#riptide x male reader

[burstinn]

THE EVERY GAY MANS DREAM READER

TALL, BUFF, BIG BOOBS AND ASS everything

Can't find no good pic for this so..

This post includes:Ghost, Graves, Price, Soap, Nikto, Riptide, Krueger, Konig, Alejandro, Rudy, Gaz, Horangi, Makarov, Velikan, Keegan, Roach. In that order

Yes I wrote all those, yes because I haven't written in a while

Notes:

- NSFW and SFW (Bottom male and top male reader mentioned)

-since y'all like the big buff n' tall male reader, made him bigger and taller basically mixed everything I wrote about male reader, tall, big buff, big cake, big boobs it's like a package in one this will probably be the last of this type of reader since running out ideas. It was hard making original headcanons 💔💔.

-Omg I haven't written in a while so like this might get idk boring?

- Yes again headcanons,you're favs

- strictly MALE READER not Gn rn

- readers age is ambiguous but if you can't think and want an age for reader my thinking is somewhere near late 30s or early 40s

- Some of the HCS have where y'all ain't in a relationship some HCS have y'all r in a relationship

- these headcanons definitely are mischaracterized but let me pretend for a bit 💔💔

- Tiktok got to me now I have brainrot language, so Trigger warning wooohh braiinroot

- can't believe this post was long enough to make my phone lag just a lil bit

- When he first saw you of course he was 😦😧😮

GHOST

- Like okay overkill, like you're taller, buffer and probably have a huger cock??? (Something he can investigate.. For purposes..)

Like you also got smoobs?? A plumpy ass??

Like save some for the rest Jesus 😒😒

- Nonstop staring secretly ofc, You be like in a room then you feel someone staring just to see Ghost somewhere in the corner of the room. You can't tell if he's staring or not but being that you are in an empty room.. Yknow it's kind of obv--

- BUT if you are not in an empty room you will not shake off the staring I mean holy shit look at you like 😨😨🍑✋

- You can literally hear him breathing heavily under his mask like how can he control himself when HE a person who is supposed to be looked up to literally and figuratively now has to look up at YOU?? do you know what does to a person??

-That's right it makes them freaky..

-Probably jerks off to you too

- I mean who doesn't want to get railed by a 7 ft tall man? Especially ESPECIALLY when you've been the supposed dominant person your whole life??

- OMG immediately Cumming to the thought

- I mean he won't mind topping you it also drives his own ego seeing a dominant man get absolutely wrecked, imagine the begging and whining

- plus he won't mind being the person who feels protected not always doing the protecting like 💔💔 he wants to feel protected too 😞

GRAVES

- Immediate gay awakening

- thinks making his western accent more prominent would make you think he sounds more hot

- Will dress up as a cowboy and will will ask (beg) you to do it as well

- because you know.. Hat thing.. Riding.. Graves grabs your hat puts it on his head or Graves grabs his hat puts it on your head, either way one of you is riding something and it ain't a horse

- because of the amazing quote on who ever came up w/ that is "save a horse ride a cowboy"

- Graves is obviously the type of guy to look at your ass and whistle maybe slap it, nah definitely slap it

PRICE

- He thinks of you like a bear

- like You're soo- big and cuddly? Definitely intimidating

- I mean you're near the same age bracket so it's not bad to have some.. Thoughts right?

- You're definitely hairy underneath or not but pls be he wants pubes to tickle his nose

- if you don't have a beard for reader then he would KILL to see have a beard like aughh perfect bear look, if you have a beard immediately cumming(/j) or (not /j)

- Like imagine you and price who are basically like bears like parent bears and and you the other 141 boys are like your children 🥺🥺

SOAP

- DEFINITELY became more gayer

- errrmmm.. Like his eyes are BASICALLY near like chest height

- bumping into you and his face touches your chest like omgg.. Such an accident 💔💔

- Obviously flirting about going to pound town

- like imagine You and Him? In a relationship? Having the most feral sex??? Like it's obv jokes (it's not)

- He would also do anything to see a big man whimper like a little bicth slut, who wouldn't want to see a demon of a man roll his eyes back and whine like a wheoeororoe❤, I mean if he tops I'd imagine him saying "cmon you're a big boy ain't cha'? You can handle a few more inches". While you are also getting the malevolent backshots.

- He would also want a big strong arm to man handle him as he takes the most vigorous backshots known to man

- Have you ever thought or seen a very tall wall like 10 or 11 ft high and you being you, Soap asks (demands) for you to carry him on your shoulder because he wants to see what's over the wall

NIKTO

- intimidating guy and intimidating guy typa relationship but your not in a relationship.. Yet.

- watch him watch you

- shows off his knife collection to you, yes I think he has a knife collection and he will show it to people that he wants to impress (he wants to get freaky with you)

- I like to think if he strips off the gear he gives the most desperate kind of touchy hug, to those he feels close with of course which is you

- lucky you

RIPTIDE

- Offers to teach you how to swim yknow just in case

- there is none, he wants to see you wet

- tells you to wear a white shirt and shorts because its Essential for training, it's a lie he wants to see the water wet your clothes making it stick to your body.. Yknow the white shirt showing whats underneath and the shorts outlining what package you've been hiding even though you weren't really hiding it

- He gets too distracted, the others are too, he forgets how to teach you

KRUEGER

- indefinite eye contact while your doing it

- likes staring into them, if you get shy and look away he will grab your jaw and make you have eye contact with him

- angry fierce ahh eyes

- he's an emotional grumpy guy, rip off his mask and aggressively kiss his face

- He wants the after sex laying on the chest while the other is rubbing their head, goes both ways.

- trace his tattoos and compliment them the bedroom will be locked the whole day, trust 🙏

KÖNIG

- The same as Ghosts

- Imagine being the one to get carried instead of the one carrying

- König would definitely come up to you and ask to be carried while you kiss his face multiple times❤❤

- Imagine how hard he gets because you have to look down at him to talk like HNGRHRRGGGRGRRR

- Definitely likes giving you homemade arts and crafts gear because you know.. The headcanon where König makes his own gear and what if he does it for other people too as gifts💔

- likes seeing you wear his mask it makes him imagine what people see when they see König definitely a change of perspective. He can see how intimidating you are and he gets hard.

ALEJANDRO

- will definitely compliment you in Spanish when talking about you with other people even when you're in front or behind him.

- I mean you don't understand Spanish right?

- if you don't, you're oblivious and only just watch curiously on what he's talking about. Buuut but but if you do understand you don't tell him you undeestrand this thing literally feeds your ego like Alejandro thinks of you this way? 🥺🥺

- Thigh riding type of guy idc who thigh riding

RUDY

- everytime I look at him he looks like a soft vanilla type

- I know he's a strong guy but look at him

- He wants soft sex 😞😞

- He also likes being complimented if you whisper a praise to him when he's doing ANYTHING. Imagine the babies you'd both have together.

- He likes toddlers and babies and if you do too a plus for him,makes him fall even more 💯💯

GAZ

- One time he Got injured and was sitting on the floor and then He saw you running towards him he simultaneously screamed in fear and how hard he got

- Likes to style your clothes, If he was off the military right now he really really likes fashion and if he sees you.. You can't fashion and he sees you wearing.. That, He's appalled, horrified, mortified I'm over exaggerating. But he is now in charge of your fashion now, But if you do know how to style you both will share tips with eachother. You can share different tips too ❤❤

- drags you in his barracks and strips you of your clothes except shorts.. And he's telling you this because he wants to "style" you.

- We both know damn well that's an excuse to get the boombayah freaky on.. He's just to shy to tell you upfront or he thinks it's fun to tease you like that before you get freaky

HORANGI

- gets freaky..

- Like he understands the women who get all giggly and nervous when they see a big man who can destroy them (ignore König 💔)

- is definitely not above thigh crushing, boob crushing, face sitting he'd do all at as long as it's you

- Like one time he pretended he broke his leg and won't let anyone else carry him until you came, acting all princessy and shit as you carry him bridal style to the medics

- He felt like a prince omg

- will definitely get on you and treat your real life size anime men boobs as a squishy toy

- How long is it and will he be able to take it??? Who knows he will find out!! Basically searched how long can someone's cock be if they are built like a god and is 7ft tall in Google

- someone gotta tell me Horangi's height and basic Google searching ain't doing it for me I'm too lazy to search for one line of a spicy headcanon line mb

MAKAROV

- You're basically ascary dog he owns

- You're tall and intimidating

- You can get information out of people quickly

- And he's not above telling you to torture anyone with a strength and body like yours

- most of the time you get the info done and folded

- Makarov uses you for intimidation and strength buuttt if you ever THINK of betraying him he already has a plan to get rid of someone like you

- Can and will turn you into one of those supersoldiers

- Will make you murder people right in front of him for entertainment and will rewward you!

- you know what reward it will be, Because when he asked what reward you wanted you got a bit to freaky you thought you be dead rn but nah he agreed actually he seems to enjoy it more than you do..

VELIKAN

- He's the dog in this one have you heard his voice?? Rough as hell imagine hearing him grunt

- Sounds cocky as hieeeellll too

- Would definitely like showing off to you since he wants to look cool in front of you

- Like you seen velikans skins?? Definitely wears the best ones to show you he can not only be a trained assassin But can also dress cool as hell

- If you compliment him it like makes his day, will not stop thinking about it

- Like a cool person complimenting a cool person like him? Ego boost (It's him feeling gay)

- This guys definitely a smoker (headcanon!!) Because voice sounds like he smoked 100 packs in 1 day and doesn't drink an ounce of water /jk I love him he's so hot.

- So if you want a smoke he purposely hides the lighter saying.. 'Oh no I asked someone elses lighter.. I don't have mine right now' or like 'my lighter ran out of fuel ohh

- So you have to put the cigarette in your mouth as you touch it with his cigarette to light ur own that type of trope 💫💫

- If you're not a smoker he will try his best to not smoke in front of you will use fresh mints to hide his breath of smoke

- after sex he will want a smoke, outside he goes or you both share the one cigarette

KEEGAN

- is it wrong to want to be choked by a big buff meaty arm?

- yknow the tiktok thing where girls put a ribbon on their boyfriends arm and the girls just put their face in the middle as their faces get squished??

- Yeah he wants that but gay

- will try to compare dick sizes even though yours is OBVIOUSLY the superior one!!

- Heads or tails on who's bottoming tonight

- Would like to be wrapped around your arms if you are hugging or sleeping keeps him warm

- Especially when it's snowing will force you to hug with him. ESPECIALLY when your in a mission and your in the tents he will definitely force you to hug it out with him

ROACH

- remember the other tall HC where the reader wasn't taller than König

- yes roach does the same thing here.. He's crawling on you like a tree

- If he wants a kiss instead of asking he crawls up to you and kisses you

- definitely likes to sit on your shoulders as you walk around, he feels tall like that

- this is like a distance relationship 💔💔

- Likes it when you bend over to talk to him also when you bend over when youre doing sum since it's slappable opportunity

- because bent over = double D cake will be slapped

- How will it fit? By the power of friendship of course!!

- probably more of say gex desperation but you get it

- Obviously switch switch

[nevadancitizen]

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

synopsis: After a deal goes wrong, you wake up in an abandoned building with an outlaw-looking man pointing a gun at you. To your surprise (and disbelief), you're in 1899. Much like the rest of your life, you didn't sign up for this. But, like the rest of your life, you'll learn how to deal with it. Maybe you'll even learn how to survive -- maybe even thrive -- in this new... predicament you've found yourself in.

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

tags: Time Travel, Slow Burn, Found Family, Van der Linde Gang as Family (Red Dead Redemption), POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Modern!Reader, reader is from the year of yahweh 2024

AO3 link, if you prefer to read there

massive thanks to: @heart-of-gold-outlaw for inspiring this, and @reddeadreference for keeping such a clean and well-organized blog of references that have helped a lot while writing ^_^

note: the reader in this fic is gender neutral. please do not refer to them with feminine or masculine pronouns. instead, please address them by they/them pronouns. this fic is all-inclusive and not meant to alienate anyone -- it's meant to be written so that everyone can read, no matter their personal pronouns!

PROLOGUE

COLTER

CH. 1: Somewhere (Far, Far) East of the Mojave

CH. 2: Charles Smith, the Man That You Are

HORSESHOE OVERLOOK

CH. 3: Of True and False Memories

CH. 4: The Mystery That is Arthur Morgan

CH. 5: A Cockfight Full of Pricks

CH. 6: Cup Your Mouth & Whisper Your Secrets

CH. 7: Suitors & Seers

CH. 8: The Real Housewives of Horseshoe Overlook

CH. 9: Unsaid Understandings

CH. 10: <currently being written...>

[rixy-smurrey]

Introduction♡♡♡

My pronouns are he/him

My name is Rix or Rixy

I'm transmasc and pan

Aceflux~ sometimes hypersexual, sometimes EWEW NOOOOO, sometimes just no attraction :]

I'll write female, male, or gender neutral readers but female readers will not include pronouns

I take requests! The more specific the better ♡

My fandoms:

Genshin Impact

Honkai Star Rail

Dead Plate

Attack on Titan

Mouthwashing (no smut broski)

My little pony (NO SMUT)

Voltron: legendary defender

Just roll with it Riptide Pirates and Prime Defenders

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva boss

Murder Drones

Steven Universe

BNA (brand new animal)

Arcane

More to be added when I remember~

Pokémon

Cookie Run Kingdom

My tags:

Rixy writes

Rixy talks

Rixy arts

[cece693]

WHY SHOULD WE FOLLOW THEM BLINDLY?

pairing: percy jackson x male reader synopsis: Percy was conflicted, you were a traitor, siding with Luke to overthrow the Olympians, yet while the camp mourned the loss of the son of Hades, Percy was overcome with grief for the boy whom he liked. However, he will soon see you again—this time, persuading him to join Luke's side—and you're not above using petty tactics.

The campfire that had once blazed beside the amphitheater still smoldered in Percy’s dreams. Every night the wind off Long Island Sound swirled the ash into pale halos, refusing to let the embers die—refusing to let Camp Half-Blood forget that the son of Hades had stepped onto Luke Castellan’s ship of his own free will.

Chosen darkness over the gods.

Chosen to leave him behind.

Percy jolted awake, skin slick with sweat, sheets coiled around his legs like sea-wrack. Across the cabin, Annabeth slept in the other bunk, moonlight silvering the plane of her cheek. Guilt hummed beneath his ribs. She trusted him, believed his silence was grief—but each night his thoughts circled only to you. He saw again the Princess Andromeda easing away from the dock, you standing at the rail in borrowed armor, and that single backward glance: a flash of molten gold in your eyes before the darkness swallowed you.

The cabins had mourned in their own fashions. Chiron spoke of “lost potential”; Clarisse spat curses; Annabeth catalogued tactics Luke must have used to twist you. Percy said nothing. None of them understood the fissure running through him—how Sally’s death a month earlier had already splintered his faith, and how your absence levered the crack wider each day.

On the next night, you watched the camp from the treeline, wrapped in shadows and Hecate-wrought mist. Summer fireflies drifted above the strawberry fields; sentinel harpies glided in lazy spirals, blind to your presence. Luke’s final instructions pulsed behind your sternum: He’s the key. Show him the rot beneath the marble, the blood that oils Olympus’s gears. Break him, or win him.

Break Percy? No. You intended to free him.

You crossed the border unseen. The Poseidon cabin was cool, damp with the hush of distant tides. Seashell lamps cast a nacreous glow over driftwood beams. Percy lay restless, one hand still curved around Riptide even in sleep. When the cabin wards shimmered at your entry, his eyes snapped open, sea-green and stormy.

“You—” His voice fractured. ���Gods, you can’t be here. If the harpies—”

You closed the door; your shadow elongated and slid across the latch until it clicked. “If they catch their golden boy harboring traitors?” Your smile tilts, half dare, half invitation. “They already believe you untouchable, Percy. Perhaps it’s time we let them choke on their illusions.”

He sat up, knuckles whitening on Riptide’s hilt. “Luke changed you.”

“Luke opened my eyes.” You correct him before stepping forward, lamplight revealing what months aboard the Titan’s fleet had carved you into—angular cheekbones, smoke-dark crescents beneath your eyes, a confidence plated like iron beneath skin. “He grieves you, Percy. Calls you the storm that could scour Olympus clean, if only you’d stop letting them shackle you to prophecy.”

