slides the box toward you. It softly thumps against your leg. Expertly wrapped with a bow in its center and ribbons waterfalling down its sides. You stare in awe. You could never master something so intricate.

“And that, my dear, is how you wrap a present.” Astarion pats your thigh with finality before leaning back with a sigh. Looks smug as ever whilst taking a sip of his forgotten wine.

You smirk. Offer Astarion a half-hearted applause, and he eats it all up.

“I envy whatever bastard receives this, honestly,” he croons around the mouth of his cup. “I outdid myself.”

You chuckle. Your inhibition is thrown to the wolves. You eye the present, your body vibrating with anticipation. Maybe it’s the liquid encouragement urging you forward, loosening your tongue. Whatever the cause, you push on.

“I mean, I’d hope he likes it. He took his time wrapping it, after all.”

Astarion casts you a sidelong glance. Snorts into his glass. Realization gradually descends on his features. It’s funny watching his face morph into something akin to a confused puppy.

You shrug, caught like a child rifling through a cookie jar. It takes a moment, but his brows finally lift with an unasked question.

Seriously, they ask. For me?

You reach for the box, pointedly avoiding his stare. The heat of bashfulness inhabits your cheeks as you carefully slip the box into his lap. Your hand lingers. Fingers tenderly grip the meat of his quad, stars dancing across the stratosphere of your eyes when you muster the courage to look at him.

“Merry Christmas, Starry.”

He sputters. Sits up. Glances between you, the box, and the clock perched above the mantle. It’s midnight. Tradition dictates you open one present at the cusp of Christmas day.

Astarion laughs, something airy and pleasant. His hand closes over yours, and he squeezes. He’s beautiful like this. Youthful as he glances up at you, his mouth working around a reply.

“You cheeky little shit. Making me wrap my own gift. The gall.”

He acts offended, but you know that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Would you rather I have wrapped it?”

You both warily eye your shit attempts at wrapping his gift.

“Fair enough,” he jests with a resigned drop of his shoulders.

You share a laugh, the air between you charged with affection. Through it all, you note Astarion’s hand has yet to leave yours. Thumb kneads reassuring circles into the clutch of your hand. Your heart thrums a war cadence in your ears, blotting out the sound of his wine glass clinking against the floor as he sets it down.

He releases a breath. Observes you a moment longer with a warm smile on his lips. Shifts his gift onto the floor beside him. “Come here,” Astarion murmurs, saturating your vision with nothing but him as he leans closer.

You heed his request, and your lids lower, a pleasant shiver sifting through your bones at his glacial fingers at the nape of your neck. You have but seconds to appreciate the flutter of his lashes before he closes in.

He fuses his lips to yours with such precision. Tender, supple. Just like you always dreamed they would be. He’s frigid, but he scorches you from within. Gently takes possession of your cheek, coaxing your lips to part with the slide of his tongue after your body relaxes.

You grant him the entry he requests with an abrasive sound easing from your throat. Warmth pools in the chasm of your belly whilst your tongues intermingle and the maple taste of brandy pushes into your mouth.

His voice vibrates in your mouth as he chuckles something satisfied. He breaks the kiss with a soft click, and you chase his mouth in pursuit of another.

“Don’t be greedy, darling,” he husks with a teasing tap to your nose.

Your eyes cautiously slide open. Lips still pursed, head still swimming. “What was that all about,” you breathe into the space between your mouths.

Astarion chuckles, all fangs and mirth. You follow his gaze skyward, a blur of forest green and red nestled between the space of your lashes. Slowly, the distortion works itself into discernable shapes. You laugh at the telltale plant dangling above your head. Held by him.

“Mistletoe,” he croons as if it’s the most obvious thing.

You giggle, your nose brushing along the peak of his whilst you draw him in to press your foreheads together.

The time eases by with you sitting together by the fireplace, your cheek resting on Astarion’s shoulder as you regale stories of a childhood once passed. Hardly notice when you’re beckoned to sleep by the pretty girls of slumber.

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #softstarion #bg3 fluff #astarion fluff #mutual pining #friends to lovers #christmas fluff #christmas fic #holiday fic #astarion x gn reader #tw: alcohol #tw: profanity

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thebearer · 8 months

Note

miss teddy having just a day where everything feels wrong to her, doesn’t want the pink binkie wants the blue one that she keeps tossing on the floor, fighting to put her clothes on, doesnr want to be held, anytime carm offers her his hand she drops on the floor sobbing. she’s only one

poor baby :( she's teething and you know that's the majority of it. her back teeth have finally started coming through and she is just miserable. anything and everything is wrong, and she just cries so big, ya know? like those heart wrenching sobs that just tear your heart bc they're so pitiful and you know most of it is exhaustion and uncomfortableness.

you bring her to the restaurant, desperate for carmen's help. usually, she just misses him and will nap in the office. even then, it does work. carmen tries to hold her, doesn't work. she drops to the floor and sobs.

you know it's bad when even tina can't get her to calm down.

"alright, i got it." richie shoos you and carmen away. "let the god father handle it."

"cousin, i'm not in the mood-"

"-yeah? me either. your kids' screaming's giving' me a headache." richie grumbles, holding teddy in his arms. she fights him, angry, hot tears streaming down her face.

until richie hands her a half frozen washcloth. soft enough for her to chew, balled up so she can gnaw on it. by some miracle, you and carmen watch in amazement as she calms down. her cries fizzling out to quiet hiccups, lids drooping finally as she chews on the cold wash cloth.

