— 💬 a/n: It's 3:12 a.m., I haven't slept and I have thoughts. Like ACTUAL thoughts. DELULU thoughts.
— 𝒫ercy 𝒥ackson ;; his pull out game is so-so but it's not really a game to him. it's a tragedy. he can pull out, he really can—but the second you clench around him and moan his name all breathy and wrecked? gone. he’s staying inside and apologizing for it while still twitching. “fuck, sorry, you just felt too good.” no self-control. man is one tight hug away from giving you triplets.
rating: 4/10
— 𝒥ason 𝒢race ;; textbook perfect. clinically correct. he’s the honor student of nut control. always pulls out with time to spare, wipes you down with a warm towel, kisses your forehead, and asks how you’re feeling. BUT—if you beg him not to? if you whimper a little and say “please”? he folds like a lawn chair.
rating: 9/10 when in control, 2/10 if you say “inside” in a pretty voice
— ℒeo 𝒱aldez ;; boy has ZERO pull out game. he doesn’t even pretend to try. he’ll be balls deep and babbling about how tight and warm you are, then let out a choked moan and cum inside you without warning. immediately follows up with a “fuckfuckfuck I was supposed to pull out” and then blames you for “being too sexy.”
rating: -3/10. negative.
— ℱrank 𝒵hang ;; he pulls out with sweet, apologetic gentleness. murmurs “almost there” and actually means it. doesn’t even thrust through the orgasm—he shudders and then paints your stomach like a gentleman. but the moment you say “it’s okay, baby, I’m on the pill”? oh. he’s finishing inside with a shaky moan and saying “you’re sure? really sure?” as he fills you up.
rating: 8/10 unless you give him permission—then all bets are off
— ℒuke 𝒞astellan ;; can pull out. just doesn’t. he’ll be like “what’s the point?” while holding your hips down and staying in deep, whispering “take it. you can take it.” he moans like it’s a religious experience and you’re lucky if you get a warning before he fills you up and says “mine.”
rating: 1/10. he’s breeding on purpose
Stormy's asks games ! :: I think we can safely say that a new section of "Stormy's asks games" is opening. Basically, You can send me "Games" either nsfw or sfw to the inbox and we can be delulu together 👭
example: this post
Reqs closed, asks games always open.
+ I saw it on Twitter and had to make it a pjo version, I lost the post, but credits for that one <3
𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈/𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ; smut/suggestive, unprotected sex, p in v, rough sex, idk how to taggg, give me reqs if u want!!!
𝒶/𝓃 ; 1st post! not proofread
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁ percy jackson
reverse cowgirl
percy definitely loves to see how your ass just bounces with every single thrust; he'll grab your ass cheeks and moan on and on about how good your ass looks for him. he'll really just lay back and let you ride him till you're all trembling and needy, then he'll step in and start bouncing you on his cock, tugging at your hair, but not too rough, as his cock stretches out your needy cunt.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁ jason grace
missionary
holy shit. jason definitely likes missionary, but not in the, like, frank type of way – the complete fucking opposite. he goes rough, like crazy actually; he's a freak in the sheets. you definitely wouldn't guess it at first, but he loves to fuck you rough, your legs thrown over his shoulders so he can reach that perfect spot that makes you cry out. he'll usually give praise, but if you ask him to be rougher, just know that you're in for a crazy night.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁ leo valdez
doggy style
this man is a (not so secret) freak, so definitely doggy style. he'll go gentle, but when you give him that 'go ahead', all restraint goes through the fucking roof. he loves to grope your ass while he thrusts; he occasionally tugs and spanks your ass. he definitely has his chest pressed against your back as he fucks the life out of you, whispering sweet nothings while you try and stifle your moans.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁ frank zhang
spooning/missionary
he absolutely loves spooning or just basic missionary. he will definitely handle you as if you're made of glass, with slow, gentle, deep thrusts. he will definitely tell you when he's close and will pull out if you're not using a condom. he's just a sucker for soft and intimate sex.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁ connor stoll (underrated bb)
cowgirl
if you ask connor "ass or tits?" he'd definitely pick tits.