Percy’s heartbeat flutters; you can almost taste the thunder-sharp jealousy sparking off him. “Luke’s no hero.”

“Oh, but he is, Percy.” Your tone drips honeyed mockery. “Brilliant, unstoppable—fighting for every camper Olympus tossed to the wolves. He sees the cracks in the gods’ marble thrones and dares to pry them wider.”

You let the words linger like expensive perfume, then study Percy as though deciding whether to pity or covet him. “Doesn’t it burn, knowing the gods would rather parade Luke as a cautionary tale than admit their own decay?”

Percy’s shoulders knot; salt wetness beads in the air, a brewing squall. “Luke betrayed everyone who loved him.”

“And Olympus betrays everyone it claims to love.” Your voice stayed velvet, blade hidden in the weave. “Tell me this: when your mother begged the gods for help—when she lay dying in that apartment while they debated non-interference—did your father lift a finger?”

The question lands like a blade. Percy flinches, sea-green eyes darkening like a storm. “Don’t talk about her.”

“She's the reason you fight,” you say softly, stepping close enough that his breath stirs the collar of your jacket. “But she’s also proof of how little they value you. Poseidon broke a centuries-old pact to claim you, but he couldn’t spare a fraction of that defiance to save the woman you loved most. The same council that hails you as their savior let her die—and then handed you a prophecy written in your own blood.”

You lift a hand, fingertips hovering near his jaw, not quite touching. “What loyalty do you owe them, Percy? To gods who dole out favor like drachmae at a rigged game, then call it destiny when mortals pay the price?”

Percy’s breath hitches when your fingers graze his jawline, but you don’t linger—you turn away, prowling the cabin as though inspecting a prize you might soon claim. Moonlight skims the fine leather of your jacket and catches on a nick at your throat, the faint crescent a blade left during one of Luke’s sparring sessions.

Percy’s gaze locks on that mark. “He did that?”

You hum, pleased by the edge in his voice. “Training leaves reminders. Luke likes to work close—hand on your shoulder, whispered corrections against your ear. He says I learn fast.”

The muscle beneath Percy’s eye twitches; the air thickens with brine. Good. Let him taste jealousy before he tastes freedom.

“You really trust him?” he asks, softer than the surf outside.

“I trust that he’d carve Olympus open if it meant keeping me alive.” You pivot, meeting Percy’s stare. “Can Annabeth say the same? Or will she kneel the moment Athena snaps her fingers?”

Her name breaks loose like a reflex. Guilt flashes across his face—memories of quests survived, promises traded in hushed midnight watches. You stride forward, cutting off the thought before it can shore him up.

“Annabeth loves you, yes, but she loves prophecy more. She loves the architecture of a heroic story—the boy who saves the world on schedule. The moment you step off that blueprint, she’ll love the blueprint more than the boy.”

The truth lands like salt in a fresh wound. Percy’s shoulders tense; guilt and anger knot in equal measure.

“Don’t,” he begins, defensive, but you press a finger to his lips.

You laugh, soft and cutting. “Annabeth,” you echo, as though tasting the word and finding it bland. “kneels at Athena’s feet, Percy. She’ll follow the owl wherever it roosts, even if it roosts on your grave. Her brilliance is a compass the gods forged for their own convenience. She’ll point you north toward their plan every time. And what does that plan promise you? A war you might win only by dying.”

Percy flinches, and in the tremor you hear the shatter of a belief sliding out of place. You press.

“Luke doesn’t want your devotion, Percy—he wants your rage. The part of you that watched your mother die and felt the sea tremble with it. The part of you that already knows prophecies are shackles disguised as glory.”

Riptide still lies forgotten on the floorboards. You toe the blade aside, then produce a slim drachma—all polished silver, stamped with Poseidon’s trident. “Heads,” you murmur, flipping it. The coin arcs between you, catching lamplight, flashing judgment. “Heads, you stay their dutiful champion. Tails, you carve your own destiny.”

The drachma lands on the back of your hand—trident up. Percy stares at it as though it’s mocking him. You catch his wrist, turn his palm upward, and drop the coin into it. “It’s rigged,” you whisper. “Every throw is heads to them. But with us?” You close his fingers around the drachma. “We melt the currency and mint new gods.”

Something in Percy breaks—not like glass, but like a tide-wall giving way. Jealousy, grief, and a bright, vicious hope collide in his eyes. When he exhales, the candleflames shudder; the briny tang of storm retreats, replaced by the ozone-sharp scent of a sea about to change course.

“What do I do?”

You smile, triumphant and tender all at once. “Meet me at the beach in one hour. Bring nothing that ties you to this place but your sword—Luke will be waiting offshore.”

He hesitates only long enough to glance at the bunk Annabeth has used yesterday. Guilt flickers, but you step into his line of sight, eclipsing it. “She’ll be safer believing you died a hero than watching you live a pawn.”

Percy nods—a single, decisive dip—and the cabin seems to sigh with the shift in fate. You lean in, brush your lips against the shell of his ear. “And, Percy? Luke may have taught me to fight…” Your fingers trail down his chest, claiming the steady drum of his heart. “…but I came back for you.” You turn, open the cabin door and walk away.

However, the cabin door is still whispering shut behind you when Percy’s fingers clamp around your wrist—salt-rough, decisive, impossible to mistake for the boy who once apologized every time he breathed too loud. He drags you back inside, wards sparking like struck flint as they reseal.

“Leaving already?” His voice is low, serrated at the edges. Moonlight cuts across his cheekbones, turning the sea-green of his eyes to deep, tidal jade. “You come here, rip my life in half, and think you can just…walk out?”

Before you can answer, Percy surges forward and kisses you, hard.

It is not the shy, sun-warm press of lips you envisioned long ago. This kiss tastes of riptides and broken oaths—of a storm surge pounding through a breach in the seawall. He brackets your jaw, thumbs digging just shy of bruising, and swallows the gasp he drags from your throat. Power hums under his skin; you feel it the way sailors feel depth in their bones—a pull that could drown or deliver, depending on his whim.

When he finally tears back, breath ragged, saltwater beads along his lashes like dew. “Luke’s name on your tongue,” he growls, “shouldn’t make me want to drown him. But it does.”

Your pulse spikes—part triumph, part danger. “Jealous, Sea Prince?”

“Possessive,” he corrects, voice dark as the trench beyond the continental shelf. “And tired of being the gods’ obedient weapon. You showed me that.” His grip shifts to the back of your neck, heat and claim in every fingertip. “Now you’ll show me everything else.”

A ripple of power answers the promise: seashell lamps flicker out, water condenses on the walls, and outside the breakers slam the shore in perfect rhythm with his pulse. The air smells of ozone and undertow, of something vast deciding to turn its teeth inland.

“Careful,” you murmur, though your own blood drums with fierce approval. “If you keep this up, they’ll call you the next great monster.”

“Let them.” Percy’s smile is a knife-flash. He reaches down—Riptide lies ready, bronze glinting—and snaps the pen into sword form with a practiced flick. But instead of angling the blade at you, he raises it to his own palm and scores a shallow line across the skin. Scarlet wells, bright against bronze. “Prophecies want my blood? Fine. I’ll spend it where I choose.”

He presses the cut to the nick at your throat—a mingling of salt and copper, oath and heresy—and you feel the cabin’s wards shudder as though something older than Olympus has been invited in.

[idontknowreallyidontcare]

KorTac members are WHORES, you’re only safe because you’re Colonel’s favorite.

You never talk, always have your mask on and the clothes and gear you have to wear daily doesn’t give too much information about what you could be. Male? Female? Only you know, and only you’ll decide when and how you’ll tell others (at least that’s what you thought).

When women from the base hit on you, hugging, tugging on your arms, pressing their tits all over you, you definitely get flustered, but you don’t know how to break it to them, that you’re actually a female and pretty much enjoy yourself every night by watching big muscled men jerking off on the unholy sites, with their hairy torsos and their angry looking cocks.

One day, some rookies (too fed up with your mysteriousness) drag you to the communal showers, laughing and calling you out on never joining them for one. Making silly jokes as ‘you’re afraid of us or our dicks?’ ‘What’s it big boy? Your cocks too big to grant us the pleasure of its presence in the same room as us?’ Or ‘no I bet it’s actually small, he just doesn’t want us to see it!’ Or ‘guys leave him alone, you’re gonna get in trouble with colonel’

As you are being dragged, you arrive inside the showers, everything is on display and you know it, there’s no curtains, no privacy, of course, that’s why you shower always at night and ALONE. But when you’re thrown inside and all you can see are huge junks, wet muscles, tensed abs and men moaning, you truly understand how much you actually fucked up for wanting to cover up your identity so bad and leaving people just assume your gender.

Your colonel suddenly facing your way with his hard dick pointed directly at you it’s not making it easier for you. But the rookies starting to trash you around, throwing you from ones arms to another, while starting to jokingly remove your clothes it’s not of help either.

Hlep I have some big ideas w this one c:

I just wanna say that the rookies will definitely not be playing with us in that sense, and this will probably be a KorTac x some other members probably from taskforce141. Probably an orgy thingie or idk, still have to decide.

Under here a poll with the characters I have in mind, just vote and the most rated ones are getting it. I thing of making it with at least 5 men x reader :3

[bettystonewell]

Sam Winchester x Reader - PERFECT

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Sam is ever the gentleman, and Dean is, well, Dean. Having had enough of watching him lead yet another woman on, leaves Sam with no choice, but to leave. But a chance encounter in the most unlikely of places leads to Sam getting his sock on the motel door first.

18+ only MDNI 7.5k words (SAM POV)

Tags: smut, oral - male and female recieving, language, Sam’s POV, pining, dirty talk, an unconventional meet-cute

A/N: Guys! It’s my very first Sam centric fic, and it turned smutty! This is all thanks to a prompt exchange with the lovely @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth. You can find her Donna x reader fic HERE. I was given the prompt: Third Wheeling, and the phrase, “You do not want to go in there, believe me,” which is in bold. - Beth ❤️

“Being on the road can be so lonely sometimes, you know?” Dean says, taking Kristy’s hand and gliding his thumb over her smooth skin. She’s hot and way out of his league, and Sam just knows he’s already forgotten her name.

He rolls his eyes. Again. Another town, another bar. Another conquest that will keep him out of a nice warm bed.

He gets it, he does, but he was looking forward to stretching his legs out tonight. They’re stiff and his back still aches from the salt and burn they did the night before and the driving they’ve been doing all day.

Milroy to Muncie. Dean isn’t travelling the world like he just told her. What would a seasoned pilot even be doing in a place like this?

There’s a tidal pool of liquor right in front of him, lapping at the elbows of his jacket with every fresh drink poured. But hey, there are peanuts. The shells are swimming in the swill, and that suits him fine. The smell of smoke and tobacco, cheap cologne mixed with sweat and… urinal cakes… it’s nothing to bitch about. They could use a load off.

It’s just having to hear Dean swindle his way into her panties. Only took two beers and a double bacon cheeseburger.

Sam takes another swig of his beer. Lets the bitterness cool his throat and his hands. It settles in his stomach that’s twisted itself into knots. Kristy was perfect until she started talking to Dean.

He’s got a shoulder blocking his peripheral now, but raising his chin and leaning further into the wave of booze on the counter gives Sam the right angle. He sees the rise of her chest as it dips into her tank top. Makes his lip curl over the lip of his bottle and his cheeks flush. A little.

“Omae wa mou shindeiru,” Dean says with a husk to his voice.

Kristy giggles. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Japanese for you’re so beautiful. I learnt that on my last visit.”

It’s not. Sam might not speak the language, but he knows enough to know that line is from Fist of the North Star and Dean butchered it. Pretty sure he told her she was going to die, actually, but whatever. He shakes his head. None of his business if she falls for it - she does - and he can either stay here and further torment himself, or do something about it.

He chugs down the rest of his beer and drops it in the potent ocean. His elbows just miss the riptide. “Bathroom.” He shoots the word Dean’s way, but he gets no response.

“Yeah, I climbed Fuji last time I was there. It’s beautiful in the winter. The snow up there makes the whole mountain look like you’re walking in the clouds.”

Right. Though Sam would love to see him try. He might not have his brother in full afterwards, but he could live on if Dean became subjected to Darwinism.

He stands and searches the place for the John. Of course it’s in the back.

His eyes sweep over Kristy as he passes her, keeping them well away from Dean’s. His hand is covering the dip of her lower spine now, and that’s enough.

Between the pool tables and over more spilled booze that catches the soles of his sneakers as he crosses the room; he makes it to the little darkened crook behind the jukebox where some guy is marking a trail over the neck of a woman twice his age. He has to tap him on the shoulder or squeeze past and bump uglies with them, but no problem, sweet urinal cakes are within his grasp.

He reaches for the handle, tugs, and is about to step inside when a face plants into his chest.

“Sorry,” you say, and look up. Your eyes would be apologetic if it weren’t for the grin that’s stretching your cheeks. “You do not wanna go in there, believe me.”

He doesn’t want to — “What?”

He checks the plaque on the door to make sure that he is indeed trying to enter the men’s room, and he is. “Ahhh,” he chuckles. His voice is higher, and he’s blinking like there’s no tomorrow. “Why?”

“Oh. No.” Your hand is at your mouth and it’s grown even wider.

Your giggling is much more pleasant than Kristy’s, but he doesn’t see what’s so funny. A band of warmth spreads across his nose, but his stomach is doing flips now and not the good kind.

This place is gross enough. What could someone like you possibly do in there? You’re so…little. Well, anyone compared to him is, but you seem sober and put together.

Your makeup has no smudges. No smell of puke or anything else. Your hair is neat, and while those jeans are rather snug, you’ve got some nice tits. They’re not falling out and you’re not stumbling all over the place. You are looking more sheepish by the second, though.

“No, no. I, ah.” You shake your head. Your legs are crossing together. “Uh-uh. Someone’s dropped a load off in there and the ladies aren’t much better. Can I—” Your hands clasp and fingers intertwine; your arms are now slithering like two snakes between his side and the doorframe. “I really gotta go. Excuse me!”

And with that, you take off through the gap made by the couple and the booze puddles on the floor. You’re scooting between the pool tables, then past Dean and Kristy, honing in on a door at the end of the bar he never noticed before. A gust of air pulls it shut behind you.

Okay. Weird.

Sam shakes his head. He’s about to walk on through to the sink he spots on the wall when his nose picks up on whatever it was you were talking about and, yeah, he doesn’t want to know. Whomever did that needs their insides checked, if they haven’t died already?

He turns on his heels and considers his options. He’s seen and smelled worse, but he’s not desperate yet. The beer is still sitting atop the knots that had unraveled, and though the stench has tightened them back into place, they won’t hold forever.

Maybe if he walks home to the motel they checked into earlier, he can make it before things get dire? He should beat Dean before he drops a sock on the door that way.

So, with a glance towards his older brother, whose fingers have slipped under Kristy’s waistband, his decision made, and Sam beelines for the main entrance, stepping out into the night air.

The chill cuts the back of his hands and he shoves them straight into his pockets, bringing his elbows in tight on account of the wind. It dares to tackle him over, but he leans forward and braces himself down the path and past the alley that tucks into the side of the bar.

For the second time that night, you barrel into him. The coincidence, the irony, the annoyance tightens his stance until he realises it’s you and his brow quirks. “You gotta watch where you’re going.”

Your face planted into his arm, above the junction his elbow makes. It fits nicely. A strand of your hair catches on the stitching of his jacket. Probably got some beer on your chin. Serves you right.

“Excuse me,” you snap, but that grin still spreads over when you look up and your eyes recognise you’ve bumped into him. “Oh.” Your eyelashes bat against your cheek. “Well, you gotta stop getting in my way.”

And as you had done only a minute ago, you turn to take off again. Only Sam is quicker. More alert. His hand grabs your wrist before you get too far and holds on tight. “Where are you going?” he says, considering how your hips and legs squirm. The motel is only two blocks and he’ll be the gentleman if he has to be. He isn’t Dean.