"how?" you gawk, setting teddy in her small pack and play in the corner of the office.

richie scoffs. "sweetheart, i have a kid, y'know?"

#thebearer #bearblahs #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #dad!carmen berzatto x mom!reader #dad!carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto fluff #richie jerimovich #dorothea “teddy” berzatto #carmy berzatto fluff #tina the bear

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mellowswriting · 1 year

Text

what we do in the dark pt. 1/2

pairing || Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!Reader

word count || 2.9k

summary || Simon helps you get rid of that post-mission adrenaline.

content || smut, p in v sex, fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, manhandling, kinda dom/sub dynamics, a hint of degradation (Simon calls you a whore but like,,, lovingly), fluff, established relationship, Simon is a thorough and attentive lover

a/n || choo choo bitches, I hopped on the simp train

Main Masterlist

The first day back is always the hardest. Being home feels… wrong. Your body is so ready to relax, to simply exist somewhere safe and comfortable. Somewhere known. Every inch of your body longs for the soft cocoon of your bed, a bed that has barely been slept in since you got it all those years ago. Exhaustion pulls your skin so tight it feels unnatural. After six straight weeks of putting your body through hell, you deserve the few weeks of mandatory leave time and all of the pamperings it entails.

The only problem is that your mind won’t shut the hell up. Every neuron is still firing like you’re taking effective fire in the middle of enemy territory and desperately searching for a way out. The familiarity of the little apartment you share with your teammate turned best friend turned fuck buddy does little to ease the prickling at the back of your neck. It’s bare bones and devoid of any real personal touch, but it’s yours. You’re safe, you know that. You just can’t quite feel it yet.

That is what keeps you up until the godforsaken hour of two am. The eerie silence of the building makes your footsteps sound impossibly louder than they really are, but you just can’t sit still. Your socked feet drag along the carpet sluggishly as you make your way to the kitchen. A glass of water probably won’t do much, yet another vain attempt to calm your frazzled nerves, but you’re willing to try anything at this point. The next on the list is sitting on the shower floor until the boiling water fizzles out into a chilly stream.

You’re halfway through the glass when you hear footsteps coming down the hall. The sound makes you smile. You know he has the striking ability to move without a sound for such a broad man. You’ve seen it firsthand a million times. He always strives to make his presence known around the apartment, just to avoid startling you. It’s sweet in a ‘two hardened soldiers trying not to trigger each other’s fight response’ kind of way. Two big hands find their way to your waist and you can’t help yourself from leaning back into his firm chest.

“You alright?” The low rumble of his voice and the warmth from his palms soaking into your skin eases some of the irritation scathing your soul.

“Can’t sleep.” You grumble, not bothering to hide the frustration from your tone. If there’s anyone else in the universe who knows all too well what you’re going through, it’s him. There’s something freeing in laying bare the ugliest parts of yourself and not being afraid of any judgment. “Still too wired.”

“So am I,” He sighs. It never takes much talking to get the point across with the two of you. You turn in his arms and smile at the sight that greets you - Simon “Ghost” Riley, in the flesh. All he wears is his briefs and that signature skull balaclava covers everything but those pretty blue eyes of his. It used to be an amusing sight, one you couldn’t help but chuckle at, but you’ve grown so used to it that all you feel is comfort. Simon presses closer until the edge of the counter bites into your lower back and you blink up at him, a small smile growing on your face as you realize what he has on his mind. He leans close, his nose brushing yours. “You want my help?”

The moment you whisper ‘yes’, Simon’s hands tighten on your waist and yank you upward, hauling you over his shoulder as you gasp and struggle in surprise. Your indignant cry of his name melts into disbelieving laughter as he carries you down the haul and into his bedroom. The temptation of smacking his ass is too much to resist, even though it earns you a much sharper one on yours before he tosses you onto his bed.

“You’re gonna pay for that one, sweetheart.” Simon tries to make it sound like a threat, but you know him too well - you can spot the humor in his voice from a thousand miles away. You know his every weakness, every little thing you can do to wear down his will to endure the allure of your body. You flash him that playful grin he loves.

“Bring it on then, soldier boy.” You taunt.

Simon doesn’t waste a second. He drags you down the bed by your ankle, his touch lingering on the black thigh-high socks that hug your calves before he slides them off and discards them on the floor. You can’t blame him - the fabric is soft and pretty. It isn’t something either of you gets to indulge in often. He loves seeing you in anything delicate. That’s exactly why you wiggle your hips, encouraging him to tug your shorts down and expose the black lace underwear you put on just for him. A low groan leaves his parted lips, the sound broken and rough at the back of his throat.

“Fuckin’ hell,” He grumbles. You never fail to mesmerize him. No matter if you’re strapped down with almost 50 kilos of gear and covered in a week’s worth of dirt and grime or dressed in something lacey and fine. You’re so beautiful that it takes his breath away. Simon lets his hands wander, savoring the softness of your skin as his fingers inch closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. The moment his fingertips brush your covered pussy, something feral flashes in his eyes. He can feel your wetness soaked into the fabric. “So wet for me already, huh?”

“Just for you.” You whisper. “Only you.”

The breathy admission snaps him into action.

The darkness of his bedroom is the only place he truly feels safe. The windows are blacked out. The overhead fixture doesn’t even have a bulb in it. This is his domain, the only place he can bare himself completely, body and soul. The only light filters in from the hallway, barely illuminating his body as he shoves his boxers down his thighs. You barely have a chance to admire the sight of his thick cock springing free from the material before he growls out an order.

