uhm yeah i dont really get reqs but like if i do heres like my rules for them ig
FANDOMS I WILL DO
• Harry Potter (anyone really but i refuse to do Draco Malfoy)
• The Riordanverse (I’m not finished all the books yet tho!)
• A Good Girls Guide To Murder
• Better Than/Nothing Like The Movies
• Deadly Class
• Motorheads
• To All The Boys
RULES IN GENERAL
• I won’t be doing a male reader bc I dont really know how to write that sorry.
• I’ll write smut, angst and fluff.
•for the smut, there is some stuff that I am uncomfortable to write such as
• large agegaps (anything more than two years)
• rape
• anything illegal really
• piss kinks
•step/incest
• i’m not uncomfortable to this, i just dont know how to write dry humping/thigh riding.
• 18+/minors dni
• i wont write wlw smut bc idk how to but i will write angst and fluff for it
for the fluff and angst, i will write age gaps but no more than five years.
uhm yeah thats it. Also please be specific in your requests. i’ll only write like the fic if i actually feel motivated to do so as i’m doing this for pure fun. okkss byee!!
MASTERLIST
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · Post by @ayaissleepy · 3 images · MASTERLIST
HARRY POTTER
💬 0 🔁 2 ❤️ 4 · nobody asked but like im bored soooo heres my
Mattheo stared at his girlfriend who was currently screaming at some random man who happened to get on your nerves; a smile spread across his face at the sight. "She's having fun, I think I'll leave her be."
"The poor bloke isn't havin any fun." Blaise commented with a small smile of his own before looking back at mattheo.
"She's quite beautiful when she's mad, no?" Theodore asked with a side smile.
"Believe me, nobody loves my vindictive bitch more than I do." Mattheo grinned ear to ear as you tormented the poor man.
His hot headed girlfriend.
Once you had finally returned to him, he placed a kiss on your cheek before moving it to your lips. "What happened?"
"What happened? I'll tell you what happened!" As you had begun to tell your story, Mattheos friend swore he had hearts for eyes.
His hand was caressing your own, staring deeply at your face with a small - subconscious smile on his own. "I love you." He blurted out whilst you were mid-rant making you falter almost instantly.
You smiled softly. "I love you too, but don't ever interrupt me again."
"Of course, my apologies baby." He placed a kiss on your forehead, his arm now wrapped around your shoulder possessively.
You had started once again complaining about whatever the man had done earlier causing Mattheos lovestruck look to return once more - not that it ever really wore off.
He was simply too in love to have any self respect when it came to you.
i just saw this post by @bloodibambiidoll about copying/taking inspiration from other writers, and i couldn’t help but recognise a lot of the same issues in the harry potter fandom as well lately— not just with me, but with other writers too.
if you take inspiration from another blog in any way, always make sure to give proper credit. as dolly mentioned in her post, the mentality of “this has probably been done before in fanfiction so it’s not copying because they didn’t invent it!” needs to go. if you’re unsure if something is theirs, message them! if you are inspired by their content/blog/AUs/layout, make sure to tag them, always! if you aren’t sure if they’re okay with you taking inspiration, ask for permission first!
it’s incredibly hurtful when you work hard on a certain concept, AU, idea etc., and someone takes it from your blog just like that, after you’ve put hours into the creation of it. if you don’t properly give credit to someone, people won’t be able to find the original creator.
and no, adding “i got inspiration from someone else, but i don’t remember who” in the author’s note is not giving credit. if you’ve taken inspiration from someone else, the least you can do is put in the effort to find and tag the original creator.
another issue i’ve noticed is writers sharing ideas (whether they’re posting short blurbs, teasing AUs, or just tossing out a simple thought), and other writers taking that and writing their own fics based on those ideas. that is not okay. you do not know if the original poster is planning to write their own fic based on their idea/thought, and you cannot just take it.
no writer should feel scared to bounce ideas off of people on their blog out of fear that someone will take those ideas or thoughts from them and write it before they even get the chance to. if you like a certain idea or thought someone has shared on their blog and aren’t sure if they’re planning to write something on it themselves, ask them!!! it’s really that simple!
it’s so discouraging and disheartening to see some people take other writers’ content and ideas so easily and without any shame. it’s rude, inconsiderate and not okay. where is the creativity? where is the originality? where is the respect? i encourage everyone to be mindful of this. thank you for reading and reblogs are appreciated to spread awareness! ♡
bae can we get something with dealer!theo please i’m begging 🥹
ok we’ve talked about theo snorting coke off reader’s body… now it’s time for the other way around ;)
a sharp hiss escapes theo, the line of coke laid out on the table in a neat line disappearing into his nose. he scrunches his face in discomfort, wiping the remaining white powder with the back of his hand.
you sit beside to him. your folded arms only accentuate your short top, tits nearly spilling out as you frown. he doesn’t seem to notice you right away, still blinking and sniffing, but quickly catches your displeased look.
“hm? what’s up baby?”
“i want to try as well!” you pout, stomping your heel against the wooden floor.
“nah. i told you, i’m not letting you touch that stuff.”
huffing, you turn your back towards him, chin held high in the annoyance.
“unless…” theo says, making you slowly turn back. you open one eye curiously. “there’s one way i’d let you try it.”
your face lights up instantly. “really?!”
theo nods and rises to his feet, the shadow of his tall figure casting over you. to your surprise, he pulls his pants down along with his boxers. his cock springs free, already hard just from watching you prance around in your skimpy outfit (that he bought, obviously).
he doesn’t break eye contact once, as he grabs the transparent bag containing white powder with a smirk on his face. mesmerisingly, you watch him stroke himself a few times before opening the bag and tapping it with his finger, the white dust coating his hard length.
using a credit card, he neatens into a perfect line before casually tossing it aside and crossing his arms in anticipation. “go ahead, bunny. drop to your knees.”
sliding off the couch, you crawl towards his towering frame, big eyes gazing up at him. he licks his lips just at the sight of you crawling, stealing a quick glance right into your low hanging top.
“close one nostril and snort through the other. try to be quick so it doesn’t fall off.”
you lower your head over his cock, pressing one nostril shut like he instructed. holding your breath, you snort the line as fast as you can. theo hums in approval.
you grimace as the coke travels through your nose, the bitter taste creeping down your throat. you blink hard, rubbing the underside of your nose with the heel of your hand.
“yuck!”
theo snickers, unable to contain his amusement as he reaches down and ruffles his hand through your hair. “that’s my girl.”
ok again no one asked but im bored so yeah angst this time tho. as always i cant think of titles so yeah
pairing: theodore nott x reader insert
this fic was inspired by these two songs so yeah
warnings: light/mid angst, toxic!theo, afab!reader cussing, au where the students have phones bc why the fuck not
THEODORE NOTT FIC
Theodore paced her dorm room as *your name* sat on the bed, her arms crossed. “Theodore, I’m tired of this! You’re always talking with other girls and I see how you look at them, I’m not fucking blind-“ “Merda, *your name* I only want you, how hard is that to fucking understand?!” “You’re always talking with those girls and you always kiss them on their cheeks and you hug them and you let them wear your clothes and that’s supposed to only be for me, I’m your girlfriend not them!” “Fine, fine. I only have eyes for you, tesoro. C’mere bambina.” *Your name* collapsed into his arms, tears flooding her eyes. “You’re mine. Only mine, right?” “Yes amore. Yours and only yours.” He laid down on the bed with her, holding her tightly. “I love you Theo.” “I love you too baby.” They fell asleep right like that, with tears still streaming down her cheek.