“Look dude, I gotta pee, and that alley ain’t going to cut it, so unless you want me to—”

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “I’m staying down the road, so before you threaten to piss yourself, you’re welcome to use the one in my room.”

You bite your lip and shrug as you stare him up and down. He’s not a serial killer, but he can understand the skepticism after all he’s seen.

You nod your head. “I was gonna aim for your shoes,” you say. “But okay.”

And there’s Sam, blinking once more. His eyes are getting quite the workout tonight. His scoff teed with a snicker this time. The dimples in his cheeks are pulling his chin to new heights and his other hand is leaving its pocket, outstretching in front of him to lead the way.

“Okay then,” he says, and now you’re both walking.

The room isn’t much. The usual twin beds, table and chairs, a couch Sam refuses to sit on. You’ve only been here a second and you’ll only be here a minute or two more, but it’s imperative he cleans up any evidence of their less-than-normal lives while you’re occupied. 

The second the door clicks and the light filters through the threads of carpet caught on the frayed timber, he’s zipping up duffles and tucking the nose of Dean’s shotgun out of sight. 

There’s a salt round by the fridge, an empty bottle of Jim next to it, and Dean’s underwear draped over the chair. He picks that up with the machete, thanks his lucky stars you didn’t see that or the rest of it, then sits on the end of his bed. 

No, he stands. 

No, he sits and leans on his legs. His thumbs twiddle, his eyes scan the doors. And now he’s standing up again as the handle jostles and you appear with a smile that’s oozing relief. He relaxes just a little.

“All good?” he asks. What the hell was he thinking? Not like you battled a vamp in there. But then you’re tilting your head and your palms are smoothing your sides as you consider his question, and ‘Please don’t think I’m a creep,’ he prays. 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you say. You’re less animated now. You’re chill, calm, collected. Even more put together than before, but just as Sam feared you might, you take in your surroundings, checking out the details of the room.

He’s luckier still. 

“Can I, ah, take you back to the bar?” 

It’s not suss, right? He’s just being friendly, not kicking you out or hiding something, but it’s not the way you take it.

“You want me gone?” Your chin recedes into your neck. 

Shit. “No, I—”

“Relax.” You chuckle and step over to pat him on the shoulder. The same side you ran into on the street. “I’m just messing with you. Thanks for helping a stranger in need,” you add as you move to the door. “I’ll see you around, unless walking me back to the bar includes buying me a drink?”

“There’s beer in the fridge.” Sam didn’t even think. Well. He did, just not with his head. 

It’s Dean’s stash in case he doesn’t pickup, but you’re here, and he’s there. Even if nothing comes from this, he doesn’t need to know it’s all a fallacy. Sam’ll take it as a win, and he waits for your response.

He’s down to beg. He throws that look that always works and your lips spread into a smile. 

“Alright.” You nod. Don’t even question why there’s beer when you just met at a bar, and the next thing he knows, you’re pulling up a chair, and so is he. His back, leaning against Dean’s former underwear drawer, clinking his and your cold one together. 

“So, passing through, huh?” you ask between swigs. 

There’s a spark of interest in your eyes, but all he can do is say, “Yeah.” He’d much rather talk about you. Your life is normal. You seem normal. If accepting to use a stranger’s motel bathroom and then staying for a drink makes you so. 

You did threaten to pee on him.

“Staying long?”

“Depends on my brother.”

You’d taken another mouthful and the lip of the bottle catches on yours as you say, “Your brother?” 

There’s a drop of beer dripping down your chin, and he’s drawn to it. Tongue darts out before hiding it behind his own drink. “Yeah,” he repeats and you’re nodding more. Only it’s slow. It’s understanding. 

Your gaze travels the room again as you think what to say, passing the two beds and the duffles he threw on the floor. “So, road trip? Heading to or from college?”

“College?” He chuckles.

“Yeah. You seem young enough. You got that head in a book kind of look.” Your fingers trace the bottleneck and swipe at the condensation. “I dunno? I’m making shit up while I try to work out who you are besides Sam, the guy who saved me from peeing my pants. You’re not exactly giving me much.”

And you’re not giving him a chance. “What about you? What’re you twenty-four?”

“Three. You?”

He nods. He’s twenty-five, but you don’t need to know that. It’s been over two years since he got dragged back into hunting. Since he lost Jess. Maddison, too, not that it’s the same. 

“So what’s your story?” he says.

“Besides trying to use the men’s room and the alley?”

It’s not just a chuckle this time, he’s wholeheartedly laughing. It bellows round the room, ricocheting off the walls and doors. That smile of yours is wicked, and the straight-laced tone that delivered it was just right. His stomach has unwound, and his head is feeling light thanks to your shoe brushing his leg below the table.

Maybe there’s no need for lies. Sometimes all it takes is a gentleman’s kindness. A tall stature and an air of mystery. 

“Besides that,” he says, and you’re considering him again. Your stare has him staring back.

You’re pretty. More than you are put together. Your hair sits just right, your hands delicate. They’d look good in his, and even better wrapped around any part of him. 

Which means he’s got to up his game. You’re already here and the way you look at him clues him in that you might be interested. He just has to reel you in. So, “You gotta boyfriend, or living with your folks?” he adds. He shouldn’t have started with your relationship status, but your smile’s just growing bigger and bigger.

“Boyfriend, huh? At least I asked what you did first.”

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Do you wanna know if there is one?” you tease, then you’re laughing along with him.

There’s no guy. Your shoe is off and your socked foot is now stretched across the table; resting close to his crotch. 

You’re not shy. You’re not dumb, either. “Why do you think I stayed?” 

You lean forward. Your toes shift, too, creeping closer and closer to not so little Sam, who twitches with interest. “Cute stranger, staying at the local motel. We don’t get a lot of those ‘round here, and I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow. If you’re interested.”

It’s like he’s channeling his inner-Dean or something. You may as well be in his lap. Sure, your foot is, but women his age never fawn over him, at least he never notices until it’s too late. It took days for Jess flirting after Brady introduced her for him to make his move. 

He was in Maddison’s living room and that took Dean’s interference. The weird, and albeit extremely obvious kind, but here with you, what you’re suggesting is plain as day. 

“I, ah.” You’re looking at him still. Your big toe is scraping right up against the seam of his pants now. If it weren’t for the fabric covering the family jewels, your nail would be right up in theirs.

Shit. 

His knee hits the table. His beer travels down the wrong pipe. He chokes when the cool liquid slides further and the bubbles lick the walls. Meanwhile, your foot just gets in there more. Big toe, seeking the form of his growing boner.

Your smile is infectious. You think making a grown man squirm is hilarious, apparently. He’d let you do it again and again. “You wanna?” he says between splutters. 

Idiot. Does he really have to ask?

It’s hard to breathe when your lungs are constricting, let alone think. But you’re there, and he’s there, and he’s so fucking down, it’s no longer funny. 

He stands. Crunches his chair across the crunchier carpet as your chin shoots up. Eyes following to what would be the perfect angle if you were closer and below his feet. 

“I do,” you say, and your lips are plump, glistening. They’re wide and they pillow under your front teeth, daring him to capture them. 

He does.

His arm sneaks around your waist, and he pulls you to stand. His hand plants firm on your side. Fingers scrunch up your shirt, but no matter, yours are riding up under his, and fuck, no, no, he doesn’t fucking care.

His gut is doing flips. Those knots are loose, but his chest is tight. Blood rushes to both heads and both heads ground against different parts of you. 

“Sam.” Your kiss stops mid nip. Your hands have since moved to his buckle, but your eyes are on him when he looks past his nose and mouth. He’d kiss you more. Only his attention has turned to what your fingers are doing with his belt and how your arms glide it out in one flick, then go straight back to the fly. “You packing?”

Packing? He stands there, stunned. His pants clearly are. Your fingers just brushed the tip.

“Condom,” you say, and the colour in your irises flicker. 

“Ah—Yeah. Yes. Mm—You—You don’t waste time, huh?” 

“Haven’t had enough, not too.” You double over in a manner he’d say otherwise. “And you mentioned something ‘bout a brother?”

“Dean?” His cheeks are rising again. But they’re doing so because his eyes are squinting with disgust. You’re still grinning up at him though, and your palm is teasing his dick through its confines. 

You grip and press into him, moulding out the shape under his jeans and he shakes that thought away. 

You want him. Your lashes are fluttering and your lips are twitching into a sultry smirk because he’s under your ministration and you’re ready to go with him, just as much as he is with you.

“Hold that thought,” he says, and he takes a step back, hand still on your waist to toe a shoe off. 

He’s not that coordinated with the sock, however, and he soon bends over to retrieve the house-elf’s bounty. He flashes it in triumph in front of your quirked brow, but you’re soon grinning with him. 

There’s a fit of laughter that hits his ears again and footsteps stalking him as he glides to the door and covers the outside handle, just as Dean would do. 

He shuts it, turns around and your hands grab and pull him back to you. Your right is back at the button and your left is sliding on in, tickling skin teasing through the copse of tiny curls before any kiss picks back up.

You swallow his moan. Taste the trepidation on his tongue as your skin touches his velvety head. 

Nope. Not shy. You know what you want, and Sam is more than happy to let you take it if you keep touching him like that, but he’s not dumb. He also knows what he wants, and it’s only fair he gets his turn, too. You’re here. He’s here. He wants to last. No, needs to. Being on the road with Dean so often means he gets little time to, well, take his time. 

He’s pent up. Motel showers aren’t the best when he has to keep quiet and slow his hands so the faps don’t reach his brother’s waiting jaunts. He could blow his load right now with not much more effort from you, but he’s not going to. Not until after he savours you first. 

It’s been way too long since he felt sweet curves or tasted the sweat of another’s skin. The bitter beer mixed with a fruity gloss is doing wonders already, but he craves more.

Just like the footpath, his hand grabs your wrist and its twin, and he leads you backward until your knees hit Dean’s bed and you flail. Your arms pull from him and push down into the bedding, then you drag yourself up to the pillows where you rest your head against the wooden board. 

Your finger tells him to come hither, your hand pats the space at your side. Sam takes off his shirt.

His gut is doing flips again. More so when your eyes trail up over every inch of his chiseled chest. Behind it, his heartbeat is fast. It could jump right out of there. Only the lump in his throat is huge. 

You’ve slipped off your shirt, too. Your fingers unclasp the hooks of your bra. You slide the straps down and hold it in the air before you fling it at his feet and giggle again. 

“What’re you waiting for?” you say and it goes straight to his pants. The outline of his dick throbs against the denim. 

He swallows. “Just, ah, admiring the show.” 

You grin. A little sigh escapes your lips as you look down at yourself. Your fingers swirl over your heaving skin. They dip into the valley between your breasts, but never move further than the tan line that divides the top half from the fuller one. “It’s more fun if you’re touching me, too.”

Ho-kay. This is really happening. And Sam’s now diving for Dean’s duffle. He’s careful not to reveal the contents, but it’s hard not to when he’s just as and everything’s dumped on top. The little box of Trojans is right under the weight of the sawn-off and the sharp blade of a machete almost cuts him.

Man, it’s lucky you’re occupied. 

Sam turns around, and that’s an understatement. You’re inching down your jeans. They’re flung off, and he’s doing the same. Hopping, skipping, and jumping, he yanks the string of plastic foils out and trails them along behind him. 

They splay out over the covers while you splay under him; and he’s dipping down to taste. There’s salt and a light scent of citrus teed with something sweeter flooding his nostrils as your fingers curl into his hair. His occupied with the way your left tit fits below them. He squeezes and draws his mouth over the other. Pops your nipple in and sucks.

“Took you long enough,” you coo, and he just chuckles, haughty, deep.

“And I’m gonna take longer,” he says between nips and swipes of a thick, flat tongue. One that glides perfectly ‘round the round, hardening bud. “Gonna fuck you so good.”

He presses firm, draws your taut skin into his teeth. He’s determined to leave marks because something’s snapped within. Where the hell that last line came from, he’s got no idea, but it’s as if he’s an animal turned feral.

A wolf in its den? A lion devouring its prey? Does it matter when his hips are gyrating against your lace? 

Your panties are staining his boxers, and his boxers strain against them, staining them right back.

“Fuck,” you moan. 

He groans, and then your hands are pressing against his head.

He can take a hint. He’s smart. He won’t tell you your upper thighs were his mouth’s goal all along. Too busy concentrating as he scoots down, ‘cause he can’t fuck this up. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” he says on the outside. God. Who the hell is he? “Want me to taste you?”

“Sam,” you moan again. “Gonna get me off with that tongue of yours, baby?”

And damn. His name is so much better when you say it, when your legs are spreading further open for him. His fingers are slipping under the edge of the lace, feeling the first slither of just how wet you really are.

His lips press against your clothed entrance and the damp fabric gives way. He’s certain his nose has just tapped into your clit and you smell divine. Sour, earthy. On the verge of something sweet. 

He darts his tongue back out to taste, and your fingers are tugging this time. Your nails scrape his scalp and your back arches off the bed, pushing your hot, hot heat against him.

“You gonna tease me all day, Samuel?” you say, and he’s not mad. That scolding tone is working wonders. His amusement bursts through his nose.

Down below though, a bead of pre-cum dribbles from little Sam, flexing with a life of its own. He can’t deny his balls are tight, stomach hotter than you are. It’s still flipping, and his toes stretch and recoil in extension. 

“No, ma’m.” The sooner he can get you to cum, the sooner he’ll be comfortable sinking into you. What he lacks in confidence he makes up for in size, and it’s something he’s proud of. 

He unfurls your panties. Glides them down with your eager help. Without warning, his lips return to their former position, parting yours around him. He presses hard, spreads his mouth open wide and licks while his fingers dip where he’s too afraid to reach. 

You’re still a stranger he knows nothing about besides no boyfriend and you’re willing to have this one-night stand with him. But he’s smart, remember? He doesn’t want to catch anything. Even if you’re well put together and squirming into his palm, he just met you, urinal adjacent. 

“Oh, shit.” Your back arches again. Your pants reach his ear. His fingers curl and stroke your constricting walls, wet catching in his nail-beds. Your body trembles, bringing a new meaning to thundering thighs. 

They quiver, they shake. He gets a calve to his chin as you raise it up and stretch it out. There’s a risk his head will get a good clamping, but he continues to strike with the pebbled tip of his tongue. 

His lips pull together and he pulls away with a smack, putting on a show for you with a swipe over the bow. His eyes find yours, lust blown, heavy lidded. Your mouth parts and begs a, “Please.”

And Sam’s diving right back in with a smirk. Kisses with force against your clit. Thrums his fingers inside, hard and fast. His wrist is getting a workout. His thumb aches as it’s pushed to the side. But he slips in a third finger, flicks the shelf of your pubic bone. Holds your stomach down as you buck and shake.

“Oh, god,” you cry. His name comes out in a hoarse scream. You yank at his hair as you gush over his hand and chin. Your legs do everything in their power to crush him, but he doesn’t let up.

His fingers continue to make you writhe and your arms wriggle and bend. Only now, his kisses move and spread your juices over you. 

The crease in your thighs and the soft flesh covering your hips. Over your stomach, delving into your navel, he trails up your body, back to your breasts, and soon you’re wet inside and out, and he grins big and toothy. Cheeks up high again as he waits for you to come down from yours.

He drops to his side. Props himself on his elbow. Hand runs through his hair, already laced with sweat. “That good, huh?” he asks. 

And if he’s honest, he needs to know. He’s still working you, only now his fingers tap at your opening. Slipping through your folds with a sound so slick, Dean would say it’s music. A newfound confidence comes from the belief you’re outta breath because of him.

Your laugh fills with air, like how a cartoon dog might snicker, chest rising against his own. Your nipple scrapes over his skin as he leans down and kisses you proper. Answer, stolen, before it can even form.

Salt and fruity gloss - cherry? No, strawberry. Why the hell does he care? The flavours swirl together. Bodies press together when you hitch your leg over his and pull him closer. Your sweet heat now flush against him, hammers his heart and forces his grip on you to tighten.

He squeezes your ass. It’s plump. It’s firm. Your jeans hid just how perfect and round it was. Just the right size for him to hold.

But you’ve got your sights set on your own grip, hand diving into his boxers to take him and give him a slow pump. Pulling back, your eyes open wide in surprise; you twist your wrist and palm his weeping head. 