“Strip. Now.”

You know better than to refuse an order. Those pretty black panties disappear onto his bedroom floor and in the mere milliseconds it takes to rip your tank top over your head, Simon has slipped his balaclava off. It’s a rarity, the privilege of seeing his face. The last six weeks have left you with the tiniest flashes of his lips and chin in those small moments of intimacy you managed to sneak away. Short kisses, rushed trysts in bathrooms. Those are moments you cherish, of course, but they make you appreciate this even more. The sharp edge of his jaw, the distinct ridge of his nose, those dark eyebrows - he’s so handsome that it damn near drives you crazy.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” Simon grits as he manhandles you, flipping you onto your belly with an ease that sends you reeling. The sharp smack of his hand against your ass makes you yelp but that doesn’t slow him down at all; he lands another smack on your other cheek before soothing them both with a slow squeeze from his big hands. All you do is arch your back for more, and Simon chuckles. “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til that pretty little head of yours is empty.”

“Fuck, Si,” You whine, your fingers twisting his sheets. “Please touch me. Don’t make me wait, I need you so fucking - oh!”

Two thick fingers push into your soaked pussy without a second’s hesitation. Simon has always been greedy in the realm of your pleasure; he would do anything just to feel you clenching around him, to feel your slick dripping down his wrist. The suddenness hurts so fucking good, you can’t help but lean into it. Your hips rock back and Simon hums, a dark, filthy sound that you know spells the best kind of trouble. He isn’t the only one who’s greedy.

“That’s right, pretty,” Simon grunts, curling his fingers until he makes you cry out into the mattress. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?”

You want to tell him that it isn’t your fault - it’s all his fault for being so goddamn good at working your body to unbelievable heights - but then he slides a third finger into your pussy and steals your voice altogether. All you can do is whimper a pathetic sound and bury your face in the sheets. You can practically feel the intensity of his gaze burning into your skin as he watches you fall apart beneath his touch. Simon’s hand twists and his fingertips press into that spot that makes you see stars.

“Fuck, Simon!” Your voice breaks around his name pathetically.

“That’s right. Say my fuckin’ name.” Simon’s tone drips with approval and it makes you tremble, your pussy clenching around his fingers, trying in vain to pull him even deeper. His touch never fails to turn you into a debauched mess. He ignites something bright and needy and submissive, something for him to covet and own - and he sure as hell knows it, too. He spreads the cleft of your ass and curses at the sight of his fingers disappearing into your pussy. “Look at that perfect fuckin’ cunt… so wet for me, aren’t ya, pretty? My good girl…”

The rough timbre of his praise drags you closer to diving headfirst off of that edge and he knows it. He can feel it in the quivering of your pussy, in the sharpness of your gasp, in the breathless way you say his name. Simon is an expert in reading body language - and yours is singing to him. Your body is building up to a crescendo of pleasure and satisfaction, backed by the chorus of your voice sculpting moans of his name into something melodious and resplendent. You’re so close, so ready to break for him -

And Simon stops.

A distressed cry falls from your lips but he doesn’t give you long to mourn the loss. Simon manhandles you further up the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he kneels behind you. It’s like instinct; your thighs spread, your back arches, and you purr his name with the temptation of a goddamn siren. Simon growls out some unintelligible curse and that’s the only warning you get before he’s sinking into you until his hips are flush against your ass. The stretch rips the air from your lungs - Simon is fucking big. His cock is thick and heavy and leaves you so full that your mind goes pleasantly blank. All that you can think of is him.

He grinds impossibly deeper and your hips jolt reflexively, trying in vain to escape the intensity. Simon anchors you against him, both of his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. His hold is inescapable and you revel in it. The strength he possesses is exhilarating, leaves you pliable and all his - and Simon knows it.

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty? Begged for me like a little whore and now you’re tryin’ to run away?” Simon tuts at you in faux disappointment but his hand slips between your legs to reward you nonetheless. Every swirl of his fingers against your clit makes you relax more, your walls fluttering deliciously around him. A low growl rumbles from between his grit teeth and you tremble; he’s finally giving in, relenting to that vicious instinct to fuck and fight and take, take, take. “That’s right… You’re bloody perfect, sweetheart.”

Simon’s hips snap into a harsh pace so suddenly that you scream. The bedframe jerks and groans under his ruthless pace but you don’t fucking care. Nothing matters in the wake of him; in the smell of his skin, the bite of his blunt fingernails against your hip, the indecently slick sounds of his cock fucking you into oblivion. Everything else falls into the background, unimportant. The entire world could be burning down around you and you would never even know. Simon consumes your every thought.

It’s animalistic, filthy. The air is filled with your soft whimpers and Simon’s guttural grunts and the sound of his hips meeting the plump flesh of your ass. You can’t help but roll your hips back to meet his thrusts because fuck, you needed this. It’s been too long since he’s taken you apart like this. You feel starved, pathetically needy, and he loves it. Simon worships your body the best way he knows - with rough, molten pleasure that melts you down to your very core. Each rub of his fingers against your clit sparks the orgasm he denied you back to life, burning low and hot in your belly.