he loves watching how your tits bounce every time you bounce back on his cock. he's definitely handsy, hands on your hips, ass, and definitely tits. he'd sit up and start marking up your neck as you ride him, slowly trailing down to right above your tits. he's a tease, so he would just place soft kisses and licks right above your tits before actually sucking on them, giving you what you want.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁ luke castellan (got a little carried away...)
idk he just wants to fuck you
this man is just down bad for you. he will take you anywhere he fucking can. in your cabin? yes. by the lake? yes. bent over a table? yes. against the wall? fuck yes. he definitely has a breeding kink, so no condom. he goes rough, as in fucking you so hard you forget your own name. but he doesn't go too far, within your limits at least. he'll stop and be gentler, only if you beg him to. and i mean really beg him. like “you want me to be gentle, baby? yeah? then beg for it, be a good girl and beg f’me." he’ll groan in your ear with a fucking smirk knowing that you'll practically do anything for him as long as he fucks you.
⟢ synopsis pjo boys finding out you have new lacy panties
⟢ starring pjo boys (percy, jason, leo, connor and luke)
⟢ 18+.
⟢ percy jackson
✶ he’ll see them poking out your pants and get turned on immediately. he’d slyly come up behind you, dick pressing up against your ass, chuckle-whispering in your ear “are those new panties y’got here?” he’s practically itching to bend you over right then and there.
⟢ jason grace
✶ he’ll find them after offering to bring your laundry down atop the pile. blushes so hard. almost drops the whole hamper infront of everyone. he’ll stuff them in his pocket, drop off your laundry then immediately bring you over to his cabin to “talk”. that “talk” ends in you riding him with your panties stuffed in his mouth.
⟢ leo valdez
✶ finds out when you casually change infront of him in the workshop into cooler clothes. so flustered but tries to play it off by making a stupid sexual joke, immediately followed by making out on the workshop floor -> fucking on the workshop floor, where he gets very grabby.
⟢ connor stoll
✶ doesn’t find out on his own, you tell him right before dinner just to tease him. he doesn’t even know how he made it through that. he will bring you round behind the big house to eat it through your new lacy panties like a starved man.
⟢ luke castellan
✶ sees them through your jeans fly. almost aggressively push you up against his wall and fucks the living shit out of you calling you names and saying wearing buying those was “so whorish” of you.
Characters: Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan, Jason Grace, Leo Valdez, Frank Zhang, Reader (fem. pronouns, afab)
Pairings: {Percy Jackson/Luke Castellan/Jason Grace/Leo Valdez/Frank Zhang} x fem!reader
Summary: Wishing you all a happy Valentine's Day from the guys at Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter ;)
Warnings: NSFW 18+, cursing ?, alcohol consumption, p in v, fingering (fem. receiving), oral (fem. & masc. receiving), jason grace is whipped for reader, leo is a needy kinda guy, i also didn't mean to do this but they like all get the reader jewelry ?? i didn't mean for that to happen but i fear that's just how the cookie has crumbled, NOT PROOF-READ MY GRAMMAR SUCKS, pls let me know if there is something that i missed!!
Word Count: 4.7k (~950 per/guy)
Percy Jackson has a plan for Valentine’s Day, or at least he had a plan for Valentine’s Day. He really did, he would swear on the River Styx if you asked him. If you had asked him on February thirteenth what his plans for Valentine’s Day were, he would have given you a breakdown of the plan that he had been constructing since the beginning of the month. He would have told you that he had made reservations, that he had flowers being delivered, that he just had to seal the card before you woke up that morning, that was the only thing that he left until the last minute.
Percy Jackson had made reservations at that breakfast place you always wanted to go to. The place that opened at six in the morning and was closed by two in the afternoon. It was the place the two of you would pass by all the time, just after it closed. So, of course, that’s where he made the reservations for Valentine’s Day, for 8:45 am sharp. He would stay at your place to make sure that you were up in time to get there for the reservation. There was a very specifickind of Belgian waffle dish that he knew you had been staring at on their online menu for months. Who was he to deny you?
