Summary: you and leo have an on going prank wars. he has the brilliant idea to turn your hair red.
Warnings: i haven't written in a while and this is a revival piece. getting your hair dyed red I guess. no use of yn
1.5k
a/n: this has been completely changed . i have loads more to revisit but take forever. i've been working on this one for like a couple of months. school is a lot. first time posting a one shot on tumblr. if you know me in real life, you haven't seen this . thank you.
masterlisttt
You and Leo had been in a prank war for a long time. Some of your friends preferred the term 'flirting.' The last prank he had pulled was a lot of glitter in your bed. Now, you had hit him back with a huge bucket of slime, over the door to bunker nine, and Leo had fallen straight into the trap.
"I'm going to get you back for this! You'll see!" he exclaimed, wiping the slime from his face, trying to suppress a grin. You took a Polaroid as you always did, and when it came out, you started shaking it. “Hey, no!” he exclaimed when he noticed what you were doing. Leo started running towards you to cover you in slime.
You let out a yelp, running away from the mechanic covered in smile. Campers around laughed. You entered your cabin and locked the door. Your siblings gave you confused glances until they heard Leo through the door: “I will get my revenge.” They all took a glance at the Polaroid in your hand, waiting for the reveal of what you had done this time. You scribbled the name of the prank and the date on the Polaroid before pinning it on your corkboard full of candids of Leo. They all surrounded you and laughed at the shot.
You dried your hair, and when you looked at the towel, it was stained red. You let out a scream, running to a mirror. Your hair was now fiery red, and clearly this dye had been made because it seemed to glimmer. Only one person was capable of such a prank. Leo Valdez. Your face matched your hair as you stormed out of the cabin. There was the annoying son of Hephaestus, grin spread wide, as he snapped a photo from your Polaroid camera. Your eyes widened. “Don’t steal my stuff!” you exclaimed, rushing towards him, grasping for the Polaroid camera.
He jumped backwards. “Thought I’d return the favour,” he grinned. “How’d you like your new hair, ginger?” His grin grew wider as he noticed your anger only growing.
“This isn’t even ginger. It’s full on red. How the fuck did you manage to pull this off?” you asked him, arms flying around. He snorted, and you brought your hands to your weapon, a murderous intent in your eyes. “I’m going to kill you, Leo.” You took more steps towards him, but he kept moving backwards, until he was backed against a tree.
“Don’t take a step forward, or I’ll drop your camera!” he threatened as he brandished the camera. This stopped you in your tracks as a worried look flashed across your face.
“You wouldn’t dare!” You stared at him intensely, and he met your glare.
“Try. Me,” he challenged, happy to be in a position of power. You hesitated, but continued moving forward, certain that Leo wouldn’t drop it.
Leo pretended to make the camera fall, and you went to save the camera.
When you realised that he hadn’t dropped it, a knowing grin made way across your face, “Knew you wouldn’t dare.”
He rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. “As much as I love seeing your cute angry face, I know you would actually kill me if I did, and I don’t have the money to pay you back .”
“Right.” You got up in his face, trying to hide the flutter in your stomach. “Now don't ever touch my hair again, got it, Leonidas Valdez?” You snatched the camera from his hand.
“Oh, wow, full name,” his eyes widened in what seemed to be fear, but the teasing grin on his face said another story.
“You should be afraid!” you sassed, a small playful glimmer in your eyes.
“I’m terrified,” he joked, raising his arms in a mock surrender. He sent a teasing wink.
You rolled your eyes at his antics and scrunched up your face trying to look angry. “Watch your days!” You stormed off, a spring in your step.
“I think the red hair suits you really well, by the way,” he shouted after you.
Upon hearing the compliment, you almost tripped over yourself, which caused the brunette to laugh. You quickened your pace and brushed yourself off, pretending to be unfazed. He watched you walk away, a smile on his face like he’d won the lottery.
Leo was awaiting your next prank, but it seemed you were planning something serious, as no hidden traps were laid out in the next few days. Whenever you offered him something, he would ask you to try it first. You compelled, a small smile on your face. Leo’s suspicion kept growing, and when you came close, he often grabbed a friend as a shield. You thought that this was maybe enough of a prank, but no, you needed to get him back.
The dye used by Leo had been carelessly left around, and you had found it. That’s when you came up with an idea, and maybe you were thinking of matching hair colour.