Your bodies move together in this familiar dance, the well-choreographed moves coming without thought, and your climax hovers so close you can almost taste it. There’s no room to be ashamed by the ease with which he makes you fall apart, not when you can tell he’s just as close as you are. The pleasure builds under his desperate touch, climbs and climbs until it has no choice but to finally crash down over your entire body. It pulses out from your belly and throughout your entire body, seizing your limbs and burning through your exhausted muscles. Simon fucks you through your orgasm, doesn’t stop rubbing your clit until your nails claw at his wrist and you beg him to stop.

The spasm of your sex rips a violent sound from his chest. Simon holds you up by your waist as he uses your fucked-out body, chasing his own orgasm as the warm afterglow settles into your skin. Every punch of his hips forces quiet, broken moans from your parted lips. It sends his ego soaring; his stubborn teammate, a vicious warrior that he’s seen cut down entire crews of enemies on her own - transformed into this soft, purring lover beneath his touch. A shudder wracks up his spine as Simon buries himself deep inside your body, his cock shoved against your cervix as he spills his seed inside you.

“Down. Lay down, pretty.” Simon mumbles after a moment’s pause, the low rumble of his voice barely intelligible. He follows you down, threatens to suffocate you under his weight with his chest pressed firmly against your back. You can’t find it in yourself to care. If the way you finally go out is underneath the sexiest man in the world, that’s perfectly fine by you. A respectable death by anyone’s standards.

You have no idea how long he keeps you beneath him. Long enough for him to suck lazy marks into your neck and recover from being the most pussy-drunk he’s been in months. His hips arch into your body, fucking his seed back into you with his softening cock, even as you both shiver from the tenderness of your fucked out bodies. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to - Simon effectively fucked every ounce of energy out of your body. No, you’ve resigned yourself to using your lover as your own personal weighted blanket for the rest of the night.

A discontented groan reverberates from your chest as he finally lifts himself off of your body. The mattress dips under his weight as collapses next to you, just as exhausted as you are. With a long-suffering sigh, you roll onto your back and undertake a full-bodied stretch that hurts so damn good, you can’t help the sinful groan it pulls from you.

“Careful there,” Simon murmurs. “Tryin’ to get me going again, sweetheart?”

“I think we’re both too tired for that Si’.” You finally look over at him with a sharply pointed finger. “Do not take that as a challenge.”

He just chuckles lightly as he props himself up on his elbow to take in the sight you make. The two of you unabashedly stare at each other, reveling in the rare sight of each other completely bare and comfortable. Fuck, he looks so good it should be illegal. He would be painfully intimidating to anyone else - 6’5, covered in tattoos and various scars, staring down at you with inexplicable heat burning in his eyes. Anyone else would see Ghost, the terrifying soldier that haunts the mind of his enemies. But to you? This is your Simon. The same biceps you’ve seen used to choke the life from enemies now draw you close to his side. His hands hold you with even more care and familiarity than he shows his weapons; his fingers slip beneath your jaw and tilt your face up into a soft, lingering kiss. Just one last indulgence before he lets you bury your face in his neck.

He shifts your thigh up over his lap and your arm drapes over his chest, effectively pressing your bodies against each other as close as physically possible. This is how Simon loves to sleep. Feeling every inch of your body against his, safe in his arms. He never knows a better rest than when he has you like this.

Simon gives your ass a playful pat. “Get some rest, darling.”

The last thing you feel is the warmth of his hand engulfing yours before a peaceful sleep finally takes you under.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x reader smut

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popfizzles · 3 months

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I've finally finished my first batch of ten emotes with Fizzy's new design!!

Heart, Hype, Lurk, Pet, and Wave are completely free to use in chat when you follow, while the other five are set for tier 1 subscribers!

#Fizzles #blogsona #fizzles draws #fizzles streams #twitch #twitch emotes #ive been working on these for almost the whole week!! im glad i can finally post them #im super happy with them!!#if anything i might change hype's confetti so its easier to see #i also :) made bases of these so i could offer them as ych in the future

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lieutnt · 1 year

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morning, love

Trans!Captain John Price x Male Reader Summary: Price discovers the best way to get you motivated in the morning. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Morning sex, fingering, unprotected, creampie.

Your eyelids flutter with each gentle kiss pressed into your chest, a groan of displeasure rising in your throat at being dragged from the depths of unconsciousness. You attempt to burrow back under the covers, pulling them up to hide underneath only to hear a soft chuckle from Price before he pulls them back down again. “We have to get up soon, love.”

Grunting in response you were close to drifting off again, body almost succumbing to slumber when Price pressed himself against you, the heat radiating from his body having the opposite intended effect and making it harder to open your eyes.

Distracted by trying to fall back asleep you almost miss the way he trails a hand dangerously low down your abdomen, fingers playing the waistband of your boxers. “Guess I’ll have to deal with my problem myself.” That made your eyes finally flicker open, taking a few seconds to adjust to the light streaming around the edges of the curtains before Price came into focus, staring at you with a sly grin on his face. He huffed in amusement, “Thought that’d wake you up.”

Humming in acknowledgement you angled your head forward just enough so that your forehead could rest against his. “What problem’s that?” You ask, tone still thick with sleep.

“Check for yourself.” Price threw his leg over your hip and grabbed one of your hands by the wrist, guiding it down and to his boxers. It doesn’t take long to find his ‘problem’, the crotch of his boxers damp and desperately clinging to his skin.

That woke you up. “So wet already?” You ask, lazily skirting your fingers over the bulge where his cunt sits. He exhales slightly harder when you press against his pussy, fingers drifting up to rub small circles on his clit through the fabric.

