◜solis ₊ ཐི༏ཋྀ 18. she they. seasian. ﹒˚ ₊ ︵ jason grace's star girl & supernova. matchaholic. reyna avila's soultwin. made from sea salt, sea foam, & sand. venus' fav struggling daughter. the charms to jamie's tranfiguration. incessantly wrapped in lace. written by clairo. ◞
⤷⠀ ͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀ ͏͏͏͏͏͏ masterlist. request rules. requests are open!
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
യ (p. jackson ) 𓂃 you hate the look of blood on demigods; every drop of the reddish liquid only serves as a bleak reminder of all the grueling work you have to do as a healer. however, an unassuming tuesday makes you realize that sometimes, blood looks oh so good on a certain son of poseidon.
alternatively, where you realize you want percy after he shows up to the infirmary bloodied and gashed.
cws. nsfw / smut under the cut , 18+ only ; minors dni ! fem apollo reader. fingering (f! receiving) . oral (m! receiving) . unprotected piv & he cums inside . . . reader is referred to as “pretty girl”, “my girl”. percy and reader are adults. percy is cocky. implied post-hoo. porn with some plot . lmk if i missed any other warnings !
wc. 4054 words. requested by @myrapottah
sol ‘s note : though this was requested (like MONTHS ago . . . i'm sorry myra babes) , i’d like to dedicate this fic to a special recent achievement of mine: passing nursing school in one of the best schools in my state ! :’) the fic’s quite long, but i had so so so much fun writing her. i hope u all enjoy reading !
tuesdays were always training days.
every tuesday of the week, campers would flock towards the training ground, celestial bronze weapons in hand, picking fights with straw dummies in bronze armor. oftentimes, campers who grew bored of the non-moving, stationary strawmen flocked together and decided to use themselves as their own training dummies. this became a new, innovative method of melee fight teaching, and has carried on to the present day.
this demigod versus demigod training brawls always happen on tuesdays.
it was an unspoken tradition, written in the minds of these orange-clad campers like it was law. tuesdays were always training days. for the rest of camp, it was a day to hone and develop new skills, to have a better chance at defending themselves against monsters that were prevalent outsidecamp half blood’s borders. it was because of this reasoning that the campers got far too carried away with their training.
for the apollo cabin, it’s the worst day of the week.
with the influx of injured campers—all with injuries ranging from pin-sized papercuts to almost amputations—the infirmary was almost always full. more often than not, training days meant that the apollo cabin had to be spread thinner to accommodate the number of people who needed medical attention.
the apollo cabin holds a mild dislike for tuesdays. you do, especially.
you often regretted saying yes. after leaving camp half blood years ago, you thought it’d be a nice few years in the mortal world—pursuing your education and bettering your skills away from the world of deadly prophecies and gods and goddesses. it would have been a nice break, until chiron reached out to you privately, asking for a small favor.
according to him, before you left and for a while after, the tuesdays system was never this bad. apollo could manage it enough; they didn’t need to spread themselves out so thin to treat injured campers.
the system worsened after chiron asked percy jackson to train the campers in swordfighting. this led to a staggering increase in injured demigods.
you thought it was a false cause—post hoc ergo propter hoc, or whatever. but, after you said yes to chiron’s plea to come back to camp and help apollo manage injuries, you saw with your own eyes that chiron wasn't just incorrectly assuming that because one event followed another, the first event caused the second.
you saw how the poor campers were tripping over themselves and nearly getting mauled because of their efforts in swordfighting. and—upon asking a patient with a finger that almost fell off—it wasn’t because of his methods of teaching. no, it was because the kids wanted to be like him so bad, they went to extremes just to get better, to be like their hero, percy jackson.
the apollo cabin held a mild dislike for tuesdays. you? you loathed them.
this tuesday, however, is an exception.
“jackson…” you pause. you have to chastise yourself. healers aren’t supposed to sound this horrified upon seeing their patients, no matter how battered, bloody, or bruised they are. they aren’t supposed to sound horrified at all. you try to mask it with a cough. “what…happened to you?”
threre’s a gash. no, not even that—to call it a gash would be an insult to the mere magnitude of it. it was an ugly, jagged line, the origin at the dead center of his chest. it curls around his pectorals, and you can see it end on a point between his armpit and his bicep. from a blunt weapon, most likely. blood is splattered on his chest like a bad watercolor painting, but thankfully, the wound isn’t gushing out any blood at all.
he’s led to the bed—thank you, you tell his companion—and when he’s sat down, the muscles of his abdomen flex ever so noticeably.
my gods, was his body always this defined?
a traitorous, unserious voice in your head points that fact out, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks.
he straightens at your gaze.
“you should see the other guy,” he tells you, snapping you out of your thoughts.
your eyebrows furrow, your mouth curls into a wince just thinking of all the healing you’ll have to do to this poor other camper. “i hope i don't get to see the other guy at all.”
you glance at the pitcher of lukewarm water used to clean wounds.
percy is the son of poseidon. the pitcher would be an easy way to heal him—you wouldn’t need to spend so much cleaning his large wound and sewing it up. you probably wouldn’t even need to consume the entire pitcher to make the wound disappear.
it’s convenient, the voice in your head says, but it comes at the cost of you not seeing or touching percy’s muscles.
it’s a moral and ethical dilemma.
you shake your head and turn to the cabinet above you. from there, you pull out sterile gloves, cotton balls, antiseptic, a needle and thread, and some nectar. in the end, the traitorous voice prevails.
after you put the gloves on, you tell him, “i’ll start by cleaning your wound.” you douse the cotton ball in antiseptic. “your wound’s quite big, it might sting.”
he purses his lips and nods, as if steeling himself.
you circle the edges of his wound with antiseptic. once clean, you take a nectar-doused cotton ball and dab it gently against the open wound.
his stomach flexes at the contact. his arms brace against the bed frame, and you can almost see the same arms wrapped around you, same bare torso pressed against your bare back—
“did a kid beat you up this much?” you ask to rid yourself of those thoughts. and oh, how you prayed he couldn’t hear the small tremors in your voice.
his head snaps around, and he throws a small glare at you. “i’ll have you know, i wasn’t beaten up by a kid.”
“i don’t know who you’re fooling,” you say. “the nymphs, satyrs, and chiron are the only things in camp older than us.”
percy shuts his mouth after, giving you the perfect opportunity to sew the wound closed.
you trace a line around the wound's perimeter.
“i’ll sew around here,” you say. at the look on percy’s face, you reassure him: “there’ll be nectar in the thread, don’t worry. it won’t hurt.”
after you’d sewn the wound closed, you dab over it with nectar for good measure.