The next morning, when *your name* woke up, Theo was..gone. She stretched before looking around. “Theo..?” She called, almost desperately. She checked the time *3: 34 pm, Saturday afternoon.* Theo was supposed to be back from Quidditch practice already. Where could he have been?! *Your name* got up and freshened up before walking down to the Slytherin common room where Theodore was, and he was talking with Pansy. Pansy twirled her hair around her finger and bit her lip as she looked at Theodore longingly while they talked. “So…your relationship with *your name* is over?” Pansy asked with a sickly sweet tone. Rage flooded *your name*. How dare she ask Theodore that? She stormed down the stairs and wrapped her arms around Theodore who was lounging on the chair. “We are still hopelessly in love, for your information.” She bit out. Pansy rolled her eyes “would someone hopelessly in love be talking to me like this? Would he look at me like he wanted to snog me-“ Fury overtook all of *your name’s* senses as she slapped Pansy across the face. “What the fuck?!” Said Pansy. “Theodore, control your girlfriend, she’s fucking crazy!” Theodore grabbed your hand and dragged you back to your dorm where he pinned you to the wall. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I was just talking to her!” “What the fuck is wrong with me?! ME?! There’s something wrong with you! You’re toxic, manipulative and the fucking worst!” She pushed him off her, and collapsing on her bed, tears streaming freely now. “No, no, principessa, don’t cry.” He rushed to her side, wiping her tears “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything I said, nothing’s wrong with you.” He kissed her forehead. She always noticed that no matter how many times he’d make her cry, he’d always wipe her tears. Every. Single. Time. It was unbearable, not knowing which Theo she’d get today. The one who made her cry, who made her hurt, the one who made her doubt herself every single time or the one who would kiss her tears away, the one who would whisper sweet things in her ear every night, the one she fell in love with. He stroked her hair soothingly, trying to calm her down but all it did was cause the panic to rise. “I’m gonna go check if Pansy is ok, alright? You slapped her pretty hard there, my strong girl.” “It’s always Pansy this, Pansy that, what the fuck about me, your actual girlfriend?!” “Cara mia..you’re all I want baby. Just you. Not Pansy.” “Fine. Go and check on perfect Pansy.” She murmured as she angrily wiped her tears. “I’ll be back.” He said before exiting the room. By the time he had come back, she was fast asleep, curled up hugging a pillow tightly instead of holding him. He sighed as he saw her snoring softly and turned around before undoubtedly heading in the direction of Pansy’s dorm. (a.n lets pretend it’s around seven thirty im not the best at this yet)
Hours later, as the sun rose, she woke up, stretching her arms, looking around for Theodore. “Baby?” She called, expecting to hear him back. Nothing. *Your name* got out from bed, wearing his old tee, walking around her dorm looking for him when she got a text. She walked over to the phone, seeing a message from the contact “TEDDYY💗”. Opening the message, she saw several deleted messages and then a final one.
“Hey *your nickname.* I don’t think this is working out. I try to make you understand that I only want you but you don’t understand. You’re too clingy and jealous and I just can’t deal with that anymore. Goodbye.” As soon as she read that message, her knees gave out, slumping against the bed frame as tears bitterly flowed again. She called again and again when finally someone answered “T-teddy?” A sickly sweet voice answered “This is not Theodore, I’m Pansy, his girlfriend. Who may this be?” “*Y-your name*” All of a sudden, there was a scuffle on the other side and Theodore’s deep and rich voice “Don’t ever call this number again.” “Theo-“ The line cut off. Of course, she tried calling again and again. No answer. All it said was “the person you are calling is not available” over and over again until *your name* dropped the phone and curled up into a ball, burying her head into her knees and sobbing.
ok but we can all agree that Tom is avoidant asf during intimacy and the only way he’ll fuck you is doggy, back arched deep, with your face pushed into his pillow to muffle any sound you make. he even tells you to shut up, and if you don’t, he literally just pulls out and waits until you’ve calmed yourself, no matter how much you whine and beg for him to continue.
he’s also quiet. like, dead silent. the only noise you get to hear from him is when he is close—a short, low groan—accompanied by his faltering rhythm, thick, warm cum filling you deep.
aftercare is a word unspoken. after he’s done, he merely casts a cleansing spell on both of you and carelessly tosses your clothes, which you left abandoned on the floor, in your direction—a sign that your shared time is over and he wants you gone. ASAP. most of the time, without speaking another word, Tom is back to wherever he left off studying 15 minutes ago, before you knocked on his door after he sent you an owl “requiring your assistance immediately”.
he never asks directly for sex—someone could find that letter and taint his sacred reputation.
you curse him under your breath as you hastily put on your clothes and slam the door closed behind you, heading back to your own dorm with shaky legs, his cum dripping down your thighs—curiously, the only evidence of your rendezvous his spell leaves behind every single time.
you swear to find a new guy who can both please you and also talk to you, no matter the thrill of being the girl Tom Marvolo Riddle choses to fuck in secret. the sex is good, the man is not—and you refuse to let him treat you this way any longer.
two days later, your owl delivers a new letter.
“resuming our unfinished project. my dorm in 10 minutes. urgent, don’t be late.”
you huff, shaking your head.
he doesn’t even sign his letters anymore.
nevertheless, you quickly put on your new set of lingerie and do your hair just the way he likes it—you wouldn’t dare being late, after all. ;)
CW: Condescension, mock sympathy, begging, rough sex, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, choking kink, hairpulling, brief spanking, he makes her taste it, dirty talking, filthy description
Tom Riddle is not a jealous partner.
Why?
Because jealousy is shallow and juvenile- a sign that one is unable to control their emotions, and an implicit admission that they believe they are not as good as the person they envy.
As someone who receives outstanding grades, glowing praise from every professor, a former prefect, and a Head Boy with a myriad of achievements, jealousy is beneath Tom Riddle. It's a weak, sentimental indulgence he simply cannot afford. A frivolous behaviour he refuses to entertain.
So if you decide to provoke him- to test or rile him up as a way to draw his attention- he'll not give you the satisfaction of starting a scene.
He'll remain steadily calm throughout Transfiguration as he observes the way your hand purposefully lingers and grazes against Rosier's whilst exchanging notes.
He offers no objection when you choose to partner up with Abraxas instead for a Potions assignment, despite the fact that he's Slughorn's star student. He simply returns to his cauldron, stirring with measured precision whilst mentally noting how close you've drifted to the blond, playfully dusting moondust onto his side of the bench.
As the day wears on and evening settles over Hogwarts with students gathering in the Great Hall, Tom cuts at his roast beef and sips from his goblet with his usual composure. Beside him, you laugh a little too enthusiastically at Mulciber's moronic joke and drawl, "Oh Mulciber, you're too funny."
You take a bite of the food from your plate, discretely glancing sideway towards Tom who sits primly with an impeccable posture by your side. Nothing. Not a clench of his jaw or a clipped remark. Not even a tightened grip on his drink.