Price groans, throwing his arms around you to pull you into a desperate kiss, lips parting in response when your tongue swipes against them. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, moaning into your mouth when your tongues connect and shifts his hips closer, trying to move with you but he soon breaks the kiss, tilting his head back as you move down to tease his jaw. “I need more.”

You disconnect long enough to tug his boxers down, only bothering to free one leg completely and letting them hang around an ankle before you’re back on him, capturing his mouth again and feeling his sigh of relief when your fingers brush against his soaked folds, slowly beginning to stroke the swollen lips of his puffy cunt and spread his arousal. The moan he lets out when you push one finger inside has your cock twitching in arousal, blood beginning to pool south as you press against his spongy walls, his cunt already trying to pull you in deeper.

A second finger easily slips in, and when you curl them he gasps, hips twitching in response as you begin to scissor them, stretching him open in an uneven rhythm before curling them again, fingertips striking the soft spot inside him that has Price’s grip tightening around you. Your thumb moves up to massage tight circles on his clit, his cunt clenching around your digits. “Fuck- right there,” he groans.

He grinds against your fingers, rolling his hips with your rhythm as you press and press and press insistently against the soft spot inside him, the coil building with each stroke until finally it snaps, Price bucking his hips wildly as you continue your pace, drawing his orgasm out for as long as possible while he moans and trembles around your fingers. When the pleasure fizzles out you withdraw your hand, Price flopping onto his back to rest his arm against his forehead, body buzzing with the aftershocks.

Rolling onto your side you push yourself up just enough to crawl and hover over Price, cock achingly hard and resting between his thighs. “Looks like I have a problem as well,” you mumble, dipping down to brush your lips against his as you continue speaking. “Can I fuck you?” You already know the answer, but hearing him say it always sends a wave of excitement through your body.

“You’re not leaving this bed until you do,” Price growls, one hand coming up to hold you against him when your lips meet again, the kiss hungry, desperate. It’s awkward to try and push your boxers down but you eventually manage, leaving them once they’re mid-thigh and you can take hold of your cock, teasing your head against Price’s clit with a few slow thrusts before angling down and inching side.

Sounds of relief and pleasure swirl between you both, Price’s cunt already hot and tight around you. Dropping down to rest on your forearms he wraps his legs around your waist, ankles almost crossing in the small of your back. Another moan fills the air when you sink deeper and start off slow, rolling your hips while you gasp into each other's mouths, the soft squelching of his wet cunt only increasing your desire - to know that you’re the one who makes him so wet.

“You’re so perfect around me, fuck-” A moan cuts off your praises, Price clenching around you at your words. “I want to keep you here all day, keep you split open on my cock while I fuck you again and again.” You punctuate your words by drawing out until just your tip is inside and punching back in, knocking the air from Price’s lungs.

Giving him little time to recover you set a new pace, skin slapping against skin as his hole stretches to accommodate your unruly thrusts, each push filling him completely. You snake a hand down to toy with his clit, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between your fingers as he jolts around you, head collapsing back in pleasure.

Price pants a combination of breathy “Ohhh’s” and curses into the air, body moving in time with yours. It’s one of the best sounds you can hear, a man so normally reserved crumbling underneath you.

You’re already close - the tight, wet, heat too much for your body. “Tell me you’re close, shit, I can’t last much longer.” You beg, almost on the precipice. Normally you would feel bad, about to cum so quickly, but with Price, he’s always either one step ahead or following close behind.

He nods in confirmation, “Please, please, please- keep going.” How desperate Price gets when he’s close to cumming never fails to ignite the fire in your belly, so unlike his usual self who gives and gives and gives. In these moments you encourage him to be selfish, to take the pleasure he wants that you’re so willing to give. So you do, fucking him hard and deep, circling his clit until his hips are attempting to arch up as he falls over the edge.

His cunt pulls you in and clenches like a vice as he cums, mingled chants of curses pouring from his lips as his body trembles around you. It’s enough to pull you over, your cum hot and thick as you fill him - both of you able to feel each new rope that pools inside as his walls pulse around you, desperately trying to keep your cum inside as a creamy ring forms around where you’re joined, your cock acting as a plug to keep him filled. You grind forwards in blind pleasure, seeking the edge of your orgasm as each burst of cum steadily grows weaker.

Hips coming to a stop once you’re balancing on the edge between pleasure and overstimulation you let yourself collapse on his chest, Price loosening the lock his legs have around your waist. Neither of you speak, only the last remnants of your joined moans as Price’s cunt twitches around you.

Time loses all meaning as you remain pressed against one another, unsure of how long you do, but Price cuts through the silence first, quickly glancing at the clock and then towards you. He always recovers quickly. “Shit love, we really should get a move on.” He tries to sit up but you remain still, keeping him pinned under your body and dismissing his statement with a grunt. He sighs and relaxes back onto the bed, dull nails scratching down your back in teasing motions. “If we go now we might have time for you to fuck me in the shower.”

Your interest peaks, head tilting up to smack your lips against his, body suddenly invigorated before finally lifting yourself off him and sitting back. “You have a deal.”

#john price #trans!john price #john price x male reader #top male reader #call of duty #elijahs oneshots #lieutnts writings #male reader #top reader

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d0youc0py · 1 year

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You and Soap were inseparable. Where he was, there you were. Where you were, there he was. So much so that your old call sign had fizzled out in favor for ‘Suds.’ Soap and Suds.