“alright, that’s all you’ll need from me.” you hand him a spare camp shirt that—you assume—is his size. “the wound’s all closed up, and i made sure the thread’s fortified enough that the wound won’t open with strenuous activity. you can continue training; just don’t let any kids cut you up that bad, yeah?”
you turn your back to him. you dispose of the antiseptic and nectar cotton balls you used to clean his wound, wrap the needle in tissue and throw it, shelve the bottle of nectar and antiseptic, then tidy up your area.
when you turn back, percy jackson is still sitting on the infirmary bed.
he didn’t even put the shirt on.
“why aren’t you leaving—?”
“you want me,” he says, blunt as the blade that slashed through his—defined, toned, muscled—chest.
“what?”
shit.
your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, loud enough that you can hear it roaring in your ears.
“i do not,” you state, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to lower your heart rate. it doesn't slow.
“do too,” he replies. “weren't you checking me out a while ago?”
this was new.
“i was assessing you. what’s gotten into you?”
“was it the blood, doc?” he smirks. he didn’t even answer your question. “you're into that?”
you hate how much he sounds like he’s mocking you.
and you hate how much he's right.
“no. i’m not. i treat a lot of bloody demigods. every day of the week. there's no way i get aroused by blood.”
i’m into how the blood looks on you, the traitorous (and truthful) voice in your head says.
then, you huff. “you lost a lot of blood back there,” you say. “you're delirious, jackson. delusional, even.”
“y’sure, doc?” and you can see the shadow of a smile that stretches across his face when he says, “why don't we test that theory out, huh?”
suddenly, your lower back meets the wooden table. in one long stride, percy had crossed the distance between the two of you.
there’s a soft smack as his hands land on the table, just right beside you, caging you in between his arms. he leans in enough that the low timbre of his voice reverberates through your bones and stirs the butterflies lying low.
“you're soaked, pretty girl.”
fuck. of course the son of the water god would know that.
and, from the look on his face, the same son of the water god knew that you’d never be able to deny it.
percy was hot—objectively, truthfully speaking. you knew this. especially now that you’ve seen his fine, god-esque figure accentuated by the sheen of blood. you doubt it was even the blood. it was just him.
you won't deny, too, what you’ve been feeling—the warmth in your entire body and the unmistakable dampness in your panties—the moment he entered the infirmary.
was it so wrong to give in to what you want, just this once?
when you look back up at him, his sea green eyes are boring into your very soul.
“have you made up your mind yet, doc?” he asks.
and fuck it, you have.
you lean in first, smashing your lips against his.
and, to your surprise, percy kisses you back with as much vigor—if not more.
the two of you waste no time in being careful. percy shoves his tongue in your mouth, you run your hands to his hair, tugging at the strands that get caught between your fingers.
you only register hands on you, then the loss of ground, before you’re lifted onto the wooden table.
he leans in, his kisses sloppy, desperate, and downright greedy as he sucks on your bottom lip.
he leaves your lips tingling for more as he kisses down, down, down, right at your carotid. he licks that very point, then hollows his cheeks and sucks.
you let out a sound. it teeters embarrassingly on the edge of a yelp and a drawn-out groan.
immediately, your hand flies to your mouth.
“don't do that, pretty girl,” he says, peeling your hands away from your mouth. he intertwines them, then presses another kiss there, mumbling against the soft skin: “wanna hear everything.”
“but they'll hear us, jackson,” you whisper.
the both of you are silent for a moment, until:
“wanna come over to mine?” he asks. “cabin’s soundproof. no one’s gonna hear a thing.”
the moments to cabin three pass in the blink of an eye.
when you cross the threshold of the seasalt-scented cabin, none of you linger.
with a sudden bout of newfound confidence, you pull him in by the hand, the kiss open-mouthed, wet—leagues away from your initial composure at the infirmary. there’s none now; you think you’ve lost it all.
percy leads you to the bed. he makes himself comfortable, and the hand entwined with yours pulls you onto his lap.
his one hand is everywhere. it cradles your face and deepens the kiss, it squeezes and grips at your waist, and, the next moment, latches on to it like a vice and pulls you impossibly closer to him.
your limbs are wrapped perfectly around him. one hand clings to his shoulders, locking him in place and feeling every oscillating wave of his muscles at every small movement. the other hand stays locked in his.
your pussy’s weeping, downright throbbing at the taste of his tongue in your mouth. you couldn't help but think about how it’d feel inside of you—
ankles lock right behind him, trying to bring yourself even closer and closer to where you needed him most. your drenched panties catch on to the tent at the front of his shorts, and you have to hold back a sob.
you think, in this moment, you’ve finally made up your mind.
“i want you,” you murmur. “so bad.”
percy lets out a small, mirthful chuckle. “can feel you getting wetter over me, doc. ‘s like a damn waterpark.”
before you can retort, percy’s hands grip your hips—not rough, not tight, but as if asking for permission—and only slightly lift. your fingers hook under the garter of your waistband and, with his help, you shimmy out of your shorts.
percy doesn't have to try, and yet, every move of his arm is showing off and flexing his biceps for you to ogle at.
and, as the next piece of fabric comes down, he lets out a guttural groan. both of you watch—percy, transfixed—as a few stringy wads of your slick stick to the front of your panties.
oh, you really were so wet.
percy continues to stare, a small smile stretching across his face and into a smirk.
“don't–don't get cocky about it.” your legs inch closer together in an attempt to block out the pure intensity of his stare, when—
“dont.”
his middle and ring finger swipe a long, languid stripe up your pussy lips, pooling your slick onto his digits.
your mouth drops into a little “oh!” as he starts to sink his middle finger into your pussy. and as if in a daze, he’s letting the second of his long fingers in.
“jackson—you… fuck!” you're trying not to wail, to keep your voice low so other campers can't hear you—but, fuck, do percy’s fingers feel good.
percy’s brows furrow and crease in the middle just as he watches your cunt swallow up his fingers. he moves them slowly, just a small wriggle side to side, before he feels the slight resistance—“fuck,” he whispers against your neck (he’s never felt so parched). “so tight around me, pretty girl,”
you whine when he pulls his fingers out. sheeny slick coats them, a line of it keeping you two connected still.
you miss the feel of percy in you for a few seconds, before he’s pushing his fingers back in, out, in. they were so vicious, so greedy, taking up all the space and swabbing at you. in, then out, then in.
“don't stop, please.”