If he notices your transparent attempts, he hides it well. He merely dabs his mouth with a napkin before rising from his seat, quietly excusing himself to retire early for the night.
His departure sends a small pang of disappointment stirring deep in your stomach. Had you really spent the entire day orchestrating schemes to make him jealous...only for him to remain completely unreactive?
Did he even care at all?
By the time you return to the Slytherin common room, the dungeons are veiled with a misty blanket of pale moonlight, serene and utterly quiet with only the distant trickle of a fountain and the occasional breeze of the castle's ghosts travelling about.
At this time, most of the girls' dormitory has fallen asleep, except for the dull, incremental rhythm of a grandfather clock. You're just about to crawl into bed when you spot it.
A small note written in a familiar, elegant script rests neatly atop your nightstand: "Come to my dorm. It'll be wise to not keep me waiting- T.M.R"
Back arched in a humiliating position, smudged mascara streaks down your cheeks, mingling with a broken stream of frustrated yet blissful tears. Your face is buried in his pillows, and the firm grip he has on the back of your neck does little to stifle the string of pleading noises that slip from your swollen lips.
"P-Please Tom-" You whine with a wet sniffle, the sound slightly muffled but loud enough for him to make of your request. "Too big...t-too much"
Tom's hips snap against yours, maintaining the same brutal and unrelenting rhythm he'd set from the moment he's sunk into you. Really, you should be glad he's even decided to fuck you tonight. After you publicly embarrassed him and whored yourself around his confidants and closest friends, you've given him every reason to be rough.
He wraps your hair around his hand and delivers a small but sharp tug that pulls your head up from the pillows until you're close enough to feel the warmth of his breath hit the shell of your neck. "What was that, hm?" he asks, his voice dripping with faux sympathy as he meets you with a particularly rough thrust that draws a broken moan. Tom tuts, "Too much for you? You want me to slow down, is it?"
Just as you’re about to answer, his hand that had been gripping your hip comes down on the curve of your ass with a loud smack, leaving behind a blooming sting that makes you tense.
"Ah! Please, Tom! Please-"
"Can't hear you, love. Not over the slicked sound of you taking me so well. Don't you hear that? How wet you are for me?" Tom angles his hips, watching you closely as he deepens himself to hit that spot inside you even more intensely. Plap. Plap. Plap. You don’t think it’s possible to feel this full.
His grip on your nape adjusts to wrap around the base at the front of your neck instead, squeezing just enough to manipulate your breathing but not enough to cut off your airway entirely. You gasp at the change, especially when Tom pulls out until only the head of his cock remains before slamming back inside, sheathing himself fully and feeling as your walls flutter and struggle to accommodate him, even now.
Seeing the tears on your cheeks, hearing the desperation in your voice, and feeling the way you're squeezing around him tighter like a vice only makes him harder in a sickening way.
"No more words?" Tom taunt, "Have I fucked you dumb on my cock? Pathetic."
Another smack lands on your ass, the sound reverberating through the room he'd purposefully chosen not to cast a silencing spell on tonight. Smack. Then another. Smack. And another. Smack. Let them hear, Tom thinks. All of them. In fact, they're probably rubbing and palming themselves to the sound of you being thoroughly wrecked right now. Knowing that only he gets to have you like this fuels him further.
"You thought you were so clever, didn't you? Parading around in that short skirt, leaning across the benches and laughing at their mediocre attempts at joking." Your vision has blurred at this point, thighs beginning to quake as your lips tremble. "It wasn't cute." Tom breathes out a dry laugh. "It made you look cheap and desperate, love."
Tom tightens his hold on your hair, your scalp now slightly sore as he yanks harder until your back is pulled against his firm chest. "We're not done yet. Don't you dare black out on me." His cock drills in and out of you, almost as if he wants to mould your pussy to remember the shape of him. At this point, your words have long transformed into incoherent babbles and discontinuous noises. You can feel it- the familiar pressure of climax building and building and building between your legs.
The hours stretch and pass by in a blur, and you've quickly lost count of the number of times you've come undone on his cock. A small patch of sticky mess has formed beneath the two of you on the mattress.
Finally, seeing your limp and fucked-out state, Tom releases a low grunt and buries himself to a hilt before spilling inside you- deep, warm, and full- before pulling out and leaving a messy trail seeping out from your sore cunt, slowly dribbling down your thighs. Your body collapses tiredly onto his mattress.
Tom gathers a smeared mix of your cum, commanding a low "open your mouth" before sliding his slicked fingers past your lips and pressing it against your tongue. "Remember how this tastes the next time you decide to do something this foolish." His expression softens only slightly as he brushes away your tears and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ears. "Never again will you test me."
The soft caress of his thumb is a stark contrast to the hours spent before as a reminder. "Nod if you understand."
Slowly, you do. A languid nod as exhaustion settles over you, making your eyelids heavy and droopy as the tension begins to fade.
"That's my girl," he murmurs, "If you want my attention, you need only ask. But you have it. Always."
Tom Riddle is not a jealous partner.
At least that's what he tells himself. And maybe, just maybe, there's a small part of him that knows it's not entirely true. After all, lying is another trait for the weak of mind.
A/N: First Tom Riddle fic bc there's a criminally low number of authors writing for him so... yeah! If it’s not the best it’s cause I wrote it half asleep
300:80. That's how bad Slytherin lost—220 points. Slytherin hadn't had a loss that bad since they lost to Gryffindor their second year, when Harry "Golden Boy" Potter caught the bloody snitch in his mouth.
Everyone's game had been off since Tracey Wolfs became captain, only coming out on top of the short list because his cousin was one of the star female players on the Holyhead Harpies. He got none of the so-called "family talent" he bragged so much about. Mattheo knew making Wolfs captain was a no-go, which made the devastating loss burn a little bit brighter.
Watching a sea of red and gold erupt in a cacophony of cheers ticked him off even more, driving him to slink off the field, broom limply dragging behind him as he bypassed you and the locker rooms to shower and sulk in his dorm.
It was childish, really, leaving you, bathed in green and his name, on the stands and with a smile, expecting the usual from him. Mattheo usually flew up to your spot in the Slytherin section, a sly grin on his face, and would leave you with a kiss just as fast as he came. That, obviously, did not happen.
But if Mattheo was being honest, he was dejected and embarrassed and felt like he had disappointed his father, of all people. He could claim nothing bothered him, that Voldemort had no control over him, but it'd be a lie. A bold-faced one at that.
That cool, calm, and collected facade he wore as a second skin cracked, and no one, especially you, was going to see it.
────୨ৎ────
The party in the Slytherin common room was in full swing, everyone deciding a good party shouldn't go to waste, opting to drink away their sorrows. It was only missing one person, their star player—Mattheo.
He was sitting on his bed, staring at the wall, possibly plotting the death of the entire Gryffindor team and Tracey Wolfs. An almost empty bottle of firewhiskey sat capped on his bed, right next to his crossed legs.
Alcohol and Mattheo didn't mix, the whole school knew that, you knew that. It was a dangerous combination, one that turned his blood sour, personality vitriolic.
So, when you knocked on the door, a small smile on your face, a drink in your hand, his foggy brain turned off all sense of logic.
"Hey," he gruffed.
You knew he'd be upset, but something looked different. Felt different. The whole thing was unfortunate, really.