“You’re the one packing, huh, big boy?” You then bite your lip. Lick it. Drag your thumb over his slit and pull a grunt from deep within the pit of his stomach. 

Somewhere below the knotting, there’s a fire burning, raging, and it needs to be sheathed, covered, surrounded. It’s gross, and it’s oh so Dean, but he needs it put out and a wet pussy will do.

Sam thrusts into your touch. He can’t help it. Fuck, he wants to move.

“You think you can handle me, baby?” he rasps into your parted mouth, stretching his arm over and behind, fumbling for the string of foils and tears one off.

“I’m gonna fucking try,” you say, and the wordplay, whether on purpose, is not lost.

He rolls to his back, and you’re already pouncing, pulling his underwear further down and off. You straddle his legs, take the little packet in your hand, and stroke him some more, up close, eye to eye. 

You kiss the tip, watching as it flexes. His fingers do the same ‘round the ends of your hair. They curl then grip. Yours is firm around his base. And the sight?

The sight. 

He’s died and gone to heaven. Too long since he’s seen a woman between his legs, those eyes still half lidded, still full of lust. You’re greedy. You’re needy. The way you hold your gaze as he feels the heat of your mouth nip at his skin, breath warm and wet, floods through him. 

The way you sink further down.

Sam rolls his head back, his crown pushes into the pillow bunched up below. He wants to look, wants to pull at the strands of hair that still lace through his fingers and yank you down so you take all of him in. 

Your tongue glides down the underside, flattened and rough, encasing, but with a light graze from two front teeth up top. The suction is so tight. The stretch around him burns his own skin. The way you drag back, then spit, swirl the saliva, and do it again, coating him all sloppy that it’s gleaming, all slippery and dripping like you were. Like you will be again. His gut curls in on itself now. 

He’s tingling. He’s buzzing. He’d be high as a kite, if it weren’t for your thighs keeping him down. Their weight, your weight, making him go numb with need. 

You pump your fist down low, swiping your smallest finger over the velvety skin covering his balls. A drop of him or you pools there, then drips further down. “Fuck.” He then calls your name.

“You ready for me, big boy?” you ask again, and he’s snickering at the way you say it. 

“Yeah.” His arm releases you and flops over his forehead, but the sound of that little wrapper in your grasp rectifies that. He’s peeping out from under himself as you roll the rubber down.

He’s so sensitive, it stings like the bite of some bug. Balls more so as you drag yourself up and over him. Cockhead catches where you split down the middle, rubbing across your puckered hole. 

You bite your lip. How many times now he’s lost count? You raise yourself, grabbing him where he’s thickest. Those eyes of yours stare at him again. They continue to hold that gaze as you lower back down, grin only curling further up, as your lower lips stretch around him. 

“So big,” you say this time, and he can’t tell if you’re yanking his chain or really mean it. Your cheeks puffed and your mouth all white from shining teeth, just like the rest of you. 

Like your perky ass, kissing his pelvis. Like your thighs squeezing him, much like the vice between them. Tight, wet and hot.

“Can you handle it? Can you move, baby? Gonna ride me? Gonna cum all over me?” God. Where the hell is this coming from? Who is this guy, all confident and cocky?

The guy with the big cock in your cunt. That’s who. 

Sam chuckles to himself. Still can’t believe his luck. But you’re raising again, and sliding back down, and all he can do is hold on.

His fingers dig into your thighs. He presses his nails into your soft body. He helps you rise and fall over him. 

He’s making the ride smooth and savouring the feel of your walls closing around him. Feels the fluttering, and the beginnings of new tremors. Marvels at how much more wet you’ve become. 

The sounds. It really is music. The way you, your tits, and your skin slap with each thrust and bounce. The louder claps of his pelvis hitting yours and the sheen of perspiration between has his head swirling with images he needs.

“Come ‘ere.” Sam lifts you just slight. Raises his legs; bends his knees; jostles you so his neck doesn’t need to strain as far so his mouth can reach. 

He pistons his hips, hears the slaps, tastes the sweat, feels the pants against his chin and cheek. Memories blend, and ghosts of his past weave in and out around you. You could be Jess, you could be Sarah, but it’s you who’s mouthing him. Not exactly kissing, too focused on making your bodies move.  

“Fuck, Sam,” you squeal. 

His hands spread you wider. He grunts your name into his ear.

He can’t keep up the pace as much as he’d like to. Can’t keep up the facade. It’s better if he sees your face to remind him who he’s there with. He can’t do that with a curtain of hair. 

So he taps, twice on the fine edge of a curve, has your eyes firm on his. 

“Wanna switch, baby?” he asks, and thinks quick for a reason. “Need to see that pretty face when you come.” He’d try to roll over with you in his arms, but he can just see that being disastrous. Losing his balance or getting an elbow somewhere where it shouldn’t.

He doesn’t have to worry because you’re lifting off. You fling yourself to his side and wriggle your back against the bedcovers. Open your legs wide, hands draped where your panty line would be. 

“You gonna make me come again, big boy? Gonna fill me up with that thing?” you say, and he’s over you in one swift movement. 

Sam grabs his cock and runs the covered tip over your entrance to tease you back. Watches the twinkle in your eye as it runs over your clit and you moan, just for show. 

Man, he’s lucky. Who the hell meets someone by a urinal and then gets to fuck them? Wait, no. He doesn’t wanna answer that. He’ll just keep marvelling at his luck at the gorgeous woman below him. The one who was busting to spring a leak, now waiting for him to bust his nut and hers.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Still, he glides back in with ease. How wet you are for him makes it so. 

He wishes he could feel it, he’s just not that stupid, but he can imagine if he remembers your mouth and how it felt ‘round him, taking him deep.

You still do.

Your legs hook over him, and he hitches the left up higher with his elbow. His cock sinks deeper, base flush against your seam.  

“Fuck me, Sam.” You’re squirming. It’s right out of a movie or a book. He’s John Snow or Jamie, and you’re - god no. You’re you and he’s him, and he’s, fuck, yeah, he’s fucking you.

He snaps his hips. Feels that burn again as his balls collide with your ass. His thumb is drawing little circles over where you join and he goes for it. 

He leans over, bending you with him, stretching you open, dreams of splitting you in two. You moan. Your walls flutter again. You tremble and your thighs contract. 

They’re powerful, much more than before. The back of your knee pulls on his arm and he only grips tighter. Hand on your shin. The other palm pushes you down.

It’s the perfect angle. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. 

Perfect to dive in deeper. Feel you flex and accommodate his size.

Your mouth produces a hiss. It’s like a whine at the same time. Forming an O with your lips that then spreads wide into an “Ah.” Elongated. A laugh. A giggle. Whatever it is, he’s doing something right because your thighs are trembling again and your leg is trying to pull away. 

His hand presses firmer, but he’s pulling you and shifting back, raising you up so you’re his handle on the ride. His tip is dragging out through you now and spearing you when he goes back in. 

Thrusts are quick. Sweat falls from his brow. He feels the way your body pushes back against him. He’s an intruder, but he’s not backing down. 

His stomach is tight. His legs ache and tremor, just as yours does. But that pull? The way his dick swells? It’s magnetised, pushes as deep as it can go. It’s determined to bury itself to the hilt. 

And when you say, “Fuck,” again, but there’s another, and an added, “God. I’m gonna come,” Sam snaps his hips and watches your face closely. 

A huge grin. The biggest yet; stretches into your eyes, twitches your lip and raises your jaw high. Your neck, exposed like a bloodsucker’s prey, and Sam is doubling over to claim it.

His tongue glides up your neck, teeth nip at your skin. He’s sucking like you’re his last meal. His pace wanes as your walls try to push him out, but he’s rocking his hips with purchase, pushing back in deep.

Another, “Fuck,” leaves you, but he’s seeing white. His balls throb and he’s spilling into what little space is left in the Trojan. He’s so far high on cloud fucking nine, he forgets where he is and who’s under him. 

He’s spent. That was way better than any quickie in the shower. The warmth beneath him. Perfect round tits pressed against his hardened chest tremble and shake. 

“Fuck.” It’s his turn now, but it comes out more like a groan. He pants. Body heavy, yet light as air. He tries to move, but everything is jello and shaking.

Your arms have been clinging to his back, your slick pussy would if it could, but it’s still fluttering, and he chuckles deep.

You giggle on reflex, and somehow it gives him the strength to look up and search for a kiss. The sweat is intense. Fruit, now barely there, but the after-sex-glow kissing your cheeks is better than anything else.

“Wow, big boy,” you say between your own pants. “Fuck.” He could hear that again and again. “That was quite a ride.”

“Yeah?” he says, though he really doesn’t have to ask. 

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s breathless, it’s hearty, it’s reminiscent of a time he should forget when you’re there with him, so he does. He tries. 

He rolls over to the side and removes the rubber. His muscles remember to roll back and drape his arm over your middle. Fingers flex at your side and he breathes in the citrus remnants in your hair as he closes his eyes and breathes in deep.

For a moment, he’s not in the dingy motel, but in his room. Yours too, maybe? He’s still at college ‘cause he is young, and he still has his whole life ahead of him. 

There are no monsters. No salt, no burns, knives or guns, and Dean? Well, Dean can be there too, he supposes. Just separate, the other side of town. Further in Milroy.

Yeah. Pennsylvania. That’s perfect, too. 

The weight of you draws him in further to dreaming. The warmth of you finally lolls him off, but neither is there when he stirs the next morning. The space in the bed beside him is cold and the thumps on the door rattle the chill he’s left with. His body, no longer jello, but stone-like, and cold. 

No feathers in sight, unless the pillow bunched up beneath him again is made of them. He is dumb if he thinks it’s true.

The newfound churning in his gut tells him he’s foolish, though, and when he opens his eyes and scans the room, he’s a bigger fool than Dean. What was he hoping for? That you’d be there with bacon and eggs? A morning coffee? Waking him up for another round?

No. Of course not. The bathroom door is wide open, and no feminine clothes, litter the floor. Of course you’d be long gone. You’d told him something of the sort last night.

“I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow.” Yes, that was it. That’s exactly what you said. He just didn’t realise you’d be the first.

Sam rubs his face. Pushes his hair back out of it and stands. The bangs are getting old, and the district “Sammy” that comes with them grates his eardrums. He’s not so big anymore.

No, he’s little brother Winchester. 

Bitch. 

“Sammy.” Dean bellows again. “Sock time’s over!” Another thump. “You’re abusing the privilege. ‘S only supposed to be two hours, max. Three if you’re ménaging.” A lecherous laugh follows.

Who’s older and who’s younger? Well, it’s only four years. 

Sam rolls his eyes and picks his boxers up as he walks around the bed. He grabs his t-shirt at the midway point, and strolls over to the door. 

Dean’s fist is held up in greeting when he opens, but Sam’s turning before the stupid grin gets any bigger. 

“Oh c’mon man. On my bed?” 

“It’s not like you were using it,” Sam says, back still towards him as he grabs what he needs and heads for the shower. 

“Where’s the girl?” follows him there.

There’s a twinge of a smile as he closes the door, but a sigh replaces it. He runs his hand through his hair again, holding it there as he looks around.

Nothing’s out of place. No signs of anyone else occupying the space unless you count the seat on the John being down. “You’re getting sentimental over a toilet?” he whispers, and shakes his head. Grabs his toothbrush; squeezes the paste.

Pearly whites and hands on him flash before his eyes. He goes through the motions after that. 

There’s a perfectly rounded tit in his hand, heaving as he squeezes, then lets go. A, “Fuck,” moaned into his ear when he turns on the faucet, plump lips and lust-blown eyes spitting on his tip when he spits into the sink. The lingering drop on the porcelain drips down nice and slow. He’s got a small mark on his shoulder. When he twists, he sees a couple of tiny dints in his back. His cock is stirring as his eyes travel his waist, imagines perfect hands gripping him firm.

“Hey, big boy,” Dean says through the crack, and it makes him startle. 

Big boy chokes and yanks on the handle. How the hell does he know? 

“You sly dog. So you did get your dingle wet.”

“What?” Sam’s voice is rather high. His cheeks are pushing the limits again and he’s hiding the smirk that’s trying to rise.

“You know.” Dean chuckles. “Widdle Sammy got waid.” He even goes as far as to slap his side as he holds up a note with ten beautiful digits scrawled between a heart and a ‘call me.’

“Give me that.” Sam snatches the note; grabs his phone, refusing to look Dean in the eye when he slams the door. They’re too busy scanning the digits, each curve, each bubble, each dot as he punches the numbers into his contacts, his thumb hovers over pressing call. 

Is he desperate? Yes, but his ego holds him back. It will at least, until they hit the road. 

From Muncie to god knows where next, he’s got no idea. Another town, another case? Maybe. But there’ll be nowhere as special there and no-one as perfect as the girl who almost…made him ditch his shoe.

For those who don’t recognise the Japanese reference, “Omae wa mou shindeiru,” (お前はもう死んでいる) translates to “you are also going to die.”

Tagging those who showed interest from the WIP folder game, and those who asked to be tagged in everything SPN ✌️

@losers-clvb @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @roseblue373 @middleearthislife

Do you want to see more Sam stuff? LMK

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Okay...

So my laptop of 5 years finally died.

So rude.

I won't be transferring my tumblr works onto A03 for a while.

The way of the pickpocket

Is on a temporary hold.

Why?

This bastard knows what he did. Resurfacing right as I'm about to release content implying him to make me look further into his character and causing a rewrite!

Moving on!

Yes I've been seeing the new chapters.

Yes I've been keeping up with the mafia au

Yes requests are still open.

I think we all know by now the rules but here's a reminder.

No adultxchild requests here. (NOT doing anything to make them the same age either please find someone else)

Any songfic requests must come with the full lyrics available for search. (So recent songs that came out might not be accepted if I can't find the lyrics)

No gender neutral character requests for smut. It's a headache to write. (I do manage a few NSFW story implications here and there but if youwant something detailed you're going to have to message me for it.)

Please keepin mind that some requests take longer than others. There is no set order to what I write. (You're not paying for it and I'm not selling so there is no due date)

If it seems like I haven't mentioned your request in my WIP list. 9/10 I just don't have a title for it yet.

Now, to the important part.

WIP LIST!

The way of the pickpocket (on hold)

Move! Or so help me- (Eito and reader)

Two sides of the same coin (orias and bad luck reader)

Planting Roots 2

Eternal Blossom 2

Pierced my heart 9

Broken Symphony (song fic for Poro-chan reserved for story #225)

Contract (reader messing with kalego mafia au songfic)

Pouting (pouty Robin and reader)

Stressed (Goemon is dealing with some anxiety right now)

A friend (young alice and iruma becoming friends)

Melt down (female ice demon reader can't take the heat)

Riptide (Male water demon reader (possibly drowning some idiot) songfic)

Pleased (reader songfic based off of Jessica rabbit # (Possible x Robin fic) from who framed Roger rabbit

Remember when? (Sullivan x Reader fic old memories)

[6rookie-writer0110]

Male Reader X Top Rhea Ripley G!P Pt. 2 -

Reader, at his house, is masturbating in his bed; thinking about about the shower sex he and Rhea had in locker room the other night. He then receives a text from Rhea saying:

"hey sexy come over to my house for another round of "fun time" (Rhea also sending a picture of herself sticking tongue out and grabbing her dick print).

At Rhea's house, she lets him in and then goes to the bathroom. When rhea comes out, reader surprises her by changing and wearing nothing but one of the "you're my mami" shirts and her wwe belt. Rhea smiles as she likes the surprise. She then carries reader upstairs to the bedroom, placing one arm around his lower back and other in the crook of his left knee while reader's arms are around her shoulders and the legs around her waist. Entering the bedroom, rhea laid reader down and then said "round two baby". Both taking everything off, Reader decides to go first while rhea takes control for the rest of night.