“why would i?” he murmurs. his eyes aren't on you at all, but down, down, down.
he scissoring your entrance wide open with his roving fingertips to the point where you can feel his fingerprints against your soft insides. you shiver at the way he sinks them in again with a sluurp.
percy leans in a bit more, pressing a kiss to your carotid, then clavicle.
in that same moment, his wrist has found a newfound angle, one that somehow pushes his two fingers deeper in. hitting nearly the back of your pussy, pushing back and forth against your gooey walls.
when you feel it, your eyes widen.
he smiles. “found it.”
he hooks at your most sensitive gummy bundle of nerves. curves his fingers just right.
your loose limbs start shaking at percy’s relentless back and forth with your g-spot– “jackson—think ‘m gonna—”
lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and—
white-hot pleasure between your eyes. tension curling your toes.
“cum f’me, pretty girl,” he rasps out. he squeezes in a third finger inside your tight cunt—
and you're seeing stars.
he’s fucking you through your high, each thump of his fingertips against your g-spot and each glide of his long fingertips easing you down.
again, and again, and again.
right as the high bates, you feel an emptiness when percy’s fingers have pulled out of your weeping hole.
you pull him in by the shoulders, kissing him just to get a taste of his lips and tongue.
“give me more, jackson,” you mumble against his lips.
“what?”
“you know what i mean,” you tell him. your hands snake to his belt loops, pawing at them in delirious desperation. “want more of you.”
percy groans.
his feet land on the ground beside the bed. metal clinks against the floor. clothes ruffle as they're being discarded.
“been wanting this for so long, pretty girl–” he lugs his boxers down, along with his bottoms, “felt like i was dying.”
his cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen. he was big—so mouthwateringly big; flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light—every part of him was so unfairly pretty.
and, well, you just couldn't resist a taste.
beding down in one fluid motion, you press a kiss to his weeping tip, drag your tongue all the way down the vein under his shaft, and his hand immediately flies to your hair.
“shit— hah- you don't have to—”
“shut up, jackson.”
and with that, you’re shoving as much of his throbbing erection down your throat. there’s a slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip.
“shit, oh—yes, yes, yes–.” percy lets out a guttural moan. Fingers thread through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth, his hips stuttering and jerking with pleasure.
it was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his scent filling your senses. beginning to move up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips.
his dick twitches in your mouth and your cunt clenches. you brace yourself, ready for his orgasm, when he stops.
and just pulls his cock out.
there’s a loud, lewd pop! that accompanies it that makes his dick twitch and your pussy ache. you’re about to retort, mouth opening to ask him why— but he beats you to it.
“don’t wanna cum yet,” he tells you. he grabs his cock, tugging it ever so slightly, when he says, “lean back for me, pretty girl.”
and that you don’t argue with.
your legs are spread in front of him, and the look on his sea-green eyes is so carnal, so hungry that you motion to close yourself up. he places your legs above his shoulders, eyes stil trained on your soaked core.
he drags his reddened tip right through your swollen folds, catching maddeningly on your clit, teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. too slow.
you wiggle your hips just so that the tip just slides inside your hole.
he curses above you, and you feel small spurts of precum lining your walls.
with newfound vigor, percy pushes his hips forward, groaning out your name.
you could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in inch by inch.
his cock was long enough that it kissed your cervix, and that the mushroom tip hooked just right against your g-spot. it didn't lack girth, too—it was thick enough that you could feel the veins pressing against your walls.
deliciously painful, borderline addicting, and something you didn’t know you’d been craving until today.
and it’s almost like percy felt the same, cock hot and throbbing agonizingly inside of you, almost like his second heartbeat.
he buries himself to the hilt and stays. he bows his body down until his damp forehead meets yours.
“greedy girl,” he says. “so tight. gripping—hah–gripping me like a damn vice.”
he pulls himself out fully, just ‘til his tip is kissing your sloppy hole. you whine at the loss of contact, only for him to ram his cock all the way back inside your warmth.
skin on skin, skin on skin. he starts fucking into you, the sheer tightness of your pussy sucking him in so greedily, like she never wanted him to part.
“yes, yes—oh—just like that,” you moan out.
“all–all of it‘s ngh—yours, my girl. yours,” percy says, his baritone voice now raspier above the sloppy squelches that immediately start pouring out of your pussy.
slick gushes out of your cunt with every in and out, dripping down his length and pooling around his balls. they sting against your ass with every thrust in.
“percy—fuck,”
and you feel percy freeze. the loss of movement makes you cry out.
“why—?”
“say it again.”
“what? noo, just come on and fuck me—”
he thrusts once, then stills. “c’mon, my girl, please? lemme hear it one more time.”
oh.
“mmfh—ah—okay, okay.” and one more thrust, harder this time. “oh—! percy, percy, percy! fuuck—”
he keeps the pace constant, rough, kissing your cervix with every in and out of his cock.
“that’s so right, baby.” he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulders. “sounds—hah—sounds nice, right? better than jus’ jackson?”
you lean away from the bed, hand gripping onto percy’s shoulder for support as you grab his face and kiss him.
he continues thrusting his cock in and out of your poor walls, a sheeny white ring of fluid gathering around his base.
you feel him so deep, he’s pushing your eyes to roll allll the way to the back of your head with the crown of his fat tip.
it was intoxicating, inebriating—from the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, fucking into you, his lips kissing ever surface he can reach, his teeth biting and marking what’s his.
“m’ so close, percy,” you sob.
percy’s large hand trails down where your bodies meet to draw frenzied circles on your puffy clit. “cum with me—please, baby.”
“inside,” you gasp out. “want you inside.”
and this orgasm seems to be stronger than last time, lightning hot pleasure zapping through your body faster. sobs escape your mouth. your back arches so much you fear for your spine. your body flinches every time he brushes against your clit.
percy’s high comes right alongside yours, and he’s shooting thick, hot, strings of cum, painting your walls white with a low groan of your name. you feel it dripping out of your cunt and into the sheets under you before it's being fucked back in.
when your highs bate, you flop unceremoniously on percy’s bed.
he lets out a small chuckle, before kissing your forehead. “i’ll be right back, okay?”
you watch as his figure retreats to his closet and comes back with an armful of clothes.
the towel in his hands is warm as he cleans going down, passing your stomach, before finally wiping down your inner thighs. he slips his boxers on you, then a shirt.
when he finishes, he collapses right beside you. he pulls you closer, settling you right over his heart, draping an arm over your back.
for a moment, both of you just stare.
“you were amazing, percy,” you say. “i… i liked it. a lot. i'm glad it was you.”
percy presses a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. “i've liked you for so long. still can't believe i managed to kiss you, let alone…”
you let out a small laugh and snuggle closer.
tuesdays were the worst days of the week, you think.
but maybe, just maybe—you brush a stray lock of percy’s hair behind his ears—tuesdays had a little bit of merit to them.