"Hi, love," you murmured. "Can I come in?"
A thick pause of silence passed as he stared at you. "Sure… You went to the party?"
"Yes, I was just waiting to give you some time." You moved to his bed, staring at the bottle of alcohol sitting on his comforter. "…Looks like you had your own party."
He didn't laugh, he just stared holes into your forehead. "Mhm. Did."
"Are you okay? After what happened?"
A sigh slipped past as he plopped himself unceremoniously next to you. "Fine. Truly. That git Wolfs won't be, though."
"Mattheo," you chastised, a hand going to your forehead. "You can't hex your own captain because he made a few bad calls."
"Can't I?"
"No."
"Pity."
Your hand dropped from your forehead, which was most likely wrinkling by the second, and slowly reached for his hand. He pulled away before you could even brush the pad of your finger across his skin.
The rejection stung more than you cared to admit.
"You've hardly looked at me since you… since the match." Your voice was light and quiet. "I'm worried about you, is all."
"I said I'm fine." He spat the words out like the sheer idea of them turned his mouth bitter.
"Yes, you've said that."
"I've said it because it's true."
"No, it's not."
His jaw flexed, his eyes closed.
"You left the pitch solemnly. Disappeared for hours without even a word to me. And now, you've almost drank yourself to alcohol poisoning." You glanced at the bottle. "You hate all kinds of whiskey, even the expensive kind."
"I like it now."
The silence was heavy and it carried a certain sense of dread that settled low in your stomach.
"Losing hurts. I know that. But you have got to see that this is only one match."
His gaze traveled upwards. It was the first time he'd truly looked at you all day. "One match?"
"Now, you know that's not what I meant-"
"Then what did you mean?"
"I mean it shouldn't define who you are."
He stood, hands balled into fists at his side. "It's so easy for you to say that."
You laughed, hollow and thin. "Bloody hell does that mean?"
"It's easy for you because you don't know what it means to feel like this," his voice was lower, rougher. "Everyone watching as I get tossed around like an idiot."
"Mattheo-"
"Shut up!" He groaned, running a hand down the side of his face. "You don't know anything."
"I was out there cheering for you, you did not look like an idiot!"
"I know you were cheering, I saw my name on your bloody jumper. Wish it could have helped."
"What?"
He shifted, bending down over you until his arms bracketed your frame. He was so close to you now that you could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I wish it could have helped."
It felt like you were swallowing needles. "I came here so you wouldn't be alone."
His head dropped so you could just see his hair. "Great. Well, you've seen me now so you can get back to your own party."
"I'm not leaving you like this."
He looked up again, eyes glassy. A flicker of softness passed over him but it hardened just as quickly as it left. "Wonderful."
"Why are you so angry with me?"
"I'm not angry with you! Fuck. How are you so blind?"
"Blind?" You spluttered, pushing at his broad shoulders. "I can assure you I'm not blind. If anyone is blind, it's you. This game, this loss, just made you feel something that you think you shouldn't have! Something that you don't want to admit!"
"Felt what? Tell me. Oh, Merlin, please tell me."
"…you felt humiliated."
Mattheo blinked slowly. He was incensed; angry; irate. It all was too much, and not what he wanted to hear from you. Something, the only thread he had left, must have frayed too thin. "Merlin, when are you going to stop acting like my fucking therapist? All you do is whine and tell me how I screw everything up! I'm obviously… humiliated, according to you, and you're trying to turn this into a lesson like you're my bloody shrink! Get it through your thick fucking skull that I don't need your help. Fuck."
"Mattheo! You-"
"Oh, I what?" He reached out a callused hand, grasping onto your wrist, tugging at the hand pressed against his frame. "What? What? Just fucking say it!"
You flinched, pushing at him harder.
Mattheo loosened, letting his hand drop to his side. Brown eyes met yours, the face he saw reflecting in your iris' didn't look like him—he looked like his father; the same sharp nose, the same curls, and the same tongue that lashed out harsh words to anyone who got too close.
His spine unfurled as he stumbled away from you.
Your name came out like a whisper. Reverent; sad; almost silent. "I- I'm so sorry."
"You almost hurt me."
Mattheo opened his mouth again. Your lips quivered. He stopped.
"Don't… you dare do that to me again, Mattheo Riddle."
He was talking to you now—you knew it. Most likely apologizing again. But the ringing in your ears overpowered any semblance of hearing you might have had left. It was confusing and overwhelming, and none of it was as simple as it should have been.
Tears pooled at your waterline, tearing lines of salt down your cheeks, that, you thought, may scar from how much they burned.
Your boyfriend had never been angry with you like that, never that close to feeling like he would lay a hand on you. His touch had never felt so severe.
Lines blurred at the edges as you stood, shaky hands fumbling for the doorknob that seemed to get further and further away from your clutches.
Something within you paused when Mattheo spoke your name again—bone-dry, broken, and utterly depressing. White noise rushed in your ears.
"Please, I- I can't explain what came over me; I don't know what came over me," he began. "I'd never, never, lay a hand on you. Know that. Please. I'm so sorry for yelling. Please don't leave."
He was begging now, begging for that piece of your heart he had so selfishly stolen from you like a thief in the night.
"Matty, I can't."
"Just hear me out."
With your chest heaving, you turned your head to the side, just catching a glimpse of that face that never left your mind, even when you slept. You wished you hadn't. The regret you felt was immediate. The boy you had known to always be stuck on his high horse, always hidden behind concrete walls made of unachievable expectations and words that cut deeper than knives looked like his wings had been clipped.
He stood before you, his shell cast to his feet.
"You don't understand. I cannot… cannot breathe without you near me. I don't deserve you, and my actions tonight have not reflected that. You have to believe me. I—fuck—drank too much and I knew it wouldn't work out well for me, but I was just so disappointed that it happened. What I did just now was cruel and unforgiving and it wasn't me. Well, it was me, but not how I should have acted. I kept thinking about my father, and you know what happens when I do, and—"
"Mattheo." Your tone tip toed the line between anger and empathy. You turned to face him fully now. "I do understand because I love you. I need time."
────୨ৎ────
Four days passed.
Four agonizing days.
Usually Hogwarts felt massive with its ever changing hallways and moving staircases, but it felt far too small when the only person Mattheo wanted to see wouldn't dare to even glance his way.
You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.
At the far end of the table, smiling softly at something Pansy said.
In your favorite chair in the common room, your nose in a book.
On your knees in front of the greenhouse, clipping away at flowers, your hair shoved beneath your favorite woolly scarf to prevent the snow from dampening the strands.
Every time, he'd hesitate before letting his feet carry himself to you. Though, you were always quicker, traipsing away to do something that didn't involve him.
It wasn't cruel or maddening, just mind numbing… just far away. From him.
He didn't blame you. How could he?
That blasted night played over and over in his head like a broken record. Your pretty face flinching, the warmth of your wrist in his hand, and that look in your eyes which haunted him the most. You looked at him like you were afraid.
That realization settled in his chest like lead.
Sleep didn't come as naturally anymore, dinners were skipped, and trudging to class seemed as strenuous as swimming the length of the Black Lake. So, he spent most of his time in the astronomy tower, smoking the occasional cigarette, but never picking up a bottle of alcohol.