The sweaty rough sex will be in different positions for example: reader rimming rhea, grabs her hips and doggystyles Rhea, while giving her a handjob. Later on, rhea takes over to show who's the real dominant top. Like, she does anal fucks reader while grabbing his face. Later, she fucks him in a spooning position while choking reader with her bicep. Finally, she puts reader in the riptide pin position and fucks him while holding his legs. Smut also including: face-fucking (rhea controlling reader), body worshiping, daddy dominant kink (as rhea would like reader to call her either mami & papi); ass spankings/grabbings; dirty talks, breeding kink; oral sex (reader receiving); rimming; standing 69 position (Rhea holding reader as she rims him and he upside down blows her), multiple orgasms

After sex, rhea (not bother wearing clothes) gets up to get a drink downstairs and then comes back, takes a picture of her & reader (whose laying on his stomach too sore to move) on her phone, saying "second round complete" laughing then grab n' smack his cheek. Next, both of them go to bed with reader resting on rhea's stomach. In the morning, reader limps to the bathroom and Rhea teases him about it, then y/n asking her to join him the bathtub, which she agrees, even giving him a bathtub handjob. Afterwards, since reader's clothes/shoes got ruined by her pet dog, rhea gives him new clothes: her tank top, dark ripped jeans, and her boots. Even letting reader keep the "mami" shirt.

sorry if i wrote too much.

It's fine. But wow 😮👍👍👍

[cansofsoda]

✿ about me

hello ! my name is soda (he/him) and welcome to my tumblr bog. this blog is for me to practice my writing, both sfw and nsfw

one day i hope to become a published author (though that is still a couple of years away haha) and i like to practice my writing skills via fanfictions.

i post fanfics on ao3, quotev, and wattpad. both my ao3 and quotev are under the username parasiticsoda, and my wattpad user is backywardduck.

i will also occasionally post art that i do.

hope you enjoy my blog !

(masterlist below the cut)

✿ masterlist

✿ RIPTIDE (original male characters x male reader) - prologue, chapter one, chapter two

✿ fics snippets/WIPS

time travel fix-it AU with Dabi and & Shoto - here!

a bingqiu mind reading fic - here!

✿ art stuff

snake demon shen yuan inspired by a deikshen post - here!

art progress acros three years - here!

[macravishedbymactavish]

Riptide (TF141 x M!Reader)

TW: Swearing, typical COD violence/themes, likely military inaccuracies

| Blog HQ | Riptide Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter |

Chapter 01

(This was initially chapter 2, until I decided to make a prolouge)

Heart hammering in your chest and ears, you sat helplessly as the video played. Multiple hostages, but you were honed in on one.

The boy who was crying and screaming for his daddy to save him.

Screaming for you to save him.

Forcing yourself to keep the tears that threatened to spill at bay, you lost yourself in the memory of the last time you saw your boy.

The day you left for this deployment.

--

"Do you really have to go?" Your son whined into your shirt, pressing his small face against the warm fabric. Taking in the comfort it provided as his tears freely fell.

You loved your job, your teammates, and above all else making the world a better place for your mini monster. The smallest and only love of your life.

Holding back tears yourself, you rubbed his small back. Keeping him held close your body as you started the goodbye process.

The part of the job you despised.

"I know bug, but I'll be back before you know it" you whispered, silently cursing your voice for breaking. "You promise to have some drawings and stories at the ready for when I come home?" A small nod, face still pressed into your abdomen.

"Yes daddy." He only called you this when he was sick or you were facing another deployment. "We can put them on the fridge when you get home?" You saw your own eyes staring up at you, filled with excitement that was coated by tears.

"Of course! Pinky promise" you felt his small finger slot into yours, as his sobs slowly became hiccups, then small giggles as he planned his stay with Aunt Kate and Aunt Nat.

The only person related to your employment who knew of this perfect little human being. The only person who knows just how much is at stake everytime your boots hit the ground.

"They said I can bake next time I'm over. Do you think I'll be allowed to?" You smiled widely, listening to your sons hopeful plans for the next month or so while you were away.

--

"Thank you again, both of you" this was about the 15th time you've thanked the duo today for taking in your son.

"Stop thanking us, you two are family. We're happy to have him" Nat gave you a smile, watching as the little boy followed Kate into their shared home.

You had known Kate for most of your military career, you met Nat shortly after. The two becoming an irreplaceable piece of your life, being present for almost all the major events. The latest being the birth of your son, and your recruitment into Task Force 141. You always said Kate's connections helped you along in this aspect; she argued that your work spoke for itself.

"Have you thought about telling John? I'm sure he would love to meet his adoptive grandson." Nat asked, pulling you from your thoughts. It was an innocent question. To anyone on the outside looking in on your situation; it would make perfect sense to tell your team. For yourself and Kate, the reasons against mentioning him were glaringly obvious.

The more people know about him, the more likely he'll be used against me.

The walls have ears, anyone could overhear that information.

Heart stays at home, mind stays at work. No overlap.

"Maybe one day" you shrugged, giving her a small smile. "Too risky right now". She gave you a knowing look, likely the same look her wife recieved.

It will always be too risky. Live your life while you can.

You couldn't deny that it did hurt, keeping the best part of your life a secret from the family you found within your team. The guys would love their "adoptive nephew/grandson", almost as much as he would love to meet the men he hears countless stories about.

"So you're saying Uncle Gaz hung upside down like spiderman? From a helicopter?! He's so cool!!"

"Do you think Uncle Ghost would help me make a cool mask for Halloween? I want to be scary while trick or treating this year"

"Grandpa Price and Aunt Kate are best friends. Aunt Nat told me so"

"Why can't Uncle Soap help clean my room? He's good at cleaning, I'm not" You weren't entirely sure where he got this tidbit of information from. You just hoped it was based off the concept and not the real story behind the codename.

As much as it hurt to know your son may never meet the men he views as heroes; his safety comes first. Above all else.

"There will come a time when it feels right, and you're ready. Whenever that time is you know the guys will be in love with him" Kate chuckled from behind you.

--

"Hey man, you good?" You heard Gaz whisper from beside you. Noticing your obvious change in demeanor.

The video had finished, and now one of your superiors explained that there was no plan for extraction at this time -- not enough intel to make such a risky play against the enemy.

"I'm fine. Thanks for checking in" you deadpanned, brain working to formulate your own plan to save your son and the other hostages.

Working so hard in fact, that you missed the concerned looks shared between your team. As Kate pulled Price aside.

"There's a high value individual amongst the hostages. I'm not saying to break the rules, but if there's any your team can bend to get this ball rolling" she whispered, fingers running through her hair.

He was at daycare, Nat drops him off every Tuesday through Friday when she's working. She's done this for the past 2 years. He's always been safe so far. Why was this time different?

"High value individual and a bloody kid! Poor thing can't be older than 5" Price growled, furious at the fact that children were now getting involved in an adult problem.

4 actually. He's only 4

Kate thought, glancing over at you. Still staring straight ahead, with the light drained from your eyes. Now replaced with fury and pain.

Taglist: @thatonesimpyknow @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco

[marquiswrites]

Riptide Master List

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Social Media AU

Summary: The band is back together, But things can never go back to the way that they were. Tension is still thick between the Avengers after the events of Civil War, but the hope is that a few fresh faces might calm the waters.

Warnings: Language

Inspired by: @sunmoonandbucky @geosaurusrrex @sugarfreecapsicle And special thanks to  @imaginingbucky @daffodilsbucky​ For helping me talk through things <3

Twitter Accounts 

One

Two

Three

Four

[burstinn]

You accidentally sit on their face, And they actually enjoy it

HEADCANONS

Warnings and Notes:

All of these aren't serious hcs, I was high again and wanted to make this

I made this for funny

Slight nsfw

Gn reader, target audience is male

Haha face sitting

People mentioned:

Riptide (Tide), Soap, Gaz, Ghost, König, Makarov, Keegan, Horangi, Price, Krueger, Roach, Logan, Graves

You are tired, after agrueling training from a grouchy superior who had a bad day so he had to take it out on you and your comrades. You needed to sit down, badly. Your legs are about ready to give up.

Once you reach the common room, fucking finally. You pull out your phone to find something to watch, while you make your way to the sofa.

And you sit down, Before you felt something poking you, something.. Wrong. You immediately look down realizing you.. YOU SAY ON SOMEONE'S FACE

"OH MY GOD, I'M SO SORRY"

RIPTIDE

- He immediately sits up looking at you, well if his mask was off he would be confused at fuck

- "Sorry for huh??"

- Seems like you say on him while he slept

- "... ", "nothin"

- Weird, but okay.. He tells you go off while he layed back down to continue his eye rest

- Thank fucking god, Thank the holy stars he didn't catch you sittin on him

- BUT.. The holy stars didn't feel like saving you right now. Because apparently a rookie caught you accidentally sitting on Tide and told him after he woke up.. That fuckin snitch

- Now you have to face the embarrassment of Riptide confronting you about it the next day.

- Tide sounds upset as well while confronting you, how humiliating

- Well the thing that you don't know is. The thing is, he angry cause HE DIDN'T GET TO FEEL TO ASS ON HIS FACE. HE DIDN'T GET TO FEEL A PLUMP ASS SITTIN DOWN ON HIS FAAACE

- and by God would he find a way to let you sit on him.

SOAP

- Yknow.. You know how I write this man..

- He saw you walk in, distracted by your phone.. Obviously making your way to the couch while he sitting down.

- Then he got the bright idea.. To yknow.. Lay his head down to just... Idk stretch.. Totally

- He had the pleasure as well to watch your ass slowly sit down on his face, well for a few seconds anyway. Then you immediately get off his face. Sad life fr

- "huh? What's up why'd you get off?" "Your ass is nice to look at btw"

- " you saw me about to sit down on you and you didn't say anything?!"

- "A man gotta do to experience something new man.."

- You would hit him. But you would also get in trouble for that.

- he would joke the shit about it as well. He would tease the fuck outta you for the rest of the month for this.

- Bro won't even hide to shamefully ask you if you wanna sit on his face again ( in a joking way)

- (He's actually serious)

GAZ

- He was about to shut his eyes when he suddenly saw an outline of an ass about to sit on him.

- His eyes suddenly opened and he tried to get up but nah.. Too late bro you gotta feel the full plumpy moons first

- When you got up his eyes were wide and his face was red.

- "no.. It's okay.."

- he got off and left. Leaving you in your shame

- He had to leave to compose himself.. He found something new about himself and he isn't sure how to react

GHOST

- His eyes were closed.. Then he felled something soft on his face.

- Then a scream oh my god I'm sorry

- Oh.. Shit...

- He sits up, realizing you sat on his face.. He doesn't say anything.

- His face is fucking red under the mask. Your ass suddenly looked twice as big as before. Don't know how that works but go with it fr.

- He got hard, you noticed.

- "dude.. Sir..?.. Are you.."

- He just looks at you. He has that look in his eyes

- Cmon, yknow what you gotta do.. YOU KNOW

- SIT ON HIS FUCKING FACE RUAUAAAAGHHH

KÖNIG

- He wasn't expecting ass in his face, he thought he wouldn't enjoy something like face sitting but hey.. It's actually.. Nice?

- He doesn't say anything when you suddenly sit up embarrassingly trying too apologize

- He just nodded..

- He wanted you to sit on his face again so fucking badly..

- So badly he would lay down on literally anything sittable while you were in the room

- It was so fucking obvious it was almost funny

- You had to confront him about it. And he just.. Confessed, yeah, he wanted you to sit ok his face

- .... Cmon bro.. Be a man and sit on the guys face, Make his wish come trueeee

MAKAROV

- " sit back down"

- "excuse me? Sir.. No-"

- you better sit the fuck back down on his face

- He will literally pull a gun on you and force you to sit back down on his face

KEEGAN

- No fucking lie he literally took a fucking huge sniff

- You know because you fucking heard that comically loud sniff

- You had to cut your apology short to look at that dude in disbelief

- "Did you just fucking sniff my ass?!"

- Bro will literally look at you with a goofy ahh face and just look at you.. Not saying anything, not even a fuckin nod

- "you gonna sit back down on me or..?"

- He made you sit back down on his face

HORNAGI

-EHEHEHHAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAHEHRHEHEHHhahahahahaahHAHAAH

- He will literally squeeze your ass, then pull your legs and make you sit back down on his face

- Don't even try to fight. His hands are fucking locked down on your thighs to keep you stuck on his face

- He made you sit down on his face for so long, you were literally concerned if he was breathing

- if you ask him if he's alive, he would just squeeze your leg to show you. Yeah, he's good

- if you look behind you, He's hard.

PRICE

- would smile and assure you it's okay.

- Pats your back, for more assurance. But he literally wants to Pat your ass

- Bro would imagine what it would be if you sat on his face

- Naked. Yes, if you sat on his face naked.

- If you did his beard would tickle you.. Which was what he wanted fr

KRUEGER

- He would say something like in a very angry and demanding tone

- "Why'd you get off?"

- "huh?"

- "Sit.Back.down"

- You did

ROACH

- Yo.. He feelin something he never felt before. Haha lie he just found a new kink he would actually enjoy

- He would literally follow you around and tug your shirt and point at your ass then his face

- If you would say no, He would leave and come back a few minutes later and do the same thing

- He would do it until you say yes..

- He's very happy. He's a very happy bug

LOGAN WALKER

- Would scream at you

- because you made him discover something about himself

- He's angry because of that

- He would force you to run 15 laps because of that.

- Then when you suddenly tired, sweating yo legs shaking from how tired you are

- He would silently and gently ask you ( he would toss you over his shoulder and walk you off to his room and make you sit on him)

- He won't explain why he did that. He just wanted to

GRAVES

- Would look at you like 🤨

- Then be like 😐😒😏

- stands up and slaps your ass

- and asks you to sit on his face

Everyone mentioned

- You will face fuck them

- Do not fight me on this, they will make you face fuck them

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 1: SOMEWHERE (FAR, FAR) EAST OF THE MOJAVE

synopsis: you wake up in some cabin, half-frozen to death. a man named arthur finds you and decides to have mercy on you, as do his associates.

word count: 3k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: if anyone wants me to start a taglist just lmk <3!! also there's a PROLOGUE before this, please read it before reading this :)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

It’s cold. Above everything else, it’s fucking cold. 

You screw your eyes shut tighter, curling in on yourself. You’re vaguely aware that you’re on your side and in a fetal position. 

There’s a light, faintly, somewhere behind you. You let out a hiss that tapers off into a groan and draw your arms over your head.

“Hey!” A voice shouts. It’s growly and abrasive-sounding. There’s the sound of a revolver’s hammer cocking. “Turn around. Face me.”

You prop your forearm on the floor and push yourself up with more effort than you think would be needed. You pant softly, and your breath mists in front of your mouth. You manage to hold yourself up with both hands on the floor and turn your head to look at the man. 

He’s tall in a way that makes him look down his nose at you. His silhouette is stark against the door – there’s snow outside. You don’t remember it to be… snowing. It’s May in southern California. It doesn’t snow in May in southern California.

The man looks you over, his revolver still pointed at you. His hand is unwavering.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You don’t know why. “Is this your house?”

“No,” the man says simply. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I’m…” You look down at your hands, the way they’re braced against the floor. “I don’t know. I think…” 

Your arms shake, then collapse. Your jaw hits the floor with a dull thud, and your eyes screw shut on instinct.

“Shit,” the man drawls under his breath. 

“W-wait! Wait,” you say quickly. “I’m not on anything. I – I’m stone-cold sober. Like Steve Austin.”

You force a laugh and manage to open your eyes to look at the man. He looks confused – maybe a little disgusted? It’s hard to tell.

“Like, the wrestler?” You say. “Stone Cold Steve Austin?”

The man lowers his revolver, just a little, so that it’s not pointed at your head, but still in your general direction. It’s obvious he doesn’t know what you’re talking about, in any capacity. Maybe he won’t shoot you if he thinks you’re insane? (Or maybe that would just give him more of an incentive to kill you.)

“Just – just ignore me,” you say. (Again, you don’t know why. You don’t want to be ignored – you’re very obviously in bad shape.) “I don’t know where I am. I remember being in California, just north of Los Angeles.”

The man scoffs and checks over his shoulder, like he’s checking he’s not being duped. He looks back at you. “California? Really?”

“Yes,” you say softly. You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself the best you can with the way that you’re laying. “South. Right near Mexico – Tijuana.”

The man tilts his head and takes a half-step closer. “You’re bleedin’.”

“I am?” You manage to move your arm and see dried brown blood on your jacket laced with redder, fresher blood. “I am.”