( . . . )
“told you you wanted me”
you grumble against his chest. “shut up.”
he only presses you closer to him. “i don’t know who you’re fooling, baby. i saw you skip that pitcher of water entirely.”
your eyes widen and snap up to meet his. then, feigned nonchalance. “i didn’t need it.”
“i’d have healed faster with it.” then, he grins down at you, canines and eye crinkles and all. “it’s okay, baby, i’d do the same so i could get in the pants of my hot, muscular, super handsome—”
you smush a pillow over his face.
“you wanted me first,” you protest. “you probably asked a bunch of kids to cut you up so you had an excuse to come see me.”
percy’s lack of retort—and movement—makes you sit up.
“oh my gods.”
“listen—”
“there is no way.”
he groans, burying his face deep into your hair. "you're never gonna let me live this down, are you?"
you only grin in reply, canines and eye crinkles and all. "never."
hey, so i was thinking of requesting smt for percy, here’s my idea, you can interpret it however you want :)
so maybe after a whole day of sword practice and stuff, percy gets back to his cabin and you’re waiting there, ready to patch up all his wounds, and after a while he realises you’re kind of turned on by bloody percy and he mocks you, then yk some action after that😛
യ (p. jackson ) 𓂃 you hate the look of blood on demigods; every drop of the reddish liquid only serves as a bleak reminder of all the grueling work you have to do as a healer. however, an unassuming tuesday makes you realize that sometimes, blood looks oh so good on a certain son of poseidon.
alternatively, where you realize you want percy after he shows up to the infirmary bloodied and gashed.
cws. nsfw / smut under the cut , 18+ only ; minors dni ! fem apollo reader. fingering (f! receiving) . oral (m! receiving) . unprotected piv & he cums inside . . . reader is referred to as “pretty girl”, “my girl”. percy and reader are adults. percy is cocky. implied post-hoo. porn with some plot . lmk if i missed any other warnings !
wc. 4054 words. requested by @myrapottah
sol ‘s note : though this was requested (like MONTHS ago . . . i'm sorry myra babes) , i’d like to dedicate this fic to a special recent achievement of mine: passing nursing school in one of the best schools in my state ! :’) the fic’s quite long, but i had so so so much fun writing her. i hope u all enjoy reading !
tuesdays were always training days.
every tuesday of the week, campers would flock towards the training ground, celestial bronze weapons in hand, picking fights with straw dummies in bronze armor. oftentimes, campers who grew bored of the non-moving, stationary strawmen flocked together and decided to use themselves as their own training dummies. this became a new, innovative method of melee fight teaching, and has carried on to the present day.
this demigod versus demigod training brawls always happen on tuesdays.
it was an unspoken tradition, written in the minds of these orange-clad campers like it was law. tuesdays were always training days. for the rest of camp, it was a day to hone and develop new skills, to have a better chance at defending themselves against monsters that were prevalent outsidecamp half blood’s borders. it was because of this reasoning that the campers got far too carried away with their training.
for the apollo cabin, it’s the worst day of the week.
with the influx of injured campers—all with injuries ranging from pin-sized papercuts to almost amputations—the infirmary was almost always full. more often than not, training days meant that the apollo cabin had to be spread thinner to accommodate the number of people who needed medical attention.
the apollo cabin holds a mild dislike for tuesdays. you do, especially.
you often regretted saying yes. after leaving camp half blood years ago, you thought it’d be a nice few years in the mortal world—pursuing your education and bettering your skills away from the world of deadly prophecies and gods and goddesses. it would have been a nice break, until chiron reached out to you privately, asking for a small favor.
according to him, before you left and for a while after, the tuesdays system was never this bad. apollo could manage it enough; they didn’t need to spread themselves out so thin to treat injured campers.
the system worsened after chiron asked percy jackson to train the campers in swordfighting. this led to a staggering increase in injured demigods.
you thought it was a false cause—post hoc ergo propter hoc, or whatever. but, after you said yes to chiron’s plea to come back to camp and help apollo manage injuries, you saw with your own eyes that chiron wasn't just incorrectly assuming that because one event followed another, the first event caused the second.
you saw how the poor campers were tripping over themselves and nearly getting mauled because of their efforts in swordfighting. and—upon asking a patient with a finger that almost fell off—it wasn’t because of his methods of teaching. no, it was because the kids wanted to be like him so bad, they went to extremes just to get better, to be like their hero, percy jackson.
the apollo cabin held a mild dislike for tuesdays. you? you loathed them.
this tuesday, however, is an exception.
“jackson…” you pause. you have to chastise yourself. healers aren’t supposed to sound this horrified upon seeing their patients, no matter how battered, bloody, or bruised they are. they aren’t supposed to sound horrified at all. you try to mask it with a cough. “what…happened to you?”
threre’s a gash. no, not even that—to call it a gash would be an insult to the mere magnitude of it. it was an ugly, jagged line, the origin at the dead center of his chest. it curls around his pectorals, and you can see it end on a point between his armpit and his bicep. from a blunt weapon, most likely. blood is splattered on his chest like a bad watercolor painting, but thankfully, the wound isn’t gushing out any blood at all.
he’s led to the bed—thank you, you tell his companion—and when he’s sat down, the muscles of his abdomen flex ever so noticeably.
my gods, was his body always this defined?
a traitorous, unserious voice in your head points that fact out, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks.
he straightens at your gaze.
“you should see the other guy,” he tells you, snapping you out of your thoughts.
your eyebrows furrow, your mouth curls into a wince just thinking of all the healing you’ll have to do to this poor other camper. “i hope i don't get to see the other guy at all.”
you glance at the pitcher of lukewarm water used to clean wounds.
percy is the son of poseidon. the pitcher would be an easy way to heal him—you wouldn’t need to spend so much cleaning his large wound and sewing it up. you probably wouldn’t even need to consume the entire pitcher to make the wound disappear.
it’s convenient, the voice in your head says, but it comes at the cost of you not seeing or touching percy’s muscles.
it’s a moral and ethical dilemma.
you shake your head and turn to the cabinet above you. from there, you pull out sterile gloves, cotton balls, antiseptic, a needle and thread, and some nectar. in the end, the traitorous voice prevails.
after you put the gloves on, you tell him, “i’ll start by cleaning your wound.” you douse the cotton ball in antiseptic. “your wound’s quite big, it might sting.”
he purses his lips and nods, as if steeling himself.
you circle the edges of his wound with antiseptic. once clean, you take a nectar-doused cotton ball and dab it gently against the open wound.
his stomach flexes at the contact. his arms brace against the bed frame, and you can almost see the same arms wrapped around you, same bare torso pressed against your bare back—
“did a kid beat you up this much?” you ask to rid yourself of those thoughts. and oh, how you prayed he couldn’t hear the small tremors in your voice.
his head snaps around, and he throws a small glare at you. “i’ll have you know, i wasn’t beaten up by a kid.”