That’s what made this extra painful for him.

A group of wannabe vigilantes had decided to take a group of hostages to earn some quick cash. It was a simple two person job. Soap takes out the bad guys, lead the hostages to safety and you disarm the bomb. Except it didn’t go that way. It was a new type of bomb. One you weren’t entirely familiar with.

“Stop moving please.” You begged. You tried your hardest to sound calm and like you knew what you were doing. The hostage continued to flap around like a fish out of water. “I know your scared right now, but if you keep moving I won’t be able to stop it.” You reasoned. The bomb was strapped to one of the hostages- a politician.

“Alright! Out we go!” Soap swung open the door, blood and muck splattered all over him. The hostages tripped over themselves, the binds on their ankles and wrists making it almost impossible to get anywhere.

“Not you!” You shouted, tugging the man back down to the floor.

“He given you problems Suds?” Soap asked. Truth be told he was a little surprised to see you still working on it.

“It’s fine, Go help them.” You were panting at this point. Between trying to get this hysterical man to calm down, and being unsure on how to shut off the bomb, you were at your wits end. Suddenly Soap reached out and smacked the man in the back to the head with the handle of his knife. You were about to scold him for hurting a hostage but stopped yourself when the man went limp. “Thanks.” Soap did what you had asked and lead the rest of the hostages out of the building and onto the truck. Still no sign of you. He looked at his watch. You both had ten minutes to get in and out, it had been seven. The thought of leaving you behind didn’t even occur to him. He rushed back inside without a second thought.

“Suds?!” The one word dripped with fear, a harsh contrast to his cocky demeanor.

“I’ve got it!” You yelled back. Your hands trembled. You gave up on the bomb and tried to find a way to get the man out of the suit. Heavy rope all tangled together, you couldn’t tell where anything started or ended. You tried cutting through it with your knife but that took too long. You’d never seen anything like it. Tears streamed down your face at the thought of failing- and being blown up. Soap finally made it to the back room on the bottom floor where you were. His heart pounding in his chest. You looked so unsure. He glanced at his watch. Only two minutes left. “I can get it!” You repeated again. You worked like a madman trying to cut through the rope, but to no avail. In Johnny’s mind he only had one option.

“No!” You screeched. He wrapped an arm around your waist and threw you over his shoulder. You thrashed against him. “No!” You screamed bloody murder. He barely felt anything.

His only concern was you. You were always at the forefront of his mind. His most favorite person. ‘Get her out!’ Flung around over and over in his head, pushing his legs up four flights of stairs, weaving through shipping containers and unidentifiable bodies. He needed to get you out before the building collapsed. He had just barely made it out when it had happened. He tossed your body under him to shield you from the blast.

The sound was deafening.

The strong foundation of the building held up, the windows weren’t so lucky and crumbling from the lower levels could be heard in a five mile radius. Shards of glass fell from the sky and your hands fled up to wrap around the back of his neck, a pitiful attempt to shield him.

That led you to where you were now. Laying huddled under the covers in the safety of your room. Your tear stained face peaked out from the covers to look at the door that conjoined your room and his. You wished he was on the other side of it. Ready to burst in at a moments notice and jump up and down on your bed doing anything in his power to cheer you up. He’d bring you a yummy snack, and turn on your favorite movie, the two of you would chat and laugh. Then you’d fall asleep. When you woke up you’d be wrapped up in his arms, safe from everything. You’d both play it off like it was something that happened accidentally in your sleep. But you both knew better. It was like your bodies natural reaction was to be close to each other.

You didn’t know how to face him. Or anybody for that matter. You weren’t use to failing. Not only did you fail the mission, you failed the one person you cared for the most.

“Suds?” A knock at the door followed. You quickly recognized it as Ghost. Wincing you pulled the covers back over your head and rolled over so you were on your stomach. You heard a sigh. You could imagine him rubbing a hand over his masked face. “I’m comin in.” You didn’t bother to answer. Another sigh. You heard a flick of the light switch. The bed dipped and strained. “You gonna tell me why your breakin my mates heart?” You curled in on yourself. Another sigh. “He’s not upset with you, yeah? No one is.”

“Is he okay?” You whispered. It was the first time you had spoken in three days.

“No.” That was enough for you to peak your head out. His eyes softened once he caught sight of your teary face. “He doesn’t have you.” Ghost was nothing but sincere. He reached up and slowly pulled his balaclava off. “He won’t shut up. Driving everyone mad. The nurses had to strap him to the bed so he wouldn’t escape.” Simon was being nothing but sincere. “Come see him, yeah?” Simon stood up, holding his hand out to you. You were about to take it.

Even the ringing in your ears couldn’t block out the pained groans above you.

“Johnny?” His body was slowly growing heavier against yours. “Johnny?” You were more panicked this time. You craned your neck up. His eyes were fading in and out, but he kept eye contact like it was the last thing he’d be able to do. He let his head drop, placing a weak kiss against your temple. Using the last bit of his strength he pushed himself off of you. That’s when you saw it. A seven inch shard of glass sticking out of his back. And that was just that part you could see.

You shook your head and buried yourself into the mattress again.

“Alright, I’m done being nice.” The blankets were ripped off.

“Simon!” You shouted. Your reached out to pull them back, but he was too fast.