Percy Jackson sets an alarm at 6:45 in the morning on Valentine’s Day. It wakes him up so fast that he got whiplash. You didn’t budge, which was fair, considering you didn’t know about the breakfast reservations. And when he tried to wake you oh so gently, all you did was scrunch your face up and nuzzle into him like a cat trying to find the warmth of a sunbeam. It made his heart skip a few too many beats to not be considered concerning. And then you started to press your lips into the hollow of his collarbone.
Percy Jackson ends up getting distracted. That distraction results in you on your elbows and knees, propping your ass up for him while you whined into the pillows. It really wasn't his fault, but now Percy was on top of you, his chest pressing into your back, keeping you close to the blankets, keeping your cheek smushed against your pillow. One of his arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you at the perfect height for him to keep railing into you, to keep making those pathetic, little noises leave your mouth when you try to whine his name. His other arm wraps around your neck, letting your chin sit in the crook of his elbow, the way he always does when he wants to feel you flutter around him.
Percy Jackson hauls you up to your knees when he feels that you’re close. He likes when you can’t hold yourself up anymore, when you fall apart so deliciously that he has to hold you up himself. “Yeah? Y’like that, pretty girl? Hm?” Was all you could catch as he rambled into your ear, he was saying more, he was always saying more, but everything was already starting to feel so staticky and that was when he laughed, a small, satisfied chuckle as you fell apart, your thighs shaking and your fingernails scratching at the bicep that was curled around your neck, keeping you upright against his chest as his hips finally stuttered and he unraveled inside of you.
Percy Jackson makes sure to kiss all the way up and down the curve of your neck, your shoulder, down your spine. He makes sure to rub the little spasms out of your thighs before he blinks at you with wide eyes and goes “Uh—I might have lost track of time…” before he tells you about how he may or may not have made a reservation for an hour ago. And how he was supposed to finish signing the card that he got you while you were supposed to be getting all made up to go to breakfast. It just makes you laugh into the covers, swatting at his shoulder before planting a kiss on his forehead.
Percy Jackson decides to just make you pancakes in your kitchen. By the time that you shuffle out of your bedroom and into the kitchen, he’s already made the batter with blueberries, of course. He tries to make them into heart shapes. Some of them end up looking like hearts, some of them look more like the idea of a heart, or closer to the anatomically correct version of a heart. The two of you giggle over pancakes for brunch and spend the rest of the day glued to each other’s sides. He even asks to watch that cheesy romcom that came out months ago, which he thought was too Hallmark.
Luke Castellan was never very much of a traditional man when it came to most things. He liked taking the path least traveled—he liked the unconventional, but never when it came to you. And especially on Valentine’s Day. On Valentine’s Day, he made sure that you woke up with a fresh bouquet on your nightstand and a card with his small, scrawling handwriting—rambling on about how lucky he is to have you, how he cherishes you, how he can’t wait to see you in that new set you hinted at a few weeks ago.
Luke Castellan picks you up on the dot, exactly the time he said he would, when he drives the two of you to dinner. He takes you to a very nice restaurant, the kind that’s in one of those hotels that you’ve only ever passed by. It’s the kind of hotel that politicians stay in, the kind that the wealthy stay in, the kind with a restaurant that has stars or something that he mentioned on the way inside.
Luke Castellan makes sure that you get at least one of those colorful drinks that are so sugary you don’t notice how drunk you are until you have to excuse yourself to use the restroom. He makes sure that you stay toeing that fine line between being tipsy and being drunk so your face flushes beneath your makeup, so you giggle a bit more at his not-that-funny jokes. That’s when he pulls out the long, thin, velvet box. He got you a necklace with his initial on it, and it matches all of the other jewelry that you were wearing, so of course, you asked him to put it on you right then.
Luke Castellan pays the bill while you’re too busy squealing in excitement over your perfect new necklace. He helps you up from the table—ever the gentleman, even after one too many glasses of gin and tonic—to lean over and whisper into your ear a quiet “I got us a room for the night,” while leading you towards the elevator with the keycard in his pocket. You can hear the way his lips curl up in a smile. You just had to lean on him in the elevator, nuzzling into him, leaving lipstick stains on the collar of his nice shirt.