On the fourth day of not speaking to one another, the fourth day of Mattheo treating the astronomy tower ledges as his new bed, you decided to go visit him.
He didn't hear you walk up the stairs, only startling when your silky voice cut through the cool air. "You're going to fall to your death if you get any closer."
Mattheo's head whipped around so sharply he dropped the cigarette he was fiddling between his fingers. It was immediately crushed beneath his foot.
He stood abruptly.
"I can leave if—"
"No, don't. Please."
He sat back down again. "I- I wrote and rewrote a letter apologizing probably a billion times over, but none of them sounded quite right. All of them started with I'm sorry and I didn't think that would cut it."
"It wouldn't have." You words were blunt, but the look in your eyes was softer.
"I know. I didn't want to keep asking for you to forgive me." His gaze was downcast. "I remember everything I said to you. They have replayed in my mind over and over again."
He laughed bitterly.
"I grabbed your wrist." His voice caught in his throat. "Merlin, and you looked at me like you didn't know who I was."
Your jaw clenched. "I didn't."
It was like a bludger to the stomach.
"You looked like, I don't know, something different."
Olive skin turned alabaster as as the blood drained from his face. He couldn't breathe.
"Love, I am so sorry. I don't want you to feel like you can't trust me, or- or, fuck, that I would ever put my hands on you. You know… my father and that I would never do what he did to me to someone else. I've been wracking my brain to find something else to say, what would make this better, but if I'm being honest, I can't figure anything out. I'm scared it won't be enough."
"Matty," you sighed, slowly walking over to him, hands finding the sides of his face. "I know that. I'm sorry that I've been ignoring you, too."
His mouth opened in a silent gasp. "Don't, please, don't apologize to me. You've done nothing, and have never done anything wrong."
Your head shook. "I could have said something to you."
He said your name in a sigh. "This is what I mean," Mattheo hesitated when he raised his hand before placing it on your forearm. "You apologize for things that don't need to be apologized for. I told you things like I don't need your help, which is so far from untrue. I don't know where I'd be without you."
A small, pursed-lip smile graced your lips.
"Thank you. Something you need to understand more than me is that I don't know where I'd be without you, too. Just, I have to stress, if you do something like that again, act like that again, I- I don't know what I'll do, but I know that it will be your second, and last, chance."
His hands skimmed across your arms and moved to your midsection, where he squeezed you into a hug.
"I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I promise, darling."
You mirrored his action, hugging him so tightly you thought he may have trouble breathing. "Good. Will you come to classes and dinner, now?"
⟢ synopsis pjo boys finding out you have new lacy panties
⟢ starring pjo boys (percy, jason, leo, connor and luke)
⟢ 18+.
⟢ percy jackson
✶ he’ll see them poking out your pants and get turned on immediately. he’d slyly come up behind you, dick pressing up against your ass, chuckle-whispering in your ear “are those new panties y’got here?” he’s practically itching to bend you over right then and there.
⟢ jason grace
✶ he’ll find them after offering to bring your laundry down atop the pile. blushes so hard. almost drops the whole hamper infront of everyone. he’ll stuff them in his pocket, drop off your laundry then immediately bring you over to his cabin to “talk”. that “talk” ends in you riding him with your panties stuffed in his mouth.
⟢ leo valdez
✶ finds out when you casually change infront of him in the workshop into cooler clothes. so flustered but tries to play it off by making a stupid sexual joke, immediately followed by making out on the workshop floor -> fucking on the workshop floor, where he gets very grabby.
⟢ connor stoll
✶ doesn’t find out on his own, you tell him right before dinner just to tease him. he doesn’t even know how he made it through that. he will bring you round behind the big house to eat it through your new lacy panties like a starved man.
⟢ luke castellan
✶ sees them through your jeans fly. almost aggressively push you up against his wall and fucks the living shit out of you calling you names and saying wearing buying those was “so whorish” of you.
a/n: it’s been a while since I’ve written smut so sorry if this seems rushed I’m trying LOL xx
“You can hold it, can’t you?”
You barely nod, rubbing your face into the pillow as an agonizing moan tears from your throat. It’s not like you’ve never held your bladder before. In fact, you’ve found pleasure with that alone on days where Percy was missing from assignment.
It only took years to get used to; the pain that comes with it. The unfaltering cramp in your thighs, which you usually stifle with a pillow. But today you’ve got something different—yet superior— rubbing between your legs.
“Good girl,” Percy murmurs, massaging your stomach soothingly to ease the ache gradually growing by the millisecond.
His cock slams into you, forcing your gummy walls to clench harshly around him as you attempt to hold your bladder long enough to let Percy cum inside of you. Though with much practice, you’ve become a professional in watersports and it’s a shame this version of the term isn’t considered sport because you’d be going pro.
“Percy!— nphhmm— fuck, I’m—”
A plethora of fingers shove into your mouth before your sentence finishes. Though God only knows if you’d be able to finish it between tears. You taste yourself on Percy’s digits from where they’d been messily stroking you earlier, swallowing every bit swiftly and nearly gagging in the process.
When you quiet, he removes his fingers and smooths out your hair, calming you despite his necklace teasing your face and cock poking your cervix. You develop a tightness coiling in your lower stomach, only adding to the overstimulating sensation you feel throughout your body.
Yet you refrain from speaking, knowing where you’ll end up.
“Shhh, relax, Sweet Girl.” Percy latches onto your hips, holding them in place as he rams himself inside of you, seeking out his own release. “Cum for me, Baby.”
You whine out, pulling chunks of his hair in your fists, reluctant to let yourself go all at once or you might turn into an excited puppy. But, shit, you really think that Percy is the puppy. The first time you’d urinated while fucking, you’d never seen him so pleased.
You are quite determined to earn that same praise again.
“C’mon, Sweet Girl, don’t be shy.”
You bite your lip hard, basking in Percy’s fingers teasing your nipples, trying to draw out an orgasm from you. Which wouldn’t be so difficult if you weren’t, like he said, shy.
You only release when he does only seconds later, feeling his warm seed fill you to the brim as you do the same, allowing yourself to empty your bladder over his cock. He doesn’t quit his merciless thrusting until assured that you’re entirely sated, only then does he relax atop you, collapsing onto your front.
“Fuck,” he pants, peppering kisses to your sternum with a ghost of a smile. “Next time we’ll try thirty minutes.”
♡ ﹕You need drugs after days without a hit and Luke Castellan is your salvation, however you don't have the money.
♡ ﹕Dub-Con & Dark! Luke, addictions, blowjob, high while having sex, slut shaming, fingering & frotagge, edging, PinV, creampies, breeding kink
You step into the laundromat on a Tuesday afternoon after your last class. The air smells like stale detergent and forgotten clothes, machines humming.
It's not glamorous, the spot's tucked behind a strip mall with flickering neon signs for pawn shops and taco joints, but your friend swore it's where Luke Castellan runs his side hustle.
She's the one who usually handles this— slipping in here with a wad of cash and whatever else it takes to score the stuff. But she bailed last minute, stomach bug or some bullshit, so now it's you, heart pounding, palms sweaty, pretending you know the drill.
You've never met Luke before.
All you know is what she told you: he's got a sharp jawline, a scar on one side of his face, and he doesn't do freebies. She gets discounts by dropping to her knees, working him over until he tosses in extra product like pocket change.