“i don’t know who you’re fooling,” you say. “the nymphs, satyrs, and chiron are the only things in camp older than us.”
percy shuts his mouth after, giving you the perfect opportunity to sew the wound closed.
you trace a line around the wound's perimeter.
“i’ll sew around here,” you say. at the look on percy’s face, you reassure him: “there’ll be nectar in the thread, don’t worry. it won’t hurt.”
after you’d sewn the wound closed, you dab over it with nectar for good measure.
“alright, that’s all you’ll need from me.” you hand him a spare camp shirt that—you assume—is his size. “the wound’s all closed up, and i made sure the thread’s fortified enough that the wound won’t open with strenuous activity. you can continue training; just don’t let any kids cut you up that bad, yeah?”
you turn your back to him. you dispose of the antiseptic and nectar cotton balls you used to clean his wound, wrap the needle in tissue and throw it, shelve the bottle of nectar and antiseptic, then tidy up your area.
when you turn back, percy jackson is still sitting on the infirmary bed.
he didn’t even put the shirt on.
“why aren’t you leaving—?”
“you want me,” he says, blunt as the blade that slashed through his—defined, toned, muscled—chest.
“what?”
shit.
your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, loud enough that you can hear it roaring in your ears.
“i do not,” you state, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to lower your heart rate. it doesn't slow.
“do too,” he replies. “weren't you checking me out a while ago?”
this was new.
“i was assessing you. what’s gotten into you?”
“was it the blood, doc?” he smirks. he didn’t even answer your question. “you're into that?”
you hate how much he sounds like he’s mocking you.
and you hate how much he's right.
“no. i’m not. i treat a lot of bloody demigods. every day of the week. there's no way i get aroused by blood.”
i’m into how the blood looks on you, the traitorous (and truthful) voice in your head says.
then, you huff. “you lost a lot of blood back there,” you say. “you're delirious, jackson. delusional, even.”
“y’sure, doc?” and you can see the shadow of a smile that stretches across his face when he says, “why don't we test that theory out, huh?”
suddenly, your lower back meets the wooden table. in one long stride, percy had crossed the distance between the two of you.
there’s a soft smack as his hands land on the table, just right beside you, caging you in between his arms. he leans in enough that the low timbre of his voice reverberates through your bones and stirs the butterflies lying low.
“you're soaked, pretty girl.”
fuck. of course the son of the water god would know that.
and, from the look on his face, the same son of the water god knew that you’d never be able to deny it.
percy was hot—objectively, truthfully speaking. you knew this. especially now that you’ve seen his fine, god-esque figure accentuated by the sheen of blood. you doubt it was even the blood. it was just him.
you won't deny, too, what you’ve been feeling—the warmth in your entire body and the unmistakable dampness in your panties—the moment he entered the infirmary.
was it so wrong to give in to what you want, just this once?
when you look back up at him, his sea green eyes are boring into your very soul.
“have you made up your mind yet, doc?” he asks.
and fuck it, you have.
you lean in first, smashing your lips against his.
and, to your surprise, percy kisses you back with as much vigor—if not more.
the two of you waste no time in being careful. percy shoves his tongue in your mouth, you run your hands to his hair, tugging at the strands that get caught between your fingers.
you only register hands on you, then the loss of ground, before you’re lifted onto the wooden table.
he leans in, his kisses sloppy, desperate, and downright greedy as he sucks on your bottom lip.
he leaves your lips tingling for more as he kisses down, down, down, right at your carotid. he licks that very point, then hollows his cheeks and sucks.
you let out a sound. it teeters embarrassingly on the edge of a yelp and a drawn-out groan.
immediately, your hand flies to your mouth.
“don't do that, pretty girl,” he says, peeling your hands away from your mouth. he intertwines them, then presses another kiss there, mumbling against the soft skin: “wanna hear everything.”
“but they'll hear us, jackson,” you whisper.
the both of you are silent for a moment, until:
“wanna come over to mine?” he asks. “cabin’s soundproof. no one’s gonna hear a thing.”
the moments to cabin three pass in the blink of an eye.
when you cross the threshold of the seasalt-scented cabin, none of you linger.
with a sudden bout of newfound confidence, you pull him in by the hand, the kiss open-mouthed, wet—leagues away from your initial composure at the infirmary. there’s none now; you think you’ve lost it all.
percy leads you to the bed. he makes himself comfortable, and the hand entwined with yours pulls you onto his lap.
his one hand is everywhere. it cradles your face and deepens the kiss, it squeezes and grips at your waist, and, the next moment, latches on to it like a vice and pulls you impossibly closer to him.
your limbs are wrapped perfectly around him. one hand clings to his shoulders, locking him in place and feeling every oscillating wave of his muscles at every small movement. the other hand stays locked in his.
your pussy’s weeping, downright throbbing at the taste of his tongue in your mouth. you couldn't help but think about how it’d feel inside of you—
ankles lock right behind him, trying to bring yourself even closer and closer to where you needed him most. your drenched panties catch on to the tent at the front of his shorts, and you have to hold back a sob.
you think, in this moment, you’ve finally made up your mind.
“i want you,” you murmur. “so bad.”
percy lets out a small, mirthful chuckle. “can feel you getting wetter over me, doc. ‘s like a damn waterpark.”
before you can retort, percy’s hands grip your hips—not rough, not tight, but as if asking for permission—and only slightly lift. your fingers hook under the garter of your waistband and, with his help, you shimmy out of your shorts.
percy doesn't have to try, and yet, every move of his arm is showing off and flexing his biceps for you to ogle at.
and, as the next piece of fabric comes down, he lets out a guttural groan. both of you watch—percy, transfixed—as a few stringy wads of your slick stick to the front of your panties.
oh, you really were so wet.
percy continues to stare, a small smile stretching across his face and into a smirk.
“don't–don't get cocky about it.” your legs inch closer together in an attempt to block out the pure intensity of his stare, when—
“dont.”
his middle and ring finger swipe a long, languid stripe up your pussy lips, pooling your slick onto his digits.
your mouth drops into a little “oh!” as he starts to sink his middle finger into your pussy. and as if in a daze, he’s letting the second of his long fingers in.