“I just…” You shift, curling in on yourself further. Now that he’s pointed it out, you do feel some type of dull pain in your abdomen. “I’ll be okay. Don’t call for a doctor, or an ambulance. Please don’t call an ambulance. I – I’ll get to a hospital on my own.”

The man shifts on his feet. Was it always this cold? It’s… it’s so fucking cold. And no matter how much you curl in on yourself, there’s no warmth. 

The black returns. 

There’s snippets of conversations you can pick up on over the sound of feet shuffling and the sound of wind blowing outside. One woman gives a few demands to others, while another woman announces that “Davey’s dead.”

You can feel yourself being lifted and laid on something that’s hard against your back. You groan and try to open your eyes and sit up, but can’t. 

The voices grow quieter. There’s a man making some sort of speech – you can’t make out the words. 

You know you’re wavering in and out. There’s the warmth of a man’s hand on your shoulder, and a murmuring voice, still fading in and out: “I commend you… your Creator… who formed you from the dust… angels, and all the saints…”

It takes all your strength to lift your hand and grab him – some part of him. You can barely open your eyes and can’t make out a lot. “Not… dead yet. Fucking pr…preacher.”

Black again. There’s a repetitive, stinging pain in your side. 

Awake, again. Somehow. A woman, her face worn but still beautiful, hovers over you. Her wrinkles are stark in the lantern light. 

“Hello?” You say, your voice a bit slurred.

The woman turns and calls another woman over – this one much younger than her. “Miss Jackson, get Dutch. Let him know Arthur’s friend is awake.”

Miss Jackson turns and walks off with a “Yes, Miss Grimshaw.” 

“Arthur?” You interject. “Is that the man who found me?”

Miss Grimshaw turns back to you. “Yes, Arthur’s the one who found you. I don’t know why he didn’t shoot you.”

You wait for her to say something more. She doesn’t.

“Where am I?” You try. “I remember being in California, just outside of the Mojave. But the Mojave doesn’t get snow in May.”

“That’s because you’re not in the Mojave,” Miss Grimshaw says. “We’re in the Grizzlies.”

“Th…the Grizzlies?” You echo. “Like, Appalachia?”

“Somewhere in there, yes,” she says. “You been out a few days now. Reverend read you your last rites a handful of times.”

You try to sit up, but groan and lay back down. She pushes you down as well, a scowl on her face. 

The door opens with a gust of cold wind. A man steps in, then quickly shuts the door behind him. He hurries over, rubbing his gloved hands together. 

He looks you over, then drags a nearby chair over and sits. “What’s your name, friend?”

You give him your name. 

“My name is Dutch,” Dutch says. “Dutch van der Linde. I think you know by now that you’ve caught us at an… inconvenient time. And you’ll forgive us for not trusting you right away.”

“No, I get that,” you say. “I just… I need a map or something. I need to get back home.”

Dutch beckons for Miss Grimshaw to bring over a map. He opens it and holds it out to you. 

You sit up, slowly, making sure not to do anything too sudden. When you’re upright, you take the map from him and look it over. You don’t recognize anything on the map, but one point piques your interest – the date. The year reads 1891.

“Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” You point to the year. “This map seems a little out of date.”

“It’s just eight years,” Miss Grimshaw says. “Most everything is the same.”

You glance up at her, then at Dutch, then at the people around the cabin. Your fingers twitch and crumple the map a bit. 

This is a dream! I’m in a coma! Your mind shouts. I’m in a medically-induced coma because I was shot and holy hell – how the fuck did I go from 2024 to 1899?!

“Right, right,” you say instead. “Sorry. I’m just being nitpicky.”

“Where’re you from?” Dutch asks. 

“California. Near the Mojave,” you say. “Out west.”

“And you would leave all that… virgin paradise…” Dutch laughs and gestures vaguely around him. “For this?”

“I don’t know how I got here,” you say. “I’ve been saying that since I woke up. I don’t…” You shake your head.

“Well, I’m sure we can get you back to your home,” Dutch says. “We’re persevering folk. Do you recognize anything – anything at all – on that map?”

You look down at the map again. It’s all unfamiliar. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, my friend,” Dutch says, reaching a hand out like it’s meant to soothe. “You’re a soul in need. I’m sure we can figure something out somehow. Can you at least tell me what your home is like?”

This is a coma, you remind yourself. I can just make something up. I’m not some person that couch-surfed for half my life. I can be whoever.

“I… it’s odd,” you say to buy yourself some time. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “There’s a few tribes that live in Zion Canyon – the Dead Horses and the Sorrows. I was a courier delivering goods to the Dead Horses. There were two men there that convinced me to stay.”

A Black man – broad, intimidating, with long, dark hair – perks up at the mention of tribes. His dark (almost black, honestly) eyes find yours, then he looks down at the floor again.

“None of it rings a bell,” Dutch says. “But, these men – what’re their names?”

It’s in that exact moment that you realize you just prattled off part of the storyline of Fallout: New Vegas. Then you realize that, if this really is 1899, no one here would know what you’re talking about. 

“Joshua Graham and Daniel,” you say. “They’re white – they work with the natives and help them trade. Joshua’s acting as the Dead Horses’ war chief and Daniel is a healer that works with the Sorrows.”

Yes. You’re totally friends with Joshua Graham and Daniel and the Dead Horses and the Sorrows. And from the way Dutch nods solemnly, you think he believes you. 

You hold out the map and he takes it back, folding it neatly. 

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” you say. “I’ve never even been this far east before.”

“Don’t worry,” Dutch says. “You can stay with us, for the time being. At least until we get to some… some town, or city. Let you rest your feet while you recover. We’re a gang of… violent criminals and degenerates, but we care. I can’t say the same for the rest of America.”

Your hand instinctively goes to your side, where you felt the stinging, repetitive pain earlier. “Right. My side doesn’t feel as bad as before. Thank you for that.”

You look around and slowly swing your feet over the side of the table. A lightning arc of pain shoots down your leg, causing you to gasp and tense. As with everything else, you force through it and stand. 

“I need to get some air,” you say. Dutch just nods. You walk (shamble, really) to the door and open it, slipping outside.

The cold is even worse out here. There’s footpaths in the snow. You stick your hands under your arms and walk one. It leads to a man standing by a fire in front of a cabin, dressed in a winter poncho with a gun in his hands. 

You hold your hands out towards the fire and rub your hands together. It doesn’t replace the warmth you had while you were inside, but it’s still something.

“What’s your name?” The man asks. He shifts the rifle in his hands, but doesn’t move to point it at you. (An improvement, if a small one.)

You give him your name. “What about you?”

“Javier,” Javier says. “Javier Escuella.”

“Where are you from?” You shift your focus to the fire. “Not trying to be rude. It’s just that there’s a few ‘Javier’s where I’m from.”

“Northern Mexico,” Javier says. “You?”

“I’m originally from the South, but I live in the Mojave. I moved to the Frontier to be closer to my sister,” you say. “So I guess we weren’t that far off from each other.”

You look up at the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow. It’s the man from way earlier – Arthur. You look back at the fire instead.

Arthur nods at Javier and spares a glance at you before entering the cabin. People are talking inside, and you catch a snippet of voices before Arthur closes the door again.

“It’s too cold to be May,” Javier says. You can tell he’s trying to be polite by making conversation. “I’m not designed for this snow.”

“I know, right?” You laugh under your breath. “Neither am I. I’d go back inside, but I don’t want to intrude. Any more than I already have, anyway.”

“It’s below freezing,” he says. “Everyone needs shelter. Come on.”

With that, Javier turns and walks into the cabin, holding the door open behind him for you. You thank him and follow him inside. 

Inside is a group of men and the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke. You tense when they all turn to face you. Most of them are, in fact, smoking. You nod politely and tuck yourself into a corner, next to a man with a blond mustache. 

A hefty man is sitting across from the blond man, and a much younger Black man is sitting on a table next to him. Javier is by the door, and you try your best to ignore Arthur’s huge presence beside you. You can see him throw a small log into the woodstove out of the corner of your eye.

The man sort-of across from you looks at you, then returns his gaze to the man sitting beside you. “I guess folks miss them… that fell.”

“Well, when I fall, I don’t want no fuss,” the man beside you says.

“When you fall…” The young man waves his hand, which is holding a lit cigarette. “There’ll be a party.”

“A party!” The hefty man echoes, laughing. “Hah, probably.”

You feel the beginnings of a smile start to cross your face. You don’t know these people, and while they aren’t exactly doing their best to welcome you, they aren’t exactly making you feel unwelcome, either.

The man beside you holds out a bottle to you. You hesitantly take it, even though you’re confused. “I don’t want this.”

He pays you no mind and stands, looking down at the man. “That funny, huh?”

“Sure,” the man says, the remnants of laughter still in his voice.

One man strikes another, and it’s loud, absolute chaos. On instinct, your eyes snap to the door. Unblocked. An exit if needed.

Arthur and the young man are holding the hit man back, and the blond man speaks. “Maybe  I don’t feel like being laughed at by the likes of you two!”

It’s going to escalate. You can get to the door. Dutch was right – this is a gang of violent criminals and degenerates. One you want nothing to do with.

But Dutch bursts in with a gust of cold wind. As soon as he sees what’s going on, his face twists. The men dissipate from their tight proximity and distance themselves from each other.

“Stop it!” He snaps. “You fools punching each other when Colm O’Driscoll’s needin’ punching – hard! You wanna sit around, waiting for him to come find us?”

Arthur slips out of the door as Dutch continues. “All of you, we got work to do. Come on.”

The men turn and start to file out of the cabin. You can hear Arthur and Dutch talking outside. By the time you’re outside, most of the men are over by the horses or on one of them.

Dutch is talking quietly to Arthur while they’re both mounting up – you couldn’t hear them if you tried. He straightens up on his snow-white horse and shouts. “Mister Matthews, Mister Smith, Mister Pearson, would you please look after the place? There are O’Driscolls about!”

With that, he snaps the reins and his horse darts off. The rest of the men from the cabin, now all on horseback, quickly follow. 

You resign yourself to following another footpath. This one leads to a partly-sheltered, partly-dilapidated garage-type-thing with something like a kitchen inside. There’s a deer hoist against the wall, but it’s empty.

Your eyes dart to some sort of cauldron-looking pot hanging over a fire that’s mostly coals. You walk over and hold your hands out to it, trying to get warm again. 

“You’re new.”

Your head snaps up to see the broad Black man from earlier. He still has that impassive look on his face. 

“Yes, sir, that’s right,” you say. You introduce yourself. “What’s your name?”

“Charles Smith.” Charles walks and stands beside you, mirroring you and putting his hands out towards the fire. “You were talking earlier about tribes.”

“Yeah,” you say. “What about them?”

“I’ve never heard of the ones you were talking about,” he says. His voice is deep and smooth and calm. (You try your best not to latch onto that sense of calmness. You now know how quickly things can turn.)

“The Sorrows and the Dead Horses?” You rub your nose as you try to think of an excuse. “I wouldn’t expect you to. They live in Zion Canyon – in the Mojave. They’re fairly isolated, but they’re good people.”

Charles hums and his eyes return to the fire. You try to think of something to keep the conversation going.

“Who’s Colm O’Driscoll?” You ask. “I’ve heard his name a handful of times.”

“A rival gang leader,” he says. “Runs the O’Driscolls.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You scratch your cheek. “That makes sense.”

A silence settles over the two of you again. Charles must be comfortable with it. Unfortunately, you’re not. 

“Is there anything people need done?” You ask, glancing at him. “I don’t like being idle for too long.”

He looks over at the empty deer hoist. “We need food.”

“I’m no good at hunting.” You look at the fire and rub your hands together again. “Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot,” Charles says. His eyes flick to you. “You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

You bite back another apology and force a laugh. Your breath mists in front of your face. “Force of habit.”

Charles hums and his focus returns to the smoldering coals that make up the fire. A nagging thought in the back of your head tells you that you made him mad (even though he’s given literally no indication you’ve done so). 

You follow his lead and look at the fire. There’s nothing else to do in this kind of cold, anyway. 

[capslocked]

VANITY

male reader x kim chaewon

5k words

"Quarter to six?"

"Quarter to six."

"Quarter to six?" you ask one more time checking your watch, praying for a different answer.

She repeats herself with stern punctuation, "Quarter to six."

You hazard the obvious question, "I thought you said check-in was at seven?"

"I also said we’re meeting everyone for drinks at a quarter to six. You should listen to me more often."

"Well. Shit." You swing yourself about the door frame of the bathroom, your dress socks on the wood floor like skates on an ice rink. "Then we probably need to get ourselves—"

Your eyes immediately find Chaewon’s reflection in the mirror, astonishing, mesmerizing, confounding.

"Whoa." You have no idea if the word actually spills out of your mouth or the airy sound it makes is audible only in your thoughts.

A shy smile dimples her cheeks, pretending it doesn’t notice the obvious leer on your face. "How do I look?"

Gorgeous. Ravishing. Fuckable.

You swallow that candor back down somewhere into your throat before it might otherwise escape you, completely unrestrained.

"You look—incredible." The word sticks to the roof of your mouth as you dart your attention up and down the tiny cocktail dress that barely even constitutes clothing. Its black fabric hugs the contour of her figure so tightly it leaves little to the imagination, but even then you can’t stop imagining all the ways you might rid her of it.

Admittedly, perhaps shamefully, you didn’t think much of Chaewon the first time you met her. Just another pretty girl that would get up on stage to sing and dance—big deal. However, something wouldn’t let you leave it alone. Not only were you wrong, she made damn sure you were sorry for it. You’d found her obstinate, a tad selfish, and more than anything, entirely irresistible.

Before your brain can chide your hands, you saunter forward and wrap yourself around her hips.

"You’re late ya know."

"I wonder why that might be," you say, pressing your lips into her bare shoulder. Your nose tickles the bottoms of her primly cut hair and you breathe in deep. The muddled mix of her shampoo, perfume and the perfect smell that is simply her—it makes a flutter rise in your chest as you let the breath roll off your shoulders.

"You certainly weren’t putting up much of a protest."

"Didn’t realize I had been given a choice."

She smirks, the playful warmth in her eyes holding your reflection with ease. "That’s because you weren’t."

Chaewon pulls your hands forward, folding them gently atop her stomach, the thin material of her dress letting you feel the tightness of those muscles above her waist.

Grabbing a makeup brush off the counter, she delicately applies the finishing touches on a canvas of smooth, porcelain skin, the masterwork of an artist, stretching out along the meticulously drawn lines that define her figure. Your eyes on her and it fast becomes a grand heist of stolen glances; the perfect cut of silky hair resting at her jaw, sculpted eyebrows, sweeping lashes, those perfect lips—the true injustice being that she was so much more than simply the sum of her parts.

You blink your way out of the riptide of brown and gold in Chaewon’s eyes. "Should probably call your friends and let them know we’re running behind schedule."

"Why can’t you?" she asks, "I gave you Minju’s number didn’t I?"

"Well, I mean, they’re not my friends."

Her reflection shoots an eyebrow up somewhere behind those jet black bangs. "Since when are you worried about first impressions?"

"I dunno Chae—you tell me—are they the kind of people to judge a book by its cover?"

"As if there’s anything in those pages of yours worth reading."

Lowering your head, you whisper gently into her ear, "didn’t stop you from paging through them earlier today. Twice."

"Please," she pleads, sparing you a pitiful laugh and slapping playfully at your hands.

Chaewon turns herself in your arms, pulling the hem of that less-than-modest cocktail dress again over the curve of her rear—a battle she’d doubtlessly wage against the fickle garment all evening, one you can’t imagine you’ll ever tire of watching. Hell, you’re not even sure who you’re rooting for.

You watch her eyes widen, glistening, as she reaches her hand up along the edge of your jaw, feeling your smooth, fresh shaven face between her fingers. "You clean up surprisingly nice ya know."

You cock an eyebrow. "Surprisingly?"

Finding a bounce in her feet, Chaewon lifts herself out of her heels. No more than an inch or two, failing to arrive where she wants to be, she repeats the motion several times—her blatantly conspicuous method of demanding you reach down and kiss her.

"Chae… Is there something I can do for you?" you ask, a grin betraying your attempt to play dumb.