You're not here for that— you're desperate for the hit that's been gnawing at since last week! You need some good stuff, something that melts the edges of your shitty reality. You pat your pocket, feeling the fold of bills.
The back corner is where the dryers stack up like rusty sentinels, and there's a door half-hidden behind a vending machine stocked with off-brand chips.
You knock, three times like she said, and it creaks open. Luke Castellan stands there, leaning against the frame, wearing a faded black tee that clings to his chest and jeans slung low enough to show the V of his hips. His eyes— dark, assessing— rake over you like he's pricing merchandise.
"You're not her," he says, voice low and gravelly, you know it's not a question but you still give an answer.
"Yeah, she couldn't make it so she sent me instead for the usual strong stuff... whatever she gets." You shift your weight, clutching your hands.
Luke's gaze lingered, sizing you up. He pocketed his phone and then moved to let you in as he crossed to a row of lockers in the back.
The laundromat's owner probably didn't know about this setup, or maybe he did and looked the other way for a cut. Luke twisted a key, pulling out a small zip bag that glinted under the lights. He tossed it your way.
"Two hundred," he says, leaning against the machine.
You fumbled in your pockets, pulling out a crumpled fifty, a twenty and some change.
"This is all I have right now, I swear I'll get the rest tomorrow! Please, I need it bad, the craving is killing me." Your hands trembled, the withdrawal twisting your gut. You'd do anything for that rush, the numb oblivion that made everything better.
Luke snatched the bills, counting them with a low chuckle. "This? This buys you a candy bar, sweetheart. Strong stuff ain't cheap."
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face, smelling faintly of weed and sex. "Your friend knows the deal. Pays up front or works it off. You forget the cash, you improvise."
The itch crawled up your arms, your skin prickling. You were a junkie, yeah, and not stupid enough to walk away without that bag. Your friend had bragged about her little arrangement, half-laughing over beers: how she'd drop to her knees in the back room, sucking Luke off for a better price.
It wasn't pride keeping you standing; it was need, raw.
"Okay, fine, what she does... I can do that. Just the discount, right? For the stuff."
Luke's eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips. He jerked his head toward the storage room door behind the counters, a "Staff Only" sign peeling at the edges.
"You got balls, I'll give you that. If you're half as good as she is, maybe I'll throw in extra. Come on, let's see what you're offering."
The storage room was a cramped hellhole— stacks of detergent boxes, a flickering bulb, a small table and a sagging couch that smelled like mildew.
Luke locked the door, the click echoing, and leaned back against a shelf, unzipping his jeans without fanfare.
His dick sprang free, already half-hard, thick and veined, curving slightly like it had a mind of its own. You swallowed, dropping to your knees on the gritty floor, the concrete biting through your jeans.
This wasn't about him; it was about the bag in his pocket, it was waiting for you.
"Go on," he says, voice low. "Show me why I should cut you a deal."
You leaned in, wrapping your hand around the base, feeling it twitch under your fingers. Your mouth watered despite yourself and finally slid your lips over the head, tongue flicking the slit. The taste hit salty and musky, his skin warm against your tongue as you sucked.
He groaned, fingers tangling in your hair, not gentle but not yanking yet. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, the taste filling your mouth as you bobbed.
You worked him sloppily, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth as you bobbed, tongue swirling around the underside.
He was bigger than you'd expected, stretching your jaw, but the rhythm came easy, fueled by the promise of that hit. Your free hand braced on his thigh, feeling the muscle tense under your fingers. Saliva dripped down his shaft, slicking your palm as you stroked what you couldn't swallow, gagging softly when he pushed too far.
Luke watched, hips rocking lazily. "Look at you, drooling all over my dick like a desperate little slut. Your friend does this too, but damn, you're eager. I'm sure you're getting wet just from the taste."
The worst was that he wasn't wrong. Heat pooled between your legs, your pussy clenching against nothing as you sucked harder, the friction sending sparks to your core. But you weren't here for that— you just wanted the drugs, to make him cum quick and get out. Your clit throbbed, panties dampening, as you focused, humming around his head to push him over.
And it worked. His grip tightened, breath ragged.
"Shit, yeah— gonna cum." He pulled back just enough, stroking himself as ropes of hot cum shot into your mouth, spilling over your lips and chin. You gagged, swallowing what you could, but in the end it smeared across your pretty face, sticky and warm.
Luke grinned, using the tip of his softening cock to rub it, painting your cheeks. "Messy girl. Open up— take it all."
You did, tongue out, letting the last drops land before he tucked himself away. Your face was a wreck, mascara smearing with the evidence of your effort. standing on shaky legs, pussy aching but ignored.
"There," you said, voice hoarse. "Now the discount."
Luke chuckled, zipping up slow, like he had all day. He reached into his pocket, but instead of handing over the bag, he pulled you close by the waistband of your jeans.
"Oh, we're not done. You think a quick suck-off gets you out clean? Nah, you're better than your friend— way fucking better. I think you can get the premium."
Before you could protest, his hand slid down, cupping your ass through the denim. "Luke, I just want the drugs. That's...That's it."
"Sure you do," he murmured, voice dripping with mockery. "But look, soaked already, that pussy's begging." His fingers traced the seam of your jeans, pressing just enough to make you whimper.
You shoved at his chest, but it was half-hearted, the aftertaste of him still on your tongue fueling the fire.
"Are you really going to leave to masturbate all by yourself? I can give a better time."
He spun you around, bending you over the table, the edge digging into your hips. One hand yanked your pants and panties down in a rough tug, exposing you to the cool air. Your pussy was slick, lips swollen and glistening, clit peeking out needy. "No, Luke—stop. I—."
He ignored you, fingers ghosting over your skin— starting at your clit, circling the hard nub with a feather-light touch that made your knees buckle.
"Liar. This little cunt's dripping for it." He dragged his touch down, parting your lips, teasing the entrance without pushing in. Up to your mound, thumb pressing the soft flesh, then back, dipping just the tip of one finger inside, shallow and maddening. You gasped, hips jerking involuntarily, chasing more.
"Please," you breathed, but it came out wrong— half plea for him to stop, half for him to continue. The drugs were so close, you could resist this.
"You're grinding on my fingers like a bitch in heat. Bet you'd beg for my cock if I made you wait."
Luke chuckled, free hand fishing a small baggie from his pocket—the strong stuff, premium grade.
"Need this more, don't you?" He opened it, holding some crystallized thing between his fingers to your lips. "Open up. It'll make you feel real good."
You shook your head, but Gods, you needed it, couldn't go any longer without drugs, and like that you parted your lips.
It hit your tongue, bitter. It rushed through you, your skin tingling, some wetness flooding out. You were happy to finally be able to consume. "Fuck... what is that?"
"Ecstasy. You're going to love this."
"Wait," you breathed, but your body betrayed you, arching into his touch. He pushed two fingers then, curling against that soft spot inside you. He pumped slowly, thumb on your clit, building you up fast— too fast. Your breath hitched, orgasm coiling tight, but just as you teetered on the edge, he pulled out, leaving you clenching around nothing.
"Fuck—please," you gasped, hating yourself.
"Please what? You told me to wait." He smirked, fingers glistening as he brought them to your lips, making you taste yourself.