You waited for the right moment to strike, and it came when he started one of his projects, where he spent many days in Bunker Nine. You knew for these days, he’d eat, sleep and shower in Bunker nine(if he even did). As he continued to work on his project, you slipped in. In this state, he barely noticed you, too engrossed in whatever he was doing. You managed to set up everything and were very satisfied with your work. Now, your idea was basically a carbon copy of Leo’s. However, you had another hidden goal in mind, further stimulating the allegations that you guys were dating.
You waited in a tree in front of Bunker Nine, camera in hand. It wasn’t long until Leo opened the door. He chuckled and called out your name. You waited patiently and positioned your camera for the perfect shot.
“C’mon, I know you’re around here somewhere!” He shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. “I can’t believe you dared to touch my hair!” he added, but he didn’t seem mad.
He brought one of his hands up into his hair. “Look at my beautiful locks ruined by you!” He fake-pouted. “Don’t you want to come out to take a photo?” He questioned and looked around. He didn’t seem angry at all; instead, there was a small skip to his step. He kept calling out your name.
When he spotted you, the red-haired boy posed for the camera. You raised your eyebrows at him. You took the shot and shook it. He made his way to your tree
“How’d you like your new look, Valdez?” you teasingly asked him.
He put his hands on the branch you were sitting on. He sent you a flirtatious wink, and you raised your eyebrow. He shrugged and tugged your hand.
“I think I wear it better than you,” he answered, his grin wide. He grabbed the photo from your hand.
You jumped down and tried to snatch back the photo. He held it out of arm’s reach, and you rolled your eyes, “ Seriously?”
He looked at the candid , looked at you, and then looked back at the candid.“No, actually, you’re right, you wear it so much better than me,” he said, his smile softening.
You shook your head, but you had a small smile on your face. “Uh, I was hoping you’d be upset,” y
“Of matching with you, never,” he grabbed the camera from your hand.
“Hey!” you put your hand up, but he kept the camera out of your reach.
He slid by your side, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pointing the camera towards the both of you.
“Cheese!” he exclaimed and smiled widely.
You feigned annoyance, but quickly ended up matching his smile.
He shook the Polaroid picture and gave the camera back to you.
“So, since we’re matching just like Annabeth and Percy, does that make us a thing?”
You laughed, embarrassed at the straightforwardness of the question.
“Uh, I- I mean-” “I guess my friends said this war was flirting”
“it was on my end. What about yours?”
“Yeah”
“Cool”
He pulled out a pen from his magical tool belt. He squiggled something on the back of the Polaroid picture before handing it to you. He ran away before you could read it.
meet me 7:30 strawberry fields? no prank I promise, just a date?
You smiled softly.
It wasn’t until later that Leo confessed he had left the dye hanging around on purpose for you to find.
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."
smitten bf!leo who never calls you by your name once you become his! literally throws it out of his vocabulary.
smitten bf!leo mostly sticks to using spanish nicknames like princesa, bella, florcita. but the one english nickname he adores calling is mama! (yk the way beast boy calls raven mama? yeah, that's lee!)
smitten bf!leo crafts you whatever you want. you want jewelry? he listens carefully to what you want, and in a month's time (he takes longer, so it's perfect), you'll get what you wish for.
smitten bf!leo insists on putting the jewelry on you himself — no matter where you two are. kisses your hand/neck/wrists (where he put it) afterwards, making your friends gush about how romantic he is.
smitten bf!leo who remembers what you dislike about certain jewelry, so he can avoid incorporating it (too itchy, too inconvenient, etc)! so instead of normal claps, he adds magnetic ones, and instead of harsh metals, he uses softer (but still durable) ones!
smitten bf!leo who makes you accessories and eyeglass chains if you wear glasses!
smitten bf!leo adjusts/tightens your glasses himself if they tend to slip off, no need to bother going to the shop just for that, he'll handle it!
smitten bf!leo desires to make you anything you wish for, including stuff he knows nothing of. you want a ceramic heart to store his jewelry in? he'll plead with hephaestus to teach him!
smitten bf!leo who refuses to let his father help with said heart. yes, he can teach him — but no more than that! he wants to make it with his own hands and showcase his love to you.