“jackson—you… fuck!” you're trying not to wail, to keep your voice low so other campers can't hear you—but, fuck, do percy’s fingers feel good.
percy’s brows furrow and crease in the middle just as he watches your cunt swallow up his fingers. he moves them slowly, just a small wriggle side to side, before he feels the slight resistance—“fuck,” he whispers against your neck (he’s never felt so parched). “so tight around me, pretty girl,”
you whine when he pulls his fingers out. sheeny slick coats them, a line of it keeping you two connected still.
you miss the feel of percy in you for a few seconds, before he’s pushing his fingers back in, out, in. they were so vicious, so greedy, taking up all the space and swabbing at you. in, then out, then in.
“don't stop, please.”
“why would i?” he murmurs. his eyes aren't on you at all, but down, down, down.
he scissoring your entrance wide open with his roving fingertips to the point where you can feel his fingerprints against your soft insides. you shiver at the way he sinks them in again with a sluurp.
percy leans in a bit more, pressing a kiss to your carotid, then clavicle.
in that same moment, his wrist has found a newfound angle, one that somehow pushes his two fingers deeper in. hitting nearly the back of your pussy, pushing back and forth against your gooey walls.
when you feel it, your eyes widen.
he smiles. “found it.”
he hooks at your most sensitive gummy bundle of nerves. curves his fingers just right.
your loose limbs start shaking at percy’s relentless back and forth with your g-spot– “jackson—think ‘m gonna—”
lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and—
white-hot pleasure between your eyes. tension curling your toes.
“cum f’me, pretty girl,” he rasps out. he squeezes in a third finger inside your tight cunt—
and you're seeing stars.
he’s fucking you through your high, each thump of his fingertips against your g-spot and each glide of his long fingertips easing you down.
again, and again, and again.
right as the high bates, you feel an emptiness when percy’s fingers have pulled out of your weeping hole.
you pull him in by the shoulders, kissing him just to get a taste of his lips and tongue.
“give me more, jackson,” you mumble against his lips.
“what?”
“you know what i mean,” you tell him. your hands snake to his belt loops, pawing at them in delirious desperation. “want more of you.”
percy groans.
his feet land on the ground beside the bed. metal clinks against the floor. clothes ruffle as they're being discarded.
“been wanting this for so long, pretty girl–” he lugs his boxers down, along with his bottoms, “felt like i was dying.”
his cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen. he was big—so mouthwateringly big; flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light—every part of him was so unfairly pretty.
and, well, you just couldn't resist a taste.
beding down in one fluid motion, you press a kiss to his weeping tip, drag your tongue all the way down the vein under his shaft, and his hand immediately flies to your hair.
“shit— hah- you don't have to—”
“shut up, jackson.”
and with that, you’re shoving as much of his throbbing erection down your throat. there’s a slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip.
“shit, oh—yes, yes, yes–.” percy lets out a guttural moan. Fingers thread through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth, his hips stuttering and jerking with pleasure.
it was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his scent filling your senses. beginning to move up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips.
his dick twitches in your mouth and your cunt clenches. you brace yourself, ready for his orgasm, when he stops.
and just pulls his cock out.
there’s a loud, lewd pop! that accompanies it that makes his dick twitch and your pussy ache. you’re about to retort, mouth opening to ask him why— but he beats you to it.
“don’t wanna cum yet,” he tells you. he grabs his cock, tugging it ever so slightly, when he says, “lean back for me, pretty girl.”
and that you don’t argue with.
your legs are spread in front of him, and the look on his sea-green eyes is so carnal, so hungry that you motion to close yourself up. he places your legs above his shoulders, eyes stil trained on your soaked core.
he drags his reddened tip right through your swollen folds, catching maddeningly on your clit, teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. too slow.
you wiggle your hips just so that the tip just slides inside your hole.
he curses above you, and you feel small spurts of precum lining your walls.
with newfound vigor, percy pushes his hips forward, groaning out your name.
you could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in inch by inch.
his cock was long enough that it kissed your cervix, and that the mushroom tip hooked just right against your g-spot. it didn't lack girth, too—it was thick enough that you could feel the veins pressing against your walls.
deliciously painful, borderline addicting, and something you didn’t know you’d been craving until today.
and it’s almost like percy felt the same, cock hot and throbbing agonizingly inside of you, almost like his second heartbeat.
he buries himself to the hilt and stays. he bows his body down until his damp forehead meets yours.
“greedy girl,” he says. “so tight. gripping—hah–gripping me like a damn vice.”
he pulls himself out fully, just ‘til his tip is kissing your sloppy hole. you whine at the loss of contact, only for him to ram his cock all the way back inside your warmth.
skin on skin, skin on skin. he starts fucking into you, the sheer tightness of your pussy sucking him in so greedily, like she never wanted him to part.
“yes, yes—oh—just like that,” you moan out.
“all–all of it‘s ngh—yours, my girl. yours,” percy says, his baritone voice now raspier above the sloppy squelches that immediately start pouring out of your pussy.
slick gushes out of your cunt with every in and out, dripping down his length and pooling around his balls. they sting against your ass with every thrust in.
“percy—fuck,”
and you feel percy freeze. the loss of movement makes you cry out.
“why—?”
“say it again.”
“what? noo, just come on and fuck me—”
he thrusts once, then stills. “c’mon, my girl, please? lemme hear it one more time.”
oh.
“mmfh—ah—okay, okay.” and one more thrust, harder this time. “oh—! percy, percy, percy! fuuck—”
he keeps the pace constant, rough, kissing your cervix with every in and out of his cock.
“that’s so right, baby.” he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulders. “sounds—hah—sounds nice, right? better than jus’ jackson?”
you lean away from the bed, hand gripping onto percy’s shoulder for support as you grab his face and kiss him.
he continues thrusting his cock in and out of your poor walls, a sheeny white ring of fluid gathering around his base.
you feel him so deep, he’s pushing your eyes to roll allll the way to the back of your head with the crown of his fat tip.
it was intoxicating, inebriating—from the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, fucking into you, his lips kissing ever surface he can reach, his teeth biting and marking what’s his.
“m’ so close, percy,” you sob.
percy’s large hand trails down where your bodies meet to draw frenzied circles on your puffy clit. “cum with me—please, baby.”
“inside,” you gasp out. “want you inside.”
and this orgasm seems to be stronger than last time, lightning hot pleasure zapping through your body faster. sobs escape your mouth. your back arches so much you fear for your spine. your body flinches every time he brushes against your clit.
percy’s high comes right alongside yours, and he’s shooting thick, hot, strings of cum, painting your walls white with a low groan of your name. you feel it dripping out of your cunt and into the sheets under you before it's being fucked back in.
when your highs bate, you flop unceremoniously on percy’s bed.
he lets out a small chuckle, before kissing your forehead. “i’ll be right back, okay?”
you watch as his figure retreats to his closet and comes back with an armful of clothes.
the towel in his hands is warm as he cleans going down, passing your stomach, before finally wiping down your inner thighs. he slips his boxers on you, then a shirt.
when he finishes, he collapses right beside you. he pulls you closer, settling you right over his heart, draping an arm over your back.
for a moment, both of you just stare.