"You ass. Come here." A small huff billowing out of her chest, she teases her fingers at the smooth skin on your neck. "Let me at least get a kiss before this becomes all stubbly—otherwise I imagine I’ll have better luck making out with sandpaper."

Before you even get the chance to sink your shoulders, she wraps her fingers around the bottom of your tie, and with a twist and a tug she pulls you into her.

A kiss, sweet but efficient, lingers between you no longer than is prudent. The next, short and inquisitive, is like a second serving of ice cream—inadvisable. For a brief moment, you hold each other with your eyes, able to communicate far more than either of you could ever say. And the third, foolish as it is inviting, finds the last of your inhibition wanting.

You let yourself sink into her, the taste on her lips warming, welcoming, tempting. The spaces between your kisses fill no longer with shy smiles and bated breath, but with profound longing, crashing again in emboldening familiarity.

Your fingers dip dangerously at the hem of Chaewon’s dress, the boundary where smooth skin meets impossibly thin fabric—a playground of reckless decisions. Opposite of you, in no less good judgment, she slides her hands up your chest, quietly lifting your jacket up off your shoulders and finding room for it on the countertop beside you.

Your lips stretch into a coy smirk against hers. "What are you doing?"

Chaewon opens her eyes, mischief smoking from beneath her long lashes, and her voice lilts, "nothing."

She holds her gaze with you, her eyes smoldering with the same playfulness that paints the subtle smirk stretching across her face. She maintains her composure, delicately sweeping her bangs back perfectly into place with one hand, as though she weren’t prying her fingers into the buckle of your belt with the other.

"That’s a whole lot of nothing for someone who was—seconds ago mind you—on my case to hurry up."

"And you’re talking a lot for someone I can feel already getting hard through his pants."

You dig your fingers into the roundness of her ass, pulling her body flush against yours. "I thought you said we were meeting everyone for drinks at six?"

"And I also said check in was at seven," she says, snapping the belt away from your hips.

"You’re insatiable."

"Well, you’re the one who decided to kiss me."

Your eyebrows twist skeptically. "I don’t think that’s how I would describe it."

Her eyes run across the features of your face, resting on the glances she so loved to steal—finding herself contemplating how best she might put your lips to good use. Chin lifted, her voice opens again, "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Perhaps." A flat chuckle breaks your response. "Among other things."

Your hands wander from her waist, up the slender contour of her narrow frame, and you find the shoulder straps of her dress. Rolling them between your fingertips proves them to be as delicate and dainty as they look, easy to sweep off her shoulders with hardly even a simple push.

"Go on then. Let’s get it all out of your system." She unbuttons the front of your pants, sending them to a heap collapsed around your ankles. "What else?"

You think for barely a moment, chirping the first thing that comes to your head. "You’re self-centered."

She pinches the inside of your waistband with her fingertips, pulling it as far as the poor garment will allow before releasing it with a loud thwap. "Uh-huh."

"Spoiled rotten."

"Now that seems a little cold," she says, her voice feigning a despondent tone.

You pull the straps of her dress over her shoulders, letting them fall helplessly down the bare skin on her arms. "And you’re a bit of a brat."

Chaewon’s knuckles fight the tightness of your shorts as she slides her hand to meet the bulge stirring beneath them. She watches closely at the quick breath you draw through tucked lips as she lets her fingers find their favorite spots along your length.

You should be better at this game you play—it’s only the thousandth time you’ve played it. And the score hasn’t been worth keeping for a long time. Maybe somewhere along the way you could’ve picked up a trick or two, but Chaewon is always a step ahead of you, untouchable.

"And still—" Chin lifted, she taps her finger against her lips, her grip beneath the waistband of your shorts tightening. "You want to fuck me so bad."

If she didn’t know it then, she knows it now: somewhere inside you, a red light turns green. You see Chaewon’s mouth opening again, another taunt ready to launch from it, but you steal from her the opportunity, your hand reaching at the nape of her neck, tilting it back—you capture her tender lips again between yours.

Your hands under her arms, you lift her up onto the counter and her legs wrap themselves around you, the edge of her helpless dress rolling up along her thighs until it springs up around her stomach. Her kisses drag along your cheek until you can hear the heat of her breath in your ear.

"What was it you called me? Insatiable?" She works her hand still beneath the tight confines of your shorts as best as they might allow, varying the strength of her fingers’ grip around you—not to mention the unyielding touch of her palm—she rouses your cock fast against its confines. A haughty laugh precedes her. "When you’re this fucking hard?"

"Oh please. Pot, meet kettle." Dragging a finger tip up across the warmth of her entrance, sampling the damp fabric daring to hide it from you still, you listen to her suck a sharp breath past her teeth. 

Mimicking the smug tone of Chaewon’s voice just now, you taunt, "Chae, it lacks a lot of bite when you’re this fucking wet."

You pull the top of her dress down past her chest, two perfect handfuls of soft breasts jumping out over it, two tempting dark buds begging for your lips, your tongue, your teeth. Your nose runs the length of the cleavage gathered in your hands, before again finding her kiss. Once politely, and again expectantly, you pass your tongue against the swell of her lips until finally she lets you in.

"Mmph…" Her muscles jump as you slip your hand again between her thighs, your fingernails ever so barely making contact with gray fabric underneath them. Acquainting themselves quickly to their hot surroundings, your fingertips discover the touches that always make Chaewon weak.

"Twice just wasn’t—enough for you today was it?—you poor thing," you slip forward in the labored breaths between your kisses.

"If we’re keeping count." She bites onto your lip and her hands slide up your chest, looking for something to moor herself to as you press hard against her aching hole, a quiver jolting through her hips. "You only—came in me once."

"I don’t know Chae," you tease, forcing your way past the elastic band around her waist, drawing a gasp from Chaewon’s throat as you dip fingers past the wet warmth you discover. "Weren’t you going on and on about how upset Minju and Yena might be if we’re late?"

“Oh—” She squirms at the pad of your thumb, callously brushing her own wetness over and around her swollen bud. "Screw Minju. Screw Yena. And screw you."

"Well if that’s the case—suppose I could go all by myself." You begin to lean yourself away from her when she reaches for your wrist.

"Do not," she whispers, finding you again with her eyes, now lit so clearly ablaze with want and need.

Her chest jumps at the pleasure you bring, rubbing circles against her freshly shaved mound, and she can’t control the shy smile forming at the corners of her mouth as you drag and tug at the lips of her pussy on each revolving pass. One finger slips inside her warmth, squeezing past her tight entrance. She closes her eyes and tucks her chin to her chest, slowly drawing a purposeful breath in through her nose.

Her hands clutch greedily onto the fabric of your shirt, as you continue to explore the warmth of her hole, teasing at the spots you’ve long learned to recognize, the ones that could make her sing.

“So.” Rubbing and caressing the warm walls around it, your finger makes way for a second, Chaewon shuddering at the sudden inclusion. "You want to cum on my fingers? Or my tongue?"

"Don’t tease me." Her fingers grip tightly around the shape you imprint against your underwear and her brow furrows. "I want this."

There’s a part of you that wants to refuse her, especially when she dons that pouting look, eyes blazing and scowling—you’re convinced she’d trademarked it—but you’ve been trying your best to persuade your thoughts to think of anything other than pinning her to the wall since you caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was no chance.

You feel Chaewon clench around you as you slowly drag your fingers out of her pussy, your fingers coated still in her warm wetness. A step back and the two of you let your eyes communicate to each other exactly what it is you need. Two sets of underwear sliding down off your legs, you both gaze upon temptation, upon the only thing that might release you from it.

Your fingers still wet with the fruits of her excitement, you pump them liberally around your cock, lathering a slippery sheen from hilt to head. Chaewon’s eyes still fix closely on you, like an architect reading a set of blueprints, or a musician a new piece of sheet music, she studies you, undoubtedly taking meticulous notes. Even with the experience she’d built, entanglement after entanglement, seducing orgasm after orgasm out of you, she always had a hunger for more.

Coaxing her forward on the counter, she raises her hips and hangs her ass just over the edge of it, supporting herself on the hands she plants onto the counter behind her. Chaewon whines as you rub the tip of your cock between the lips of her pussy, gathering more of the wetness that glistens and shines around the warmth radiating just beneath its beautiful folds.

You shuffle your feet, adjusting your height to hers. "Ready?"

She hooks herself off the back of your neck, lip curling between her teeth, and for the first time in a while, Chaewon has no cute response, no quip to needle. She simply nods her head.

"Fuck," she hisses, her face wincing as you push yourself into her warm embrace. The further and further you fill her, the more you can feel her stretch to receive you. You hang your head a moment on her shoulder, overwhelmed by the heat, the depth, the tightness that is Chaewon around you. It doesn’t matter how many times you’d buried yourself inside her, it always rearranges your thoughts, makes it difficult to speak.

"Chae—god—you’re tight."

Your hips are second to move, Chaewon quickly lifting hers against you, desperately searching for the friction they now so desperately crave. She punches her breath into your ear, teasing again, "C’mon now. It’s not your first time—don’t just stand there."

A groan leaks from your chest, your cock carefully moving itself again past her entrance. You struggle with the tie around your neck, and Chaewon gathers the cue to start working at the buttons down your shirt, freeing you of everything save a pair of dress socks you hope she wouldn’t look down to notice. Though luckily she’s more interested in your lips—reaching her hands into your hair and seizing you into a kiss of her own. You can feel the vibration of each quiet moan that escapes her lungs rattle off your teeth as your slow thrusts find a momentary rest, deep in the heat of her aching cunt.

You cup Chaewon’s breasts between your fingers, squeezing the soft malleable skin a tad harder than you should, and a strained yelp spills through the seal of your kiss. The sound only persuades you to find her swollen nipples, rolling and gently twisting the sensitive flesh between your fingertips. You drink in the sounds of her reactions, wincing and gasping, working her between your hands.

Slowly, on account of the way Chaewon manages to suck you in, you find yourself moving faster, hitting deeper, the connection between your lips struggling to meet your rhythm. Chaewon’s legs reach around you, pulling you further into her at the end of each thrust, wrapping and gripping your cock with a perfect warmth. It’s your turn to roll your lip past your teeth, biting down to find a momentary release as the feeling of Chaewon’s tight body becomes foolishly enjoyable. You stammer, "You feel so fucking good Chae."

She closes her eyes tight. "Yeah—you’re—making me—so—wet."

Heavy breaths slice the words coming from Chaewon’s mouths into fragments, each rising and falling with the motion of your hips crashing against hers. "Your cock—it feels so—amazing."

Reaching forward, you find the soft skin beneath Chaewon’s jaw with your lips. The way she looks, the way she feels, the way she sounds—your thoughts are filled with her. A taste of salt from the first few beads of sweat enters your mouth, and there’s little left you can do to possibly escape her.

"Fucking—," Chaewon groans, her fingers digging into your back, "I need it faster—harder."

You pull yourself off her, untangling her arms and legs from your back and in one swift motion, gathering her ankles together over your shoulder. The toes of her shoes click against one another as you position her where you want her, where you need her. The weight of her round thighs pressed into one another—the slick walls around you—you feel it almost pushing you out of her warmth completely. But you dig in on your heels, pushing yourself into her and relishing the unreal tightness that you bury yourself in, again and again.

The sounds off her lips, they drive you mad. The look on her face, it drives you mad. The grip she has on your throbbing cock, it drives you mad. But its her eyes—filled now with urgency and need—lustful eyes that drink in the image of you fucking her, trusting eyes that look to you provide everything she could ever desire, gentle eyes that hold you tender yet, they effortlessly set your heart aflame.

No longer committed to words, having found the adjusted angle, the new depth, the novel sensation of your cock burying itself into her, she simply lets out a long, seedy moan, one that starts on the lofted pitch of a particularly lustful note, and ends panting miserably beneath her breath.

"Chae," You groan, teeth gritting as you slam your hips into the soft cushioning of her thighs, "you feel incredible."

"Faster." The word barely makes it over the out-of-breath puffs of dry air that heave off her chest. "Please—I need more."

You give her more. And then some. There’s little you can hear beyond the sound of your own thighs slapping wet skin against hers. Each time you bury yourself into her, you can hear the blood rush to your head, spinning and twisting your thoughts about and flushing back down as you pull yourself out along the slippery walls of her pulsing cunt. You hug tighter at the legs across your chest, gripping Chaewon’s delicate body and racking it beneath you—her moans grow louder, more intense, more needy.

Again her voice rasps, "faster."

Always is everything on her terms. It doesn’t quite make you angry, but you’d be lying through your teeth if you said she didn’t often frustrate you. You slow yourself at the end of a long stroke, dragging your throbbing length slowly out of her pussy and wiping sweat from your brow. "Hop down."

Exasperated, she complains, "What the hell are you—"

"Hop down."

Chaewon’s eyebrows twist in confusion, and she whines as you pull yourself from her grip completely. Her feet land on the floor and a huff of hot air shoots from her chest. Just because she’s a handful doesn’t mean you can’t steer her with a commanding voice, the sternest you can muster—a commodity increasingly in demand.

"Now turn around."

With a slight hesitation, and her gaze lingering in yours, she shuffles and faces the mirror. You press yourself behind her, your slick shaft welcomed by two gentle curves of her ass. She’s caught in your reflection, just as you are in hers. You watch closely how her lips purse and her eyes shut tight the moment you take her breasts in your hands. "Do you want me to make you cum?"

A quiet voice, subdued and meek, splits the silence, "yes."

You lean forward, lips hovering against her ear. "Grab the sink."

For once, Chaewon does as she is told, her fingers curling over the top of the chic white bowl beneath the mirror. The hourglass of her figure presenting itself perfectly at your waist, you grab a hold of hers, the bunched fabric of her dress filling your hand.

You dip your finger into her folds, quivering in exactly the messy state you’d left them. "Tell me exactly what I should do."

She raises her face between her shoulders, eyes practically glaring at you through the mirror. "Fuck me."

The tip of your cock against her, you tease the lips around her entrance, the obvious look of need filling in Chaewon’s expression."Aw—Chae—we both know you can give better directions than that."

Begrudgingly, desperately, she plays along. "I want you—I need you—to fuck me until I—"

You watch her mouth gape and her eyes widen as you drive into her. Burying yourself in the inviting, stretching, grips of her pussy, your hips land flush against the soft tender skin of her ass. It's an angle that hits deep, Chaewon still struggling to vocalize the words failing to leave her tongue, but as you thrust yourself into her again, the look of shock becomes one of pure euphoria.

You can feel a specific fatigue, one that arrives with three sessions—Chaewon’s appetite voracious—in a little under twelve hours, but any weary thoughts you harbor are galvanized by the image of Chaewon’s toned, tight, athletic body, folded against your waist, writhing in the pleasure only you could bring. Finding again a tumultuous rhythm, you fuck the girl in your hands with reckless abandon.

"How does that feel Chae?" Tightening your grip on the fabric of her dress, you pull her back into each of your thrusts, her ass receiving your hips and ringing with a strident slap.

"So hard—so deep," she gasps, her voice trailing off into an urgent cry, "so—fucking—amazing!"

The prim cut of jet black hair that rests on her shoulders had become disheveled and unruly, a rare sight. Her face twists and contorts deliciously in front of you as she watches attentively at the way you fuck her.

"God—God—God, fuuuuck!" she cries, rolling her hips back and rocking opposite your thrusts. Yearning, pleading, she needs you and your cock bad. Sinking her face between her shoulders, she slides forward onto the counter. "There. There. There. There!"

You can see only one hand, knuckles clenched, grip helplessly at the sink, while the other steals away between her thighs, rubbing and caressing at the hot mess between them. There was never an enough for Chaewon—always needing more attention, love, pleasure—little was ever sufficient.

The dress around her waist, bundled and clutched in your hands makes the perfect rein, and you pull back on its makeshift strap, bringing Chaewon’s shoulders nearly flat against yours. Taking in the image first on the mirror, your flushed faces inches apart, gasping for breath, you bend and kiss at the skin that draws her neck from her shoulder.

"Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck!" The cries of pleasure keep you locked into a dangerous cadence, slamming your hips into her, filling her with your throbbing shaft. She mewls, she moans, and you reach a hand against her breasts, pressing together soft skin—an outlet for your pleasure and a conduit for hers. "You’re gonna—I’m—fuck!"