Luke Castellan ends the night with your legs hooked over his shoulders, folding you in half like a paper doll. It’s drunken, and it’s sloppy, but it's Luke. One hand pressing on the back of your thigh, just above your knee, opening you up wider for him until you feel the muscles in your leg start to burn. The other hand fists your hair, knotting itself at the base of your skull so that no matter how stretched out you feel, how far your eyes roll back into the back of your head, how many times you whine out to Luke that “’s too much—too fuckin’ good” like you can’t decide if you want him to keep going or to stop, no matter what, he gets to see you.
Luke Castellan gets to see how you fall apart for him, how spectacular you sound when you start babbling after you fall apart around him a second time and he doesn’t stop because it always works when he whispers “Don’t worry, baby—right here, pretty girl, ‘m right here,” into your neck between each bruise he sucks onto your neck, your breasts, your jaw. He gets to go from making almost inhumane noises that make their way out from the back of his throat each time you clench around him to whining into the valley of your breasts when he finally finishes inside—filling you with hot, thick ropes of white while he mumbles little praises into your skin
Luke Castellan makes sure that he brought your softest pair of pajamas for you when he’s finally finished with you. Only after he helps you into the bath, of course, since he definitely got a little too overexcited and bent your leg up a little too far. The hotel room has a nice bathroom with pretty tiles, soft towels, and soaps that smell better than most perfumes you’ve ever tried. He clings to you in the bath, and while both of you get ready for bed. He sighs out contently when you’re both finally in the plush bed, engulfed in hotel blankets. He tucks you against his chest so that his chin can hook over the crook of your shoulder, so he can whisper “g’night, babe,” right into your ear.
Jason Grace agonizes over Valentine’s Day. He goes to Piper for advice because she’s a daughter of Aphrodite, but she just laughs at him and tells him to watch some romcoms. He does, and that gives him some sort of idea of what to do for you. He isn’t used to seeing couples celebrate anything, really. He tells you to come over to his apartment for a little surprise, for something small and informal. He would rather have spent the whole day with you, spent every waking moment with his hand glued to yours and your hips practically attached, but he had to set up.
Jason Grace doesn’t necessarily make it a big event. He’s never been a fan of making a big deal out of things, and neither are you. He makes Valentine’s Day with you a small, intimate thing—a sweet little something wrapped in tenderness and infused with compassion. You come around to his apartment in the late afternoon, and he has it all set up. He got little paper lanterns and spent the whole day cutting out paper hearts to tape up on the usually plain walls of the main room. He almost lit tea lights, but then didn’t because he thought it would be too much of a fire hazard.
Jason Grace makes your favorite for an early dinner. He made the recipe four times this past week so that it would be perfect when you actually came over. It wasn’t, but he looked so nervous when he set the plate down in front of you that you didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was overcooked. It didn’t matter, though, because with the plate of food came a card that he made himself. It was small and purple with little pink hearts that he cut out from construction paper. On the inside, he went on and on about how he never thought that he would be lucky enough to have someone like you, to have someone who cared enough to stay with him the way that you did. The bouquet was small and tasteful—it had him rambling through some explanation about what certain flowers meant when they were certain colors, and soon enough, the two of you were going back and forth with anecdotes from your day, and you laughed so hard you almost choked on your food.
Jason Grace uses that as an excuse to give you his real present. It’s a dainty chain bracelet with a small charm that jingled just a little bit when he fastened it around your wrist. The charm was flat and had numbers stamped on it that he explained were the latitude and longitude of your first date. It was the place where he had brought you to have a picnic with whatever food he could find that you had ever mentioned liking before. He got your favorite crackers, a cheese that you mentioned once, and then prayed to his father that you would like the rest of what he had gotten. It was your first ever date together, and he immortalized it in finery that matched the rest of your jewelry. You loved it.