“you were amazing, percy,” you say. “i… i liked it. a lot. i'm glad it was you.”
percy presses a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. “i've liked you for so long. still can't believe i managed to kiss you, let alone…”
you let out a small laugh and snuggle closer.
tuesdays were the worst days of the week, you think.
but maybe, just maybe—you brush a stray lock of percy’s hair behind his ears—tuesdays had a little bit of merit to them.
( . . . )
“told you you wanted me”
you grumble against his chest. “shut up.”
he only presses you closer to him. “i don’t know who you’re fooling, baby. i saw you skip that pitcher of water entirely.”
your eyes widen and snap up to meet his. then, feigned nonchalance. “i didn’t need it.”
“i’d have healed faster with it.” then, he grins down at you, canines and eye crinkles and all. “it’s okay, baby, i’d do the same so i could get in the pants of my hot, muscular, super handsome—”
you smush a pillow over his face.
“you wanted me first,” you protest. “you probably asked a bunch of kids to cut you up so you had an excuse to come see me.”
percy’s lack of retort—and movement—makes you sit up.
“oh my gods.”
“listen—”
“there is no way.”
he groans, burying his face deep into your hair. "you're never gonna let me live this down, are you?"
you only grin in reply, canines and eye crinkles and all. "never."
hello friends ! i'm so sorry for the unannounced hiatus . it was a grueling last semester of high school, with college apps, final requirements, my shitty motivation issues, and the WORST ever senioritis known to mankind, but i managed to make it out alive & graduate with high honors ! thank u all for staying; i'm gonna have a blast w u guys this summer >:)
˖ ◜ hold me, console me (and then i'll leave without a trace).
യ ( j. grace ) 𓂃 the stars can only watch as two lovers dance in each other's arms for the last time.
roman ! reader + established relationship. wc 853. requested.
the waters of the little tiber are calm.
underfoot, the bridge creaks ever so slightly—a short hum of greeting. two teens bound along the wood, giggly and giddy, drunk on something only the two of them can begin to comprehend.
the stars above watch the two with a fondness that has the night sky shining brighter than usual. the moon joins in, casting her light upon them—a faux spotlight that the waters of the river catch and cascade back, illuminating the two lovers in an otherworldly glow.
“dance with me,” one requests. the other replies, extending a hand out—one gratefully taken. with the light of the stars reflecting in his eyes, jason and his partner dance to the melody of their beating hearts.
the son of jupiter raises his hand and yours, twirling you slowly, memorizing the way your eyes glint in the light, how your small laugh sounds in his ears. he pulls you gently towards him, hands traveling to your waist the moment your head rests on his chest.
the moment is gentle. the two lovers sway softly, in tandem with the little tiber’s waves. you start humming, and the sound reverberates in his chest, molding the tiny strings of his heart to accompany your tune.
“you’re beautiful, angel,” he tells you—and he means it. the glow of the moon rests kindly on your cheekbones, and the light of the cosmos shines in your eyes.
“thank you, jay,” you tell him, eyes meeting his. your hand cups his jaw, thumb tracing the small scar on his upper lip. you pull him in, and he meets you halfway, soft lips meeting yours.
when you lean back, it’s to confess to him something the stars have seen, something the moon has known, something that has lingered between the two of you long before any of you became each other’s.
“i love you, jason.”
the boy is stunned for a second—the words are foreign to his ears. but they aren't unwelcome, never unwelcome when they come from you. the swaying slows to a soft rocking as he lets your words echo in his ears, over and over and over again. when he comes to and when the words are so engraved into the crevices of his mind, he leans in once more.
“i,” he presses a kiss to your forehead; “love,” a kiss to the tip of your nose; “you,” a kiss to your cheek; “too,” a final kiss to your lips.
“i love you, too,” he confirms. and he says it like a promise, an oath he swears to live by ‘til the end of time. he presses his forehead against yours, as if to seal it true.
the silence that follows isn't suffocating. it's homely — a moment between pledge and forgettance, a moment where the two lovers can linger together comfortably.
“want this moment to last forever,” you tell him.
“yeah?” jason replies.
when you nod, he tells you, “let’s stay here, then. just you and me.”
he pulls you closer, grounding you, hoping his actions can convey something too huge in magnitude for his mouth to ever be able to express.
and the stars stir. the environment seems to shiver—the low waters of the little tiber become small waves, the green of the trees shakes violently, the huffs of the wind become stronger, and the night sky twinkles brighter. it’s as if the stars are trying to draw the attention of the two lovers, telling them to stay, stay, stay together.
but the stars’ effort is futile. the two lovers break apart when you shiver, saying, “‘s too cold, but i don't wanna leave yet.”
jason chuckles. “let’s get you to bed, then, hm? we can always come back tomorrow, angel.”
and the environment stills. it's as if they know about what's to come the moment the sun rises, the moment dawn graces over the little tiber. yet, they’re not enough to sway the son of jupiter, who picks his lover up, and starts walking towards the barracks.
you wrap your hands around his neck, peppering kisses along everything your lips can touch.
you bury your head in the crook of his neck, mumbling an, “i’ll miss you” against his carotid. you press another kiss against his pulse.
“you’ll see me again in the morning,” he replies.
“that's too many hours without you.”
and jason chuckles. “you’ll see me in your dreams, angel. i’ll personally make sure of it.”
he lays you gently on your bed and pulls your covers over you, pressing a final kiss goodnight against your forehead.
if the stars could interact with the two lovers at all, they’d keep them together, scream at them to stay with one another, to hold each other longer. for, in this moment in time, jason grace walks towards the via praetoria, unknowing that in merely a few hours, when dawn graces the waters of the little tiber, he will wake up in a bus 1, 270 kilometers away from everything he’s ever known, with no memories of his lover’s features he’s sworn to memorize, nor the “i love you”s that he’s engraved into his mind.
and the stars can only watch as he leaves.
thank you to anon for the request! i hope i did it justice :') the title is from no one noticed by the marias, listen to it here! if you like what i wrote, please leave a reblog & send me an ask! <3
hi !!! i hope that you’re doing alright!! i wanted to do the ask game that u reblogged!!
5 ⧽. if you were a beverage, what would you be?
hi !! thank u so much for the ask !
i'd most likely be a matcha. not to sound like a performative male, but i love love love drinking matcha (there's probably green stuff in my bloodstream at this point). other than that, i don't really see myself as anything else !