"I think I could become obsessed with this mouth, you know how to suck damn well." His fingers passed your lips, pushing until they reached your throat, making you gag a little.
Then he was back, tracing your mound, dipping to your entrance but not entering, teasing until you were grinding against his hand and biting your lip to stifle a moan, it was relentless, thumb pressing your clit while his fingers pumped.
Just so you were edged again, the fingers thrusting deep, your walls fluttering, so close— then nothing as he pulled out once more. You were a mess, panting, thighs slick and trembling just like a newborn deer.
Luke stepped back, his dick stirring back to life in his pants.
He freed it again, still semi-soft, and rubbed the tip against your exposed pussy, wetting it with your arousal. The blunt head nudged your clit, then slid along your lips, parting them but never pushing in. "Feel that? Just the tip."
Wet sounds followed, your arousal was coating him, making him twitch and harden inch by inch. He pushed in just the head— bare, hot and promising— then pulled out, the drag making you sob.
"No— a condom, at least," you managed, voice breaking, you were dizzy as he kept pressing the tip inside, stretching you slightly, then pulled out, rubbing the length along your slit.
"Condom? For a junkie who forgot the money? You probably forgot it on purpose. So now, you pay with this pussy." He kept doing the motion until he hardened fully, the soft slide turning insistent, your hips bucking to chase it. You were lost, a poor addict reduced to whimpers that didn't even notice he had turned you around making your back press against the wood.
"Look at this greedy cunt, kissing my cock like she owns it. I think the drug is making effect."
"Uh?"
With a thrust, he was inside, bare and deep, stretching you wide. You cried out, the curve of him hitting just right, veins dragging against your walls. He hugged your hips close, pulling you onto him, the table scraping across the floor with each slam.
"Fuck— no, wait ah.." you gasped, but your legs wrapped around him, your body was chasing his.
He fucked you hard, deep, every inch was perfect— the slight upward bend kissing spots that no one else got to before. He was relentless, hips snapping, turning you into a drooling mess on the table, tits bouncing a little.
"You're better than her," he growled, breath hot on your neck. "Suck like a pro, take dick like you were born for it. You're a big slut." He denigrated you with every thrust— calling you stupid, worthless without your fix— but then he'd grind slow, letting his cock soothe your aching pussy, passing over every sensitive inch like a lover would do.
It was maddening, the mix of filth and that dark affection, making you clench around him and it made you a mess— drool slipping from your open mouth, eyes rolling back as he pounded deep.
"More... fuck, more, Luke— please!" It spilled out over and over, cries echoing off the walls, the drugs amplifying every thrust until you were sobbing for it. His cock was perfect, ruining you just right, hips snapping to make the table bang.
You were close, so close from all the edging, and he knew it. "Gonna fill you up. No pulling out for whores like you."
He pulled out suddenly, rubbing the head against your clit,before entering again and making you cry, your make-up was messed up since you sucked him off but now you looked just pathetic.
"I will end up pregnant, don't—" You begged, but your body betrayed you, nails digging into his back, pussy pushing down to meet every stroke, clenching to milk him.
"Too late, slut." He slammed in, flooding you— hot, thick ropes painting your insides. You shattered, the teasing from before exploding into a hard orgasm, squirting around him, soaking his thighs. Waves crashed, leaving you trembling, cum already dripping down your legs.
He didn't stop, fucking his cum deeper, the table groaning under the force. But when he finally pulled out, you were wrecked— pussy puffy and red, his seed dripping down your thighs in thick rivulets. Your hand moved on instinct— fingers sliding over your swollen cunt, dipping into the mess.
The touch alone sparked something.
"Fuck that," he muttered, flipping you onto your stomach over the table. He slapped your overstimulated cunt— a sharp sting that made you yelp. His fingers coated in your release and his, he pushed them in alongside his cock as he thrust back inside, rougher now.
You came again, harder, body surrendering as he emptied into you once more, the overflow leaking out with every withdraw. By the time he pulled out for good, you were boneless, high and sated, the drugs and the sex leaving you floating.
Luke zipped up, tossing the full baggie to the table. "There. Premium, like I said." He smirked, but there was a softness in how he helped you up, Luke didn't kick you out. He knelt, wiping you clean with a rag from the shelf and cleaning your defeated make-up.
He could be gentle.
"You're a mess," he says finally. "Better than I expected. I'll give you a joint too; it's on me this time. Come back next week— properly with cash. Door's open."
You nodded, pulling up your pants.
Walking out of that laundromat, bag in the pocket, you felt something weird— not just the high you were going through, but a pull.
Luke Castellan was probably the best dealer; trouble you might chase. And fuck, after that, you were already planning the next "forgetful" visit.
bad bitch in between ur teeth ( eat it up, eat it, eat it up ! )
︵ how jason grace & leo valdez ( separately ) eat it up !
cws. nsfw / smut under the cut , 18+ only ; minors dni ! fem reader. oral ( fem receiving ). overstim ( ? ). fingering. edging. squirting. no plot. wc : 1542.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀guilty pleasure never killed nobody ⋮ ( jason grace )
༊ jason grace is an observer. his eyes turn a shade darker as he watches you through his lashes—watching every squirm, shiver, and sigh you make as his tongue fucks you. it’s a carnal need of his to know exactly what makes you throw your head back, screaming his name; what makes you tug at his blond locks, pulling him closer and closer to your core; what makes you moan and whimper; and, most importantly, what makes you cum on his tongue the fastest. he wants to know what makes you feel good!
༊ he eats you out for his pleasure—he’s genuinely such a giver and it shows so much in bed. he puts you first, making you cum on his tongue over and over while he’s rutting into the edge of the bed. he probably even came untouched, the taste of you and the feel of your thighs around his head enough to make him soil his pants.
༊ jason leaves bites & hickies along your inner thighs. the fact that only he can see those marks gets him going.
jason grace starts out slow. oh so painstakingly slow.
he positions you so that you're near the edge of the bed before kneeling before you, cock already straining against his pants at the sight of your clothed pussy.
he trails kisses up, up, up, stopping just right at the juncture where your legs and pelvis meet before nipping and sucking at the bout of flesh. he kisses after every harsh bite, licking over the blemishes and soothing the heated skin—doing everything but your eating your pussy.
when he sees you squirm closer, he lets out a small chuckle.
“i know, i know,” he says, with the nonchalance you wouldn't expect from a man who's already rock-hard and leaking. when he glances back up at you, his eyes are sincere. "use the safe word if you need to, okay?"
when you nod, jason proceeds.
the cool air meeting your pussy is what you register as he peels down your panties and tosses them behind. jason grace audibly groans at the sight, swearing, “shit, baby, you're wet.”
strong arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer, closer to him. “you're gorgeous everywhere,” he tells you, before pressing a kiss to your clit.
you shudder as he flattens his tongue against your folds, tracing around your entrance and pooling your juices before slurping. you let out a whine when he slips the muscle in, then out, then in again.
when his tongue darts out to graze at your clit, your legs move on their own—crossing right behind his head and caging him. your back arches off the bed when jason sucks your clit gently, the muscle rolling against your bundle of nerves, over and over and over.