Jason Grace ends up loving the present that he got you more than you do. Mostly because of how it looks glistening in the low light of his bedroom when you ride him that night. He almost succumbed to temptation and let it happen on the couch—but the blinds were open, and besides, he has a plan. So he murmurs a quick “jus’ gimme a second—” while he hauls you up, letting your legs wrap around his waist, while he carries you to his bed. It was Valentine’s Day, and he wasn’t going to let you fuck him in his living room. He has standards, thank you very much.
Jason Grace acts as if all of his brain cells died at the same time when you asked him if he liked the set he found when he took off your clothes—you picked this set out because it was the same color blue as his eyes—which gave you an opening to get on top of him. He let you, of course—he would let you do anything. You wrapped your arms around his neck, propping your elbows up on his shoulders while his own hands gripped your waist to help you move. It doesn't take long for your pace to turn brutal, for his words to start slurring together while you grind your hips against his, while you whisper “mhm, don’t worry, Jase—you’re doin’ so good,” into his ear just to hear him groan into your skin and feel his hips jerk up into yours at the praise.
Jason Grace buries his face between your tits, pressing kiss after kiss into your skin where the blue lace met your flushed chest, whining punched out little “love you—fuck—you’re perfect, s’perfect,” every time you sank back down on him. When you lean back just enough to take your chest away from his face, just to push your hair out of your face, he whimpers in protest. But that doesn't stop the way his pupils dilate when he sees the bracelet he gifted to you catch the light of his bedroom, it doesn't stop the way that he was still able to hear the small tinkling of the charm as you ran your hand through your hair, pushing the strands off your sweat-slicked skin.
Jason Grace melts into a puddle by the time the two of you were done. His face flushed like he just finished running up five flights of stairs, and his hands were trembling like he just finished sparring for the first time. All he can muster out in response to your “all right, Jase?” is a shaking sigh and a nod into your collarbone. It makes a giggle bubble up, out of your mouth, and you cup his face with your hands so you can press a sweet little kiss to the scar above his lip. He just looks up at you with half-lidded, glazed-over eyes as if he were about to start crying. He tucks you closer to him and wraps himself around you, blinking up at you like he was a slow loris and you were his favorite tree branch.
Jason Grace asks you to give him the BE-FAST test because he isn’t entirely sure he didn’t have a stroke while you fucked him. It’s obvious that he didn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from not letting you leave his bed just yet. You’re still warm and soft, and you smell just like your perfume mixed perfectly with him. He can’t stop pressing kiss after kiss to the bottom of your jaw, to your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast—anywhere he could reach. The second that both of you catch your breath, and he's convinced himself that he didn't have a stroke, he asks if you wanna do that again.
Leo Valdez has been asking you to be his Valentine since February first. At first, in all honesty, it seemed like a joke—like he was just trying to get a rise out of you, like it was a bit that he was trying to double down on. He asked you the moment that he saw you on February first. He rushed the words out, too, so instead of “Will you be my Valentine?” It sounded more like a recording being sped up to make it sound like cartoon animals.
Leo Valdez keeps asking you to be his Valentine until you say yes. And you don’t say yes until the last minute. You don’t say yes until February twelfth. The moment that you said yes, he practically bolted away from you, like the two of you were magnets with the same poles facing each other. He quite literally ran away from you. But he was running towards his workbench. He listened to everything you said, the gossip that you whispered to Piper, the complaints you mumbled under your breath when you thought that no one could hear you. Especially those.
Leo Valdez loves to be useful, specifically to you. So, you might be wondering what Leo was so eager to get back to at his workbench? Ever the strategist and romantic, he made you a divine locating necklace. He had heard you grumbling about losing your phone, your favorite bracelet, the patterned scrunchie that your cousin gave to you three summers ago, enough times to know that you needed it. And he made the pendant to be the exact shade of your favorite nail polish color. All you would have to do is close your hand over the pendant and speak outloud whatever it is you’ve been trying to find, but can’t. It’s the kind of metal that doesn’t tarnish and won’t turn your skin green—so that way you don’t have to take it off, and you’ll never lose it.
Leo Valdez keeps the actual date part pretty simple. A dinner that he knows you’ll like, and cheesy music that he knows that he likes, and you scrunch your face up with second-hand embarrassment. He did that on purpose because he loves that face you make, he loves the way that your eyes get a little brighter, the way your nose crinkles, and your lips turn up like you just heard the worst joke to ever exist, but you’re trying to be super polite about it.