യ (p. jackson ) 𓂃 to demigods, nightmares are a birthright—never to disappear, no matter how detached to the mythical world you become. you've learned to ignore the nightmares over the years, but when one seems so real, you can't seem to just let it slide.
alternatively, percy comforts you after a really bad nightmare.
cws. percy's death (only in the nightmare), allusions of a post-nightmare panic attack. slightly graphic depictions. SLIGHT very vague spoilers for the last olympian? please let me know if i missed any warnings! wc. 1220. requested.
the soil is stained red and gold.
you hear nothing and everything all at once—the clanging of metal on metal, the bellow of orders, the silence that follows after the fall of one of your comrades.
all you can do is run.
you see leo and thalia to your right. the huntress has fire-tipped arrows aimed at a giant with ghostly skin and red eyes. you hope—for some reason—that it doesn't burn you.
you see piper and dakota hurling grapes at flying furies. piper’s cornucopia is working overtime, and the son of bacchus helps strengthen the growth and yield of the grapevines. when you rush past them, dakota shouts something incomprehensible.
you only run. you don't have a concrete grasp of where, but you know with utmost certainty who you're running to.
the sound of the battle is muffled and faint. there are cries, commands, and yells, but you can’t make them out. your face twists. in displeasure or agony—you don’t know. all you know in this moment is to run, to flee, to search.
you stop at the top of a hill when you see him.
percy.
he seems not to have heard you. you call out once more, but his back is stubbornly turned away from you.
you reach towards him instead, hoping your touch would alert him of your presence, since your voice couldn’t.
you can no longer move.
you are rooted in place. no matter how hard you run, how much your feet move, you don't move a single inch. you’re stuck on the top of the hill.
and in that moment, another figure materializes. you see his features clearly—curly dark hair, gold eyes, twisted black sword draped across his back.
you physically have to stop yourself from retching when you recognize who it is.
kronos.
as if he senses your presence, kronos angles his head until his golden eyes are locked on you.
he smiles. he bares his teeth so that all tombstone-white vessels are clear as day. his eyes are devoid of all emotion, but—for some reason—you feel deep in your bones that kronos is only one second away from doing something horrible.
in the next moment, you’re proven right.
gold flashes—blinding and bright. there’s the sound of a slash, a squelch, and a thud.
when the light dims, percy is dead.
backbiter is lodged in percy’s lower abdomen. kronos laughs. you hear it echo across the war ground.
you can’t move.
when you awaken, you're still screaming.
your voice metastasizes into a strangled sob as you come to. your eyes are wide and darting around the room, yet you can barely see your surroundings with the faint light of the moon bleeding through the blinds. the room is stuffy—sweat coats your body, and you’re panting, and all you’re thinking of is getting out. residual fear still runs through you as you lift the covers off, hands shaking.
when your feet make contact with the cold floor, you’re snapped back to reality—albeit by only a bit.
it was just a dream.
your throat is dry and scratchy as you try chanting it out loud to ground yourself. yet, the feeling of dread never leaves you, and the tears don’t stop falling, even when you know this fact is true.
but fuck, was all that not real? the sounds of war, the sight of golden blood, the feeling of immobility? percy’s lifeless body, impaled by kronos’ sword?
they were all real, weren’t they?
they were.
you don’t think you can convince yourself otherwise.
then, warm light fills the room.
“babe? you okay?” you hear someone call.
and oh, how you could cry out in relief at his voice.
you probably do, because percy is immediately rushing to you. he doesn’t waste a moment, slotting into the space beside you on the bed’s edge.
“look at me.” and you’re trying, but the tears don’t stop coming, and you’re trying your best not to have your palms or your tears obstruct your view.
soft fingers hold your own, feather-light as they pry your hands from your face. you feel his knuckles brush against your cheek once, then twice, and now, your vision’s clear.
“nightmare?”
you nod. “it was kronos. i dreamed he was alive, and—and you…”
you see percy again, dead on red soil, blade through his stomach.
your exhales come out harder, more erratic.
“you died, percy. and it just…” you stifle back a sob. “it felt so real.”
“whatever you saw in that dream wasn’t real,” he swears. “i’m real, okay? i’m here. we’re safe here.”
you sniffle as he pulls you into a hug.
in the moments that follow, percy stays silent, soothing. he lets you cry it out over the fabric of his shoulder, rubbing small circles between your shoulder blades and pressing occasional kisses to wherever his lips can reach.
in your embrace, you find your hands unconsciously drifting to that spot on his lower back, the very same one kronos’ blade defiled in your nightmare. it’s skin on pristine skin—no scars, no meter-deep incisions, no stab wounds.
“have i ever told you about that spot, angel?” he asks, voice soft.
“your… achilles’ heel,” you muster out. “well, not the heel itself—sniff—but it’s… you get what i mean.”
he lets out a small laugh. you could bottle it up and get drunk on it forever, you think.
“yeah, that.” he presses his lips to the bone between your brows, kissing away a crease that formed.
“i didn’t just… get the invincibility right away. when nico had me bathe in the styx, i had to choose something that would tie me to the land of the living.”
and all you see is sea-green, looking at you with all the love in the world; looking at you like you carried the sky on your shoulders.
“it was you. you kept my soul from getting lost in the styx, angel.”
his voice is hushed when he says it; he sounds as if he’s telling you a vow—a covenant so sacred and divine that having anyone else hear it was blasphemous.
“because of you, not even kronos or the titan army could harm me,” he says. “because of you, kronos is dead now. he can’t possibly rise again. not in our lifetimes, not ever.”
"never?"
"never," percy confirms. "i swear it."
there’s a shared silence that falls between the two of you. it’s far from uncomfortable, only occasional whispers of “i love you”, and the lingering promises of protection fill the silence.
when your breathing mellows out, and your tears stop falling, you press your lips to percy’s, hoping the kiss conveys everything you want to tell him: thank you, i’m glad you’re alive, i’m glad you’re mine.
and it’s like percy’s got the telepathic message, because he cups your cheek, tilting your head enough to deepen the kiss. you swear you can taste the promise of a softer tomorrow.
when the kiss breaks, you start to feel the promise take shape; you feel it in the way he holds you, in the way he looks at you.
in you, there’s still residual fear. there’s still the tremors in your hands that don’t seem to go away.
but, in this moment, with only your sweet boy, they seem insignificant.
“stay the night?” you ask him.
percy smiles. “you know it.”
whewwww... she's a long one 😋 btw! the entire first part isn't supposed to make sense bc duh it's a dream... anyways, i hope you enjoy this work, i had so much fun writing it!