“On your feet.” He demanded. He tugged his balaclava back on. “If I have to listen to anymore unintelligible Scottish blubbering because of you I’m retiring early. ON YOUR FEET!” The boom in his voice was impossible to refuse. You quickly threw on a sweater (that so happened to be Soaps) and followed Ghost to the infirmary.

You could hear him from the hallway. Other injured soldiers laying on their beds had pillows over their faces to block out the noise. You had an easy time understanding Johnny, even when his accent was at its thickest, but even you couldn’t make out a word his was saying. Ghost pulled the curtain back. Gaz quickly breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank god. Get him to shut up.” Gaz fled the scene, Ghost hot on his tail. You looked at Johnny. He had already shut up. He was sitting up, but his head was turned. He sniffled loudly and you didn’t know if it was genuine or a jab to make you feel guilty.

“Fancy meeting you here.” He muttered, still not turning to face you. “I thought maybe you had changed your address.”

“Oh, Johnny.” You gasped. You couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his shoulders resting your cheek against his. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled against his ear. You placed a quick kiss on his cheek and buried your face in his neck. You took a deep breath, not feeling any shame for sniffing him so obviously.

“Now that’s the type of attention I deserve.” He smirked against your head. He wrapped an arm around the back of your knees and settled you with your legs over his lap. He let out a pained grunt but quickly swallowed it. You didn’t have it in you to scold him. “I don’t like you staying away from me.” He hummed. “Feels unnatural. Like a cat swimming.” You chuckled dryly, skill not entirely in the mood for a joke. His head rested on yours. He could finally relax. “Why’d you leave me?” The tone voice sent a pang straight threw your heart. You winced.

“I’ve never been good at handling my emotions. You know that.” You said curled yourself closer to him, squeezing him like an anaconda.

“It hurt me.” His voice was soft. Normally his soft voice lulled you to sleep. This time it pulled all the warmth out of your body. “I know it’s probably selfish, but I couldn’t imagine leaving you in any situation, especially if I knew you were hurt.” A warm hand wiped your tear away. That was just like him. He couldn’t even see your face and knew you were crying. You pulled away. He began to protest but you rested your forehead against his. He was a mess. His lively blue eyes were so puffy you could hardly see them, red and sore.

“Your better then me, always have been. Better friend. Better soldier. Smarter. Stronger. Faster. Funnier. Kinder. More likable. Everything.” Your noses skimmed each others. His eyes welled up again. “I’m sorry Johnny. I won’t ever do that again.” You swore.

“Don’t forget more forgiving.” He chuckled. You rolled your eyes and patted his chest.

“And more forgiving.” You agreed, tucking your head under his chin.

“You’re not too bad yourself Suds.” He wrapped his arms around you, and you hoped he never let you go. “I definitely beat you in the funny department though.”

#cod #cod men #d0youc0py #doyoucopy #cod mw2 #cod x reader #fluff #cod mwf2 #soap mw2 #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #sfw #soap x reader #soap fluff #soap fluff cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley

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hyuukais · 9 months

Text

Waiting

Finally, after many busy weeks, you’d be getting to see your boyfriend again. Beomgyu was coming home for an entire weekend. However, you were still stuck at the worst part of his return, the waiting.

word count: 1.5k

genres: beomgyu x streamer!reader, slice of life, fluff, insinuations of angst

warnings: language, mentions of executive dysfunction, reader plays zelda specifically botw because i do not have totk 👎👎👎👎

author: FINALLY SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY !! hopefully i will have more content coming soon im just in a major slump atm 😔 also shoutout to @ssunnae & @bobariki sunny and rue thank you both so so much for beta-reading this !!

The colorful LEDs shift along the floorboards, currently a fog of purple misting the floor. Trickles of soft mood music set the low-light room into its sleepy atmosphere. Two large monitors illuminate your face in blue light, aided by a small ring light situated to your left. Amid the calm, an underwhelming rage slowly fizzles up in your throat.

“Oh come on; not right now, please!” The sudden battle music picking up in your headphones sends you into a panic as an enemy health bar appears at the top of the screen. Rain crashes on Link, lightning streaking across in pixels. Your fingers smash around frantically, trying to run away as the Lynel begins to draw its bow.

“Please please please please, don’t-” Unable to draw a weapon or get away, a hard strike lighting descends on the character. The hearts filling the top left of the screen go dark.

“God-fuck!” Red light blinds your eyes with the large “Game Over” fading onto the screen. Your head slams down onto the desk, the top of it all that’s left in view of the camera. The long-winded groan that leaves you is still picked up well by your mic. Chat messages fly fast along your monitor; many expressing their simple sympathy for your defeat, others instead laughing at the situation.

Slowly drawing yourself back up, you catch on the monitor displaying the stream and take a moment to look at everything. “Man…I know I said today was only gonna be Zelda but…this is already the 7th time I’ve died.” Your words trail into a whining laugh. More comments flood the chat. Some call out your terrible playing, some suggest other ideas for the rest of the stream, and many are just extremely off-topic.

“I’m not usually this bad! I don’t know what’s happening to me.” You were out of it today, unfocused, and part of you knew why. “I guess…I dunno, I think I’m just tired!”

This space-y feeling had been following you all day. It was the sort of distance your brain felt when experiencing executive dysfunction. Stuck in a loop of boredom; waiting for something, anything. Struggling to do anything, but still wanting to. Oftentimes, it was hard to discern a particular reason for the feeling, maybe burnout or simply worms in your brain. Today, however, you could easily guess the reason. Today, there was something to wait for. After more than a few weeks apart, Beomgyu would finally be coming over.