Leo Valdez has a goal of kissing that scrunched up look off of your face by the end of the night. And he does. Just without kissing your face, that is. You know it’s coming by the way he starts to look at you across the table, eyelids blinking just a little bit slower, his teeth coming out to bite just a little at his bottom lip. He almost comes off as impatient when he asks you, “You’re done eating, right?” And practically drags you to the bed. In all honesty, you’re lucky you made it to the bed because he would have settled for staying on a dining room chair.
Leo Valdez spends much too long licking and sucking your pussy through your panties. Or at least that’s what you thought at the moment. Sure, maybe he was just a bit too excited to taste you that he couldn’t wait to pull your panties off, he already had to wait for you to eat dinner, to open your present from him, to get all the way to the bed, and to hike up the dress you wore. And, yeah, maybe the ends of his hair, that unruly mass of dark brown curls, were kind of just a little bit on fire. The tips of some of his curls were glowing with what one could only assume were embers. Neither of you noticed. Really, you could say that he had the patience of a saint when he finally did slide the ruined fabric down your thighs, peeling it away from where your pussy was soaked with his spit and you.
Leo Valdez is a wreck before he even gets you to cum on his tongue. He’s whining into you while his fingers work you open, sending vibrations up your spine, he’s twisting his wrist and curling his fingers like it’s his god-given talent, and for fuck’s sake it might actually just be. Your thighs tremble around his head, and that just eggs him on. When you choke out his name, almost a sob but not quite, almost a moan but not really. Somewhere in between. But when you do that, he can’t help but rut into the mattress, his hips moving involuntarily as he just goes faster, as he pushes his fingers in even further—relishing in the way that you squeal his name just right when you cum on his face.
Leo Valdez finishes in his boxers while you finish on his face, his hips rutting into the bed like it was you, all because of the pretty little noises you made for him. While that wasn’t necessarily a part of his plan, he was able to work with it. He held you afterwards, whispering those sweet nothings into your hair while trying to make it sound like his voice wasn’t just as shaky as yours was while he rubbed circles between your shoulderblades. The cuddling turned into one of your legs wrapped around his waist and the other tossed up, over his shoulder, but this time he was rutting into you and not the mattress.
Leo Valdez helps you into the shower afterwards. He scrubs your hair, rubs at the knotted muscles of your shoulders, and presses tender kisses to the back of your neck. His slender fingers were able to thread through your hair, putting in your usual products even more methodically than you. And by the time that you doze off, tucked against his chest, your nose buried right into his collarbone, he smiles to himself because he did kiss that scrunched up look right off your face, and you didn’t complain about the music either.
Frank Zhang thought that he had the perfect Valentine’s Day planned for the two of you. He had been thinking about it since the middle of January, after all. But that seemed to be his mistake—he was thinking about it. He kept telling himself that he should make a list, maybe write down a few dates that he could use to make sure he stayed on track and was able to get everything that he imagined without rushing. He did do that, sort of. By the beginning of February, he already had a card, a stuffed bear, and fuzzy socks. Because he was done so early, that just left him to ruminate over what he had gotten you.
Frank Zhang panic buys balloons, candy, and chocolate, Valentine’s Day themed snacks, Valentine’s Day themed crafts, if it was visible in the season section at the store, he probably at least picked it up to give it a once over. It was two days before the fourteenth when he decided to put all of the things together, and he realized it was too much. Not only was it too much, but it was also incredibly generic! Almost nothing but the card was personal. He knew better than that. He knew that he knew better than that.
Frank Zhang gets his head straight when he takes a moment to breathe, and he returns more than half of the things that he bought. He goes back to shopping, back to square one, but this time, with specifics in mind. He goes to that little jewelry store in the mall, the one that’s tucked away in the back corner on the ground floor that you always stop to peek into. It was the one with the display case of earrings that made you point and aggressively whisper at him, as if the fact that these pieces of jewelry existed should have been a state secret.