You whisper into her ear, catching a nipple between your fingers, twisting, teasing, tormenting. "Cum on this cock Chaewon—cum however you like."

Her voice is hoarse, but still she begs, "Tell me—tell me how you like fucking me."

"Chae," you strain against gritted teeth, "I fucking love it."

"Tell me there’s no one—no one better."

"Nobody—" you clench your eyes tight, letting the blood flow anywhere else in your head. "Nobody is even close."

"I can’t!—Fucking—I can’t!—god it’s so—fuck!"

The words out of her mouth are less and less cohesive, your name, curses and nonsense all muddled beneath her breath in whatever order the pleasure reeling through her head prefers. She moans, she mewls, and all too obviously, she seeks release.

Her eyes find yours through the reflection above the sink, smoldering, they say a thousand words, most of them fuck and please admittedly, but you recognize the look that makes your heart, droning along its dull beat, catch fire and race—the one she held beneath her lashes the first time she told you she loved you, and every time after that.

She’s obstinate, selfish. She can be a bit of brat. But she’s perfect. And she’s yours.

"Chae I’m gonna—"

Just a little more, she mouths silently, nodding her head and struggling to keep her eyes open still, stealing everything they need from you.

It takes everything in you to keep yourself from crossing that threshold, to make it just a little more. Cumming together was for fairy tales, and you weren’t going to be around to see the look on Chaewon’s face should you beat her to it. You bite your lip, your cheek, your hands press relentlessly into her breasts, her ass, anything that might distract you just a few more precious moments from the intense, quivering heat clenching around your shaft.

"Fuuuuuck."

The word is long and drawn out. Through its vowels, it meanders from its initial register a scale of wildly salacious notes, each one more debauched and husked than the last, until finally it lands hard, crackling on those final consonants. Chaewon’s body goes rigid, landing forward again against the counter.

Leaning into her, you follow the curving rise of her spine, fingers digging harshly into the perfect shape of her ass—pulling her into the ends of your thrusts. She quivers and quakes, trembling through the storm of pleasure you’d both created between her legs. It clutches you, clenches around you.

"Fuck, Chae, I’m gonna fucking cum—"

A surprisingly lucid moment has you both staring into each other, Chaewon’s face twisted and strained—her eyebrows curling and her lip between her teeth—she nods. And on a particularly deep, rather unforgiving thrust, she takes you completely into her. The warmth envelops you and you begin to feel dizzy. You don’t even know how to describe the sound that leaves your lips, but it makes the tension building in your head more bearable all the same.

Chaewon’s cunt still quivering in ecstasy, you erupt.

Her voice rasps past your ears as you continue to fuck your cum into her, "Fuck—baby, that’s it, cum for me."

As much as you want to continue soaking in the visual in front of you, the curve of her back, the flare of her hips, the flustered look on her face, your eyes shut tight. A primal instinct, involuntary and cruel. You feel each jolt from your hips delivering more of your hot release deep into Chaewon’s orgasm—clenching and pulling you further into her.

Your hips slow to a halt, your cock still resting in her, and Chaewon reaches up again, finding your lips in a clumsy kiss, her lips cool, wet and comforting. Heavy breaths shared between you start to rouse you back into reality and the noise of Chaewon’s phone buzzing stridently on the vanity rips you both back into the world of the living.

Minju’s smiling face appears atop her name on the dark screen—slowly vibrating its way to the edge of the counter. You pant, gathering enough breath to ask the obvious question, "Are you gonna answer that?"

Chaewon stares at it blankly for a couple seconds, weighing her options, before finally reaching forward and picking it up. Her breathing still beleaguered, she does her best attempt at whipping a composed voice together.

"No—we’re still—I know, I’m sorry."

She mouths to you, pointing expectantly at the heap of clothes on the floor. And then she sees it.

"Were you wearing those socks the whole fucking time?—no, Minju, I mean—I’m sorry that was—" She gives you a sour look and tosses your jacket out the door. Holding her phone against her neck, Chaewon’s instructions are clear, "Check-in is at seven."

[cece693]

Hey!! I wanted to make a request for Percy x (male reader) son of Apollo

The reader is mainly good at writing and drawing, and enjoys using Percy as his muse for his works.

Thank you, take all the time you need 🙇

Shades of Green and Gold

pairing: percy jackson x maler reader tags: you are kinda a stalker, returned feelings, first kiss, percy is too handsome for the reader, you can legit write sonnets about percy, cute but kinda creepy

You’re reasonably sure that no one else in Camp Half-Blood spends as much time admiring Percy Jackson’s hair as you do. You won’t deny it, because who could blame you? There’s something about the way he grins, the way his sea-green eyes light up when he’s on the verge of a clever remark, or the way he ruffles his hair after a long day of training. It’s enthralling. You’re an artist—writing, sketching, painting—son of Apollo, heir to creativity and light. And Percy Jackson is your favorite muse.

Every morning, you wake early to catch the exact moment the sun spills over the lake, painting the surface with soft pinks and gold. You slip out of the Apollo Cabin carefully, trying not to wake your rowdy half-siblings. You carry a small sketchbook and pencil in your hand, charcoal in the other. The crisp morning air still bites, but there’s something comforting about that quiet, in-between time.

You settle on a flat rock near the canoe lake. From here, you can watch the water, the line of cabins, and if you’re lucky—Percy Jackson heading off to breakfast or morning training. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve drawn him: in graphite, in watercolor, with ink. Half-finished poems about his eyes litter your journal.

Today is no different. As soon as you spot Percy, you can’t help but smile. He’s dragging a sword behind him, hair sticking out in all directions, still yawning. He’s adorable. You press your pencil to the page and start outlining his silhouette. The curve of his shoulders, the lines of his arms…You’re so focused that you barely notice when he turns and catches your gaze.

Percy raises his eyebrows in obvious curiosity. You flush, snapping your sketchbook shut, but it’s too late—he’s already jogging over. “Morning,” he says, grin slowly turning more playful. “Am I interrupting?”

You swallow and manage a small laugh, hugging the sketchbook to your chest. “Not at all. Just…practicing.”

He nods towards your pencil. “I see. Gonna show me sometime?”

Your heart beats louder than a battle drum. “Maybe…eventually.”

Percy’s grin grows. “I’ll hold you to that. See you at breakfast?”

You nod, and he jogs off, leaving you with that dopey, starstruck feeling you’ve never quite gotten used to. By the time you arrive at the Arena for combat practice, the midday sun is high and fierce—Apollo’s domain. You tie your golden camp shirt around your waist (much to your instructor’s dismay), opting for a lighter white tank top. Sweating profusely while you train with a bow is not your ideal way to spend an afternoon, but your father’s gift—unerring aim—doesn’t sharpen itself.

Chiron pairs you with Percy for a quick sparring session. It’s supposedly to “expand your skill set,” but you wonder if it’s the universe giving you more material for your sketches. You try to steady your heart as he flashes you another signature grin.

He wields his trusty sword, Riptide. You draw your bow, focusing on the center of the target behind him, but your eyes can’t help drifting to the lean lines of his arms. You almost feel guilty. Almost.

“All set?” Percy calls, pushing his dark hair out of his face.

“I’m ready,” you answer, stepping into position.

The session starts strong. You manage to keep your arrows close to the mark, even as Percy deflects them with impressive skill and a flurry of water from a nearby barrel. You can sense he’s showing off a bit—it’s Percy, after all. You grin. His confidence is infectious, and soon the two of you are exchanging friendly banter.

When you pause to catch your breath, Percy flicks water droplets from his blade in your direction. You splutter, trying not to laugh. He shrugs with an impish twinkle in his eye.

“Heard you’re a good artist,” he says casually, striding forward until you can see the slightest hint of sweat at his temples. “Piper told me your last painting of the Apollo Cabin was amazing.”

Your cheeks heat. “It’s nothing big.”

“From what I hear, it’s a big deal,” Percy insists, stepping closer. The space between you is suddenly charged. “Will you show me your work someday? I mean it this time.”

“Sure.” You feel the sun warm you from above, the presence of your divine father giving you a little nudge of courage. “I’d like that.”

That evening, the sky burns a vivid orange as the sun descends behind the strawberry fields. You find yourself on the porch of the Big House, perched on a bench, scribbling in your notebook. You wanted to capture the memory of Percy deflecting your arrows, to freeze the moment onto the page with just the right words.

“Still practicing?” Percy’s voice comes from behind you, startling you so badly you almost drop your pencil.

“Percy! I—”

He doesn’t wait for you to form a coherent sentence; he slides onto the bench next to you. The fading sunlight catches the green in his eyes, setting them aglow. His presence is warm and all-consuming, even though the day is cooling down.

“Sorry to sneak up on you,” he says. “Thought you might be here.”

You let out a small laugh. “It’s fine. You just startled me.”

He nods toward your notebook. “May I?”

You hesitate. The words in that notebook are deeply personal. Poems about his eyes, the curve of his smile, your fleeting impressions of each encounter. But there’s something in Percy’s earnest expression that calls you to trust him. With trembling fingers, you pass the notebook over.

He flips through carefully, eyes scanning the lines of your writing. He stops occasionally, lips moving with the words, eyebrows quirking up at certain phrases. You sense your entire being is in that notebook, and he’s reading you like a story. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When Percy finally looks up, his eyes are strangely bright. “You wrote these…about me?”

You pull your gaze away. “I guess you could say you inspire me.”

He’s silent for a moment. You dare to look up and see a smile, soft and genuine, tugging at his lips. “It’s good. Like…really good. I had no idea I could be someone’s muse.”

You exhale a nervous laugh. “I, uh…I can show you the drawings, too, if you want.”

Percy nods, looking more interested than ever. “Definitely.”

You lead Percy to the Apollo Cabin and slip inside. Your siblings are out—probably at the campfire or racing chariots—leaving the bunks and scattered musical instruments in a hush. You rummage beneath your bunk, pulling out a battered portfolio.

It’s stuffed with sketches—some finished, some half-done. A watercolor of Percy standing by the lake. A charcoal piece of him gripping Riptide. A gentle pencil sketch focusing on just his face…his eyes, to be precise. You lay them out across your bunk. Percy stands behind you, so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off him. You swallow, heart pounding, as he takes in each piece.

“They’re amazing,” he breathes, leaning down to pick one up. “I never realized—this is how you see me?”

You can’t quite meet his eyes. “There’s something about you, Percy,” you admit. “Your energy, your aura. You’re like the sea itself—constantly shifting, alive with motion. It inspires me. Helps me write, helps me draw. I never wanted to freak you out, so I kept it mostly to myself.”

Percy gently returns the piece of artwork to your bunk, then turns you around by the shoulder so you’re facing him. His hand lingers, thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt.

“I’m not freaked out,” he says. “I’m flattered, honestly.” He chuckles, eyes scanning your face as though he’s searching for any hint of uncertainty. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

You feel a burst of warmth in your chest. “Really?”

“Really.” Percy exhales a soft laugh, letting his hand drop to your wrist. “I like it. And I’d like to see more—whatever you make. If that’s okay.”

You search his expression, uncertain if you’re reading the situation correctly. The glimmer in his sea-green eyes suggests you might be. Mustering your courage, you nod slowly. “You can see everything,” you say, voice hushed in the quiet cabin. “I—I’d really like that.”

His smile widens. “Thank you.”

You swallow, that same unstoppable grin blossoming across your own face. The tension thickens, but it’s a gentle tension, a comforting one. He leans forward, and you feel his forehead against yours, that sweet, electric moment of closeness you’ve been imagining for weeks.

Finally, your lips brush softly, uncertain at first. Then Percy returns the kiss, delicate yet full of promise. It’s the kind of quiet moment that you know you’ll replay over and over in your sketches, in your poems, in your daydreams. When you finally pull away, you can’t help but laugh in disbelief. Percy gives a contented sigh, resting his forehead against yours again.

“Would it kill the mood if I told you I knew about this?"

[vampsquerade]

Requests Rules (Current Status: Open)

Characters Per Request for headcanons: Maximum of 2.

Characters Per Story: Maximum of 4 (all characters will be partners with the reader; exceptions can and will be made if i like it enough).

Characters Per NSFW Alphabet: Maximum of 1

Characters Per SFW Alphabet: Maximum of 1

Please be as specific as you can when requesting as it helps me with my writing

Please specify whether you want headcanons or an x reader, so I don’t accidentally write something you didn’t want

Requests are now open for a short time! Please just read my rules and request accordingly!

Characters I’ll Write For: Rainbow Six Siege/Extraction and Call of Duty. This may change later on, however, once I feel like branching out!

Rainbow Six Siege/Extraction:

Chul Kyung “Vigil” Hwa

Olivier “Lion” Flament

Erik “Maverick” Thorn

Jordan “Thermite” Trace

Miles “Castle” Campbell

Gustave “Doc” Kateb

Gilles “Montagne” Touré

Julien “Rook” Nizan

Saif “Oryx” Al Hadid

Dominic “Bandit” Brunsmeier

Elias “Blitz” Kötz

Marius “Jäger” Streicher

Sébastien “Buck” Côte

Håvard “Ace” Haugland

Mark “Mute” Chandar

Mike “Thatcher” Baker

James “Smoke” Porter

Seamus “Sledge” Cowden

César “Goyo” Ruiz Hernández

Masaru “Echo” Enatsu

Liu Tze “Lesion” Long

Collinn “Warden” McKinley

Aleksandr “Tachanka” Senaviev

Maxim “Kapkan” Basuda

Timur “Glaz” Glazkov

Shuhrat “Fuze” Kessikbayev

Ryad “Jackal” Ramírez Al-Hassar

Call of Duty:

John “Soap” MacTavish

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Captain John Price

Phillip Graves

Talon

König

Hong-jin “Horangi” Kim

Zhiqiang “Zimo” Wong

Jesus “Chuy” Ordaz

Enzo Reyes

Sobieslaw “Gromsko” Kościuszko

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Sebastian “Krueger” Krueger

Hans “Golem” Blaustein

Benjamin “Otter” Lee

Jackson Wyatt

Valeria “El Sin Nombre” Garza

Alejandro Vargas

Alex Keller

Gary “Roach” Sanderson

Sergio “Morte” Sulla

Vladimir Makarov

Thibault “Riptide” Lefebre

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski

What I Will Write:

Fluff

Light Smut (Vanilla)

Heavy Smut (Hardcore: dubcon, consensual non-con, and somnophilia are allowed under the circumstances that you explicitly specify that reader in the scenario will be consenting to it. if you aren’t comfortable requesting or reading that there will be time for you to scroll away. Doing this has helped me with my trauma.)

Angst (good, neutral, and bad endings)

NSFW Alphabets

SFW Alphabets

Character/Reader: Friends to Lovers

Character/Reader: Enemies to Lovers

Sick Character or Sick Reader

Gender Neutral, Female, and Male Readers

Mental Health (c-PTSD, Depression, Insomnia, and Anxiety will be the only ones I write about because those are of the few things I have been diagnosed with. I am not romanticizing these at all, keep that in mind)

Omegaverse (Alpha/Beta/Omega Character or Alpha/Beta/Omega Reader)

Monsterfucking

Multiple Partners (Exceptions will sometimes be made if I like the prompt enough)

Substance Use (only weed and alcohol)

Cheating and Toxic Relationships (My therapist has recommended I try to write stuff that helps ease off the trauma I’ve gotten from these)

Stalking

What I Will NOT Write:

Incest

Blatant Rape

Domestic Abuse

Child Abuse

Animal Abuse

Racism

Transphobia

Homophobia

Torture

Comforting Self-Harm (I used to allow this one but I’ve been in therapy for this for a good while now and it will trigger a relapse if I ever write for it again. Very slim chances of me writing for prompts like these ever again)

Suicide (Very, very, very slim chances of me ever making an exception for it)

Any obscure or gross fetishes/kinks

Character/Character (Exceptions can be made for this though!)

Pregnancy (I never properly addressed or clarified any of this and would like to apologize for what it was previously listed as. I am avoiding fetishization of anybody who can get pregnant because I have received 2 asks by the same person back in August and as you can tell, I never wrote them because they were offensive fetish prompts centered around stereotypes. There are no exceptions for this one)

Thank you very much for requesting!!