“feels s’—hngh—y’feel soo good, jay,” you cry, and oh, jason thinks he could pass out with how prettily you whine out his name.
you look down at him, and gods, jason is a sight. half-lidded, dark blue eyes locked on yours with such an intensity you feel like hiding away. hair tussled, some strands sticking to his forehead already. you see him rutting against the sheets and groan out.
his grip tightens around your thighs, trying to close the little distance between your cunt and his face. it's like jason can't get enough, alternating between lapping at your folds like a man starved and letting his tongue flick at your swollen clit. you can't help but reach over at his locks and tug.
“y’like that, angel?”
“oh! yes, jay, love it s’much—”
you’re burning, every cell of your body, every nerve ending aflame with pleasure at the way jason’s eating you out. you can't help but buck your hips up, meeting him halfway.
he’s nose-deep in your pussy, drinking you in, speeding up his ministrations at the way you involuntarily squirm and grind against his tongue.
“mmgh—baby, ‘m close. s’close, jay.”
jason hums against your pussy, the vibrations from it making you whine. “c’mere, my girl. cum f’me.”
and something snaps.
the next thing you register is white hot, searing pleasure. you're cumming with a strangled gasp of his name, your orgasm hitting you like lightning. he’s helping you ride peak after peak on his tongue, not stopping, even as you’ve already came down from the high.
“fuck—hah!—too much, baby, wait—”
jason only groans in reply, tightening his grip on your thighs—dark eyes half-lidded, intense. “please, can you give me one more? y’can take it, angel, i know ya can.”
oh, you truly were in for a looong night.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀빼고 싶니? bon appetit ! ⋮ ( leo valdez )
༊ leo valdez has such long, nimble fingers and you best believe he puts them to good use, even when eating you out! while his tongue is flicking up and down, sucking slow but steady, and circling your clit, his fingers are pumping in and out of your dripping pussy.
༊ leo gets messy. he's not content unless the lower half of his face is completely soaked with you. it ends up being so downright filthy—he’ll slurp at your juices like a man deprived, like his life depended on the slick that pooled down your thighs.
༊ he made you squirt on his tongue once and he’s been obsessed with recreating it ever since.
leo’s mouth on you is hot.
it's hot, his kisses searing as he carries you towards his work desk, haphazardly sweeping away anything and everything on it to settle you down. it’s hot as his kisses trail away from your mouth and to the point between your neck and shoulder that has you throwing your head back and sighing.
“need you so bad, leo,” you all but whine, grabbing his hand and bringing it to where you need him the most.
leo’s fingers deftly snake down to your clothed cunt, feeling the dampness leaking through the cotton.
“all this for me, sweets?” he nips at your pulse point. “so wet, and we barely even started.”
when you spread your legs wider, he doesn't leave a moment to waste before pushing in a finger, then another, past your weeping folds, then curling against that spot that makes you see stars.
“right there?” he asks. all you can do is nod helplessly, frantically—telling him more, more, more.
he thrusts knuckle-deep into your pussy, in and out and in again, hitting that same spongy spot over and over.
and you feel it—the all-too familiar coil in your lower abdomen tightening with every pump of his fingers inside you.
and then, leo stops.
you whine out, “leo, what was—?”
he presses a kiss to your lips.
“‘m sorry, just trust me, yeah?”
leo slips his digits into his mouth, tongue lathering up and down every bead of slick he’s collected. when he tastes you, he audibly groans. “gods, baby, y’taste so fucking good.”
he kneels in front of you, spreading your legs wider to give space for him between them. he doesn't waste any time before diving into your cunt, giving her the filthiest french kiss.
you moan out his name and he surfaces up, only to tell you to “lock it, baby.”
you do. you lock your ankles behind his head, trapping him between your thighs.
and, honestly? leo wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
he’s not hesitating, not easing you into this. no, he’s going all in—smushing his nose against your clit and kissing the entrance of your hole. he drives his tongue in, gliding the muscle inside, circling the inner walls of your pussy. he’s leaving open-mouthed kisses against your cunt, then hollowing his cheeks and slurping. the sound is downright sinful—oozing squelches and slurps. he groans against your cunt.
“she’s talkin’ back t’me, sweets,” leo mumbles. “think she wants more.”
and oh, you do. you tell him so, whining a, “please, please, leo, wan’ more—ah!”
leo’s long fingers tease your pussy’s lips, fingertips circling once, then twice, before sliding them inside. curling against the spongy spot that has you throwing your back and singing.
“fuck, fuck! s’deep, l-leo—so good,”
at the same time, he’s nearing his lips towards your clit, using his tongue to flick up and down, up and down, toying with the puffy bundle of nerves.
you cry at the contact—tremble at leo’s fingers rummaging stripes out of your pussy and curling at your g-spot, and his mouth sucking and nibbling at your swollen clit. it’s a familiar pattern of pump, curl, pump, curl, one that has you nearing release. you feel him grin against your cunt—he knows this, too.
“‘m g’na cum again,” you tell him, hands bunching in his curls and pulling him oh so close, “please—hngh—leo—don’ stop, please”
and he doesn't. he doesn't stop, not even as you’re thrashing against him, gliding your cunt across the lower half of his face.
you sob as your orgasm crashes through you. it's so hard and borderline violent that all you can do is tug and pull at his brown hair in an effort to get him to “s-slow down, leo, ah—!”
and he doesn't. he doesn't stop, not even when he’s drenched, all but glistening with your wetness. his pretty girl is absolutely gorgeous, squirting on his tongue—all over him.
you’re a panting, twitching mess as he laps up everything you've gushed out, everything dripping out of you. and fuck if his cock isn’t aching against the confines of his pants.
“can we try that again, baby?” he asks you, hand already fiddling with the buckle of his belt. “want it on my dick this time, though.”
okay ... i admit . i am a #whore . and i'm #ovulating and i want them between my thighs RIGHT FREAKING NOW 😢 hehe let me know what u guys think about this && stream spaghetti by le serrafim ! <3
STARRING percy jackson, jason grace, leo valdez, luke castellan, connor stoll and travis stoll
SYNOPSIS their favorite place(s) to fuck
A/N these are quite short. very sorry.
⟢ PERCY JACKSON
while his empty cabin is great, sneaking off to the lake, pounding you with your heads just above the water is different. way better in his mind. the added strength and endurance makes it miles better for the both of you so you’ll be the last one to complain.
⟢ JASON GRACE
he’s actually quite basic and would just say his cabin on his desk chair or against the edge of his bed. feels comfortable and safe to him because getting walked in on is one of his top fears. he
⟢ LEO VALDEZ
his workshop 100%. sure it gets kinda sweaty in there but he thinks you look even hotter like that. not opposed to bending you over a work bench or clearing off every object there in excitement to prop you up there and eat you out.
⟢ LUKE CASTELLAN
if he had to name one place probably right in the middle of the strawberry fields late at night. it’s sort of hot to him that you could get caught at any moment from a dryad or demeter kid. better hope your not allergic because with him you will be spending a lot of time there.
⟢ CONNOR STOLL
well because his cabin is majorly over priced he likes against a tree or large rock in the woods. he likes the mix of privacy and none at all. dryads hate you. getting caught during capture the flag has become a routine at this point.
⟢ TRAVIS STOLL
you better get used to the smell because the stables will be your best friend. some of the younger kids have started a tally of how many times a week you guys go to the stables. your current record when you two were feeling a quite frisky one week was 11.