You and your boyfriend were both busy people; both public figures in your own right. Although, his schedule as an idol was arguably stricter than yours as a streamer. Between the end of the North America leg of the tour, preparing for their Japanese comeback, and the new single, you hadn’t seen Beomgyu face-to-face in close to a month. It was like spending a month in hell. A month without having his hands in yours, body wrapped in your arms, lips painting your skin, heartbeat beneath your fingers; the reminders that he was real and he was all yours. So, now that you’ll finally get him all to yourself for a whole weekend, your brain was searching for any way to skip to having him back in your arms. Hence, why Link has died more than five times by your incompetence.

“Maybe-uh-why don’t we switch gears? Maybe Zelda was a bad idea.” Considering your head space, streaming today in general may not have been the best of your ideas; you still felt bad for skimping out on a regularly scheduled stream. You also kind of hoped streaming would give you some distraction from sitting by the front door like a puppy.

You click around, filling the screen up with your face as you exit the game. “Hmm…what about…animal crossing? Minecraft? Thoughts, chat?”

You watched message after message fly by, all varying that you don’t actually reach a consensus with them.

“I think…hmm…” You watch a moment more, “Okay, I think we’re gonna do Minecraft.”

Once again, your face cam is moved to the corner as your PC feed takes up the stream. The ambient music takes over for your voice, filling up the silence as things load. Grass blocks and wood load in first before the sudden appearance of buildings. You spawn near a small farm you last left off building.

This wasn’t the world you usually streamed from; preferring the action a survival world provided for content. Actually, this was a world you’d created and built with Gyu, and some of the other members much after you invited them. Although, your audience didn’t need to know any of that. “I’m just going to stick to creative this time, chat. Something…calmer, y’know.”

Soon enough, you find yourself sinking into a rhythm with the music. You keep working on the farm you left unfinished, fixing it up with the build of a greenhouse. Little commentary is provided; small tidbits here and there as you casually speak to yourself. Humming to the music at times and finding some focus on small tasks.

Your headspace shifting from inattentive to hyper-fixated, you’re not particularly tuned into any noise besides what’s pumping in your head. Perhaps that’s why you don’t notice the usual creak of the hallway floorboards or the awful squeaking of your office door. You don’t even see all of the chat messages taking note of those very things. Rarely looking away from the game, there’s no note in your mind of the torso slowly creeping up behind your chair; head just out of camera view, hands sneaking up to your headset.

It’s sudden, the relieving of pressure against your ears, the disappearance of your soft tunes, the realization that there is a person in your home and they are standing behind you.

Your scream is shrill and unending. The whiplash from how fast your turn around would have your head spinning if not for the new pumps of adrenaline coursing through you.

There, standing behind you, wearing the stupidest little cocky smile, is the cause of all your problems. Beomgyu was smart enough to keep his face just outside of the camera, hiding his identity from any viewers. Still, with pretty much the rest of him in frame, this is the largest glimpse your audience has ever gotten of your boyfriend. The chat reacts accordingly to such a realization.

You scramble around to mute your microphone and cover your camera; cutting off your connection as more and more chat messages fly faster along the screen. Nothing else matters though, as you spin your chair around to face the man looking down at you. He’s smiling still, eyes crinkled up and lips split wide. The way you leap at him sends him stumbling back.

Beomgyu’s hands come to cradle your back as you take him in your arms; feel him, his heat, his breath, the shake in his chest when he chuckles. His head settles upon yours. You squeeze his middle tighter and tighter and take in the depth of his scent. Head pressed against his chest, his heart beats softly in your ear.

“That…” You pull yourself away to get a look at his face, “was mean.”

He laughs as you slap at his arm; languorously boisterous, infectious with the happiness of his simple presence. A smile breaches your cheeks, soon enough, as well. Beomgyu’s hands tickle along your waist; keep you close, skin touching skin.

“It was a surprise.”

“More like a jumpscare!”

“Same difference.” His breath brushing your skin all this time finally comes ever closer. Douses you in his everything. A sweet peck on your lips, interrupted by a smile and a whisper. “I missed you.”

The fire of his words floods the pit of your stomach. His lips were barely pulled away from yours and yet that was too far. Your hands cupping his cheeks, pull him closer, filling your space with his. Breaths mingling with heavy words.

“I missed you, too.” You bring his mouth to yours; sway in his presence and feeling. Almost pulling away before more. “So much.”

Head tilted back, chest pressed into his, lips meeting in reverie. Beomgyu’s arms encase your waist; your fingers twirl in his hair. So soft, delicate, fluffy—so like him. Such is the kiss. Deep and sweet, nothing further than adoration. It’s intoxicating sugar; he’s delicious and addicting. His taste sticks to your lips as they leave his. Eyes still fluttered shut, taking in the disappearing feeling.

“I…have to finish off my stream.” You can barely stand to push him away, losing the soft brush of his thumb beneath the hem of your shirt, “You get yourself situated and I’ll be right there.”

The pout on his lips is nothing short of goading after losing your kiss. Still, he responds, although not without an eye roll. “Okay, but if you’re not done in 10 minutes, I get to choose the movie tonight!”

He plants a quick peck on your cheek before leaving you in the office. You have to laugh at how proud he is of that challenge as if you weren’t going to let him pick anyways. Though now, you may just have to get your own bit of payback and not leave him waiting.

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