smitten bf!leo is extremely jealous. not in a controlling way, you can never do any wrong in his book, but duchbags can. leo showcases jealousy in a puppy-like way, if anything.
smitten bf!leo who starts carrying wet wipes and hand sanitizer on him at all times because he wants his hands on you whenever you're together, especially touching/caressing your face!
smitten bf!leo has an 'i love my hot girlfriend' shirt with your face on it!
smitten bf!leo always has your favorite drink/snack on hand.
smitten bf!leo likes to blow at your food and feed it to you.
smitten bf!leo is the type of boyfriend who'll let you spit said food out onto his palm if you don't like it or feel a crunch in soft food.
smitten bf!leo never lets you pay when on dates. and you've tried, he bites (not hard).
smitten bf!leo who allows you to do his nails! he knows they're not the most pleasant to look at with all the grime stuck underneath them, and greatly appreciates when you manicure them.
smitten bf!leo who chews on your hair! ofc he'll stop if you dislike it, but if you're fine with it, he continues. plays with it in general.
smitten bf!leo likes it when you reciprocate the hair playing! melts when you run your hands through his curls, teasing them between your soft fingers.
smitten bf!leo will drop everything he's doing when you need his help.
smitten bf!leo gets confused if teased about his smittenness. like, is he not supposed to love you? he's baffled when he hears he's being too much — if you are not complaining, then he's just right, is what he believes.
smitten bf!leo feels his heart implode if you try learning spanish for him! you could be stressing over the grammar system, and he'll just stare at you. i'm talking one cheek resting in his palm, a derpy smile on his face, and brown eyes full of adoration.
smitten bf!leo loves leaving you spanish poems tucked into the margins of your study books. he does it after you finish your lesson, putting it on the page you last studied, knowing you'll discover it soon enough, and wreck your cute brains trying to translate it.
smitten bf!leo will brag if you make his favorite dish! especially if it's super complicated. everyone needs to know the food he's about to gobble down in a millisecond was made by his amazing girlfriend.
smitten bf!leo chokes on the meal, because of course, and only gives you a lovestruck look as you wipe the food from the corners of his mouth, catching your hand mid-motion to peck your fingers one by one!
smitten bf!leo always carries your bag/backpack. it's his duty to do so, he firmly states when you try to get it back.
smitten bf!leo lets you swatch makeup on his wrists if you want!
smitten bf!leo grows accustom to spending hours in makeup stores with you. he'll just sit on a stool a worker gave him and eat his chips as you scurry around excitedly.
smitten bf!leo's camera roll is only you. you and whatever he's made for you. you asleep with a bit of drool escaping your lips. you deciding on which makeup palette to buy. the ceramic jewelry box he made for you, now filled with the jewelry he made for you.
would yall want a hecate child reader or iris child reader or hades child reader
Hecate
Iris
Hades
what about all three with three different fics
i just wanna see poll answers
Voting ended onMar 16
this is for my PJO x TWST fic, and the type of Godly parent actually decides a big chunk of how the fic(s) go. To have both worlds sort of meet, they'd have to meet one of three ways. After the war, Iris Child reader uses Iris messages to check for any survivors and accidently gets called into Twst by the Magic Mirror answering the call. Or Hades Child Reader shadow travels around war and gets hit by the carriage along with Yuu when they pop somewhere randomly. Or Hecate has been using her magic to deny her child's path NRC because she's salty her magic school didn't work out and after the war she was busy explaining why she switched teams two times and couldn't see her unconscious child being transported to TWST. ( unconscious because you got knocked out and is related to angst in the fic hehehe )
Hecate because she's the goddess of different paths in life and magic so of course the magic mirror would try to recruit them
Hades because yknow...Ignihyde dorm and Idia being a huge hades fan
Iris because that's the most logical way to communicate between both worlds, with Iris messages
( this is specifically for Leo Valdez x Reader x Idia Shroud )
⋆.˚ i'll take you to my shows, then after you can kiss me ᢉ𐭩
★ ──────── DATING ROCKSTAR!JASON
late night phone calls, vip tickets, backstage kisses, surprise visits, matching jewelry, constant "i miss you"s, love songs dedicated to you, writing songs about you, talking about you constantly on lives and in interviews, running away from paparazzi together, fast food runs after shows, bringing you onstage, you're his ladygirl & he's your sweet boy.