Frank Zhang walks into that jewelry store and buys you the perfect pair of earrings. The shape of them is unique enough to not look like just any pair of earrings, but not bulky enough for them to weigh down your ears, so the weight isn’t just a bit too noticeable when you wear them. The gemstones are the same colors as your eyes; that’s why he picked them. He doesn’t let the store wrap the box; he wants to do that himself. He wraps the little jewelry box for you with the prettiest paper and bows that he can find, all your favorite colors, even though Valentine’s Day tends to have its own color scheme.
Frank Zhang doesn’t return the crafts, though. When you come over, he is ready. The kitchen counter is set up to make not just pizzas, but heart-shaped pizzas, because if he can do anything, it’s stick to a theme. Your favorite romcom is already paused on the tv. The two of you make your heart-shaped pizzas while the movie plays in the background. He doesn’t mean to, but he basically gives you a speach when he hands you the jewelry box—it started off as an “I love you so much, you’re the most important person to me,” and ended eight minutes later with him talking about how the metal that the earrings were made with was hypoallergenic and the gemstones were ethically sourced.
Frank Zhang starts to flush when you start to look at him like that, like you want to take a bite out of him—even after you finished your pizza. It’s something about the way your eyes get a tad darker, your smile just a bit sharper, your laugh looser. It makes heat crawl up the back of his neck, and his pants get too tight for a special occasion that's supposed to have sentimental value. You’re the one who suggests that instead of sitting at the table, you two get comfortable on the couch. Who is he to refuse you when he feels like he’s being eaten alive by your eyes?
Frank Zhang really couldn’t help the strangled whine that fights its way out of his throat when you press your perfect, perfect lips to the tip of his cock. It was already leaking and flushed for you—it had been since you looked at him like that thirty minutes ago at the table. It was barely even a kiss, more of just a graze of your lips to the pearlescent beads that leaked from him than anything else. Just the air from your exhale had him shuddering out a shaky “you really don’t have—oh shi—” With just a gentle lick from his base to the head had him screwing his face up together and trying not to whimper.
Frank Zhang apologizes every time you gag on him. His hand goes to cover his own mouth, as if his own pleasure could somehow disturb you while you were on your knees for him. You only have to blink up at him through red-rimmed eyes and teary lashes for him to stop covering his mouth. You can tell when he’s close because his shoulders start to tremble—that’s when your own hands have to smooth down his thighs, to coax his mind to let go, to feel good about being pleasured by his girlfriend. He finishes down your throat with a noise that sounds like it’s from a wounded animal.
Frank Zhang only notices that he started crying when he hauled you back up onto his lap, and you wiped them off of his cheeks with a touch so gentle it almost threw him off balance. He isn’t offended when you rinse your mouth out with water because holy fuck—you literally just swallowed his cum, and that thought alone was enough to have him twitching against your thigh. But, he did insist that the two of you have to complete one craft together because he did buy them. The two of you make it through half of a craft and a quarter of a new romcom before he just carries you to the bed with your legs wrapped around his waist.
Liv Yaps: okay... so... idk idk idk !!! thank u sm to @vicariousandvain and to @trflgar bc lowkey u two motivated me to actually get this done and have it posted for valentines day instead of after valentines day haha. the idea was for it to be small little blurbs, like three paragraphs each... that is not what happened and it's too late for me to make all separate posts. i fear that i was rushing with leo and frank so their's are a bit short... and i also has such a hard time writing for everyone except luke and jason so yeah... enjoy !! and tbh i pulled that whole divine locating necklace bit out of my ass but like... i want that, can someone make that for me pls. all of these fics are made possible to the vitamin string quartet's covers of fall out boy, paramore, and mcr... that's the only reason that this posts exist i think
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝓙.𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 : Early nights in white sheets.
♡. 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐬 : You and Jason have been together for a few months, but he's not very good in bed. He does a lot of research to give you a mind blowing time!
Jason Grace had always been the type to overthink everything, from sword fights to the way he tied his sneakers. It wasn't that he lacked confidence— hell, he'd faced down monsters without flinching— but when it came to you, things got oh! so messy in his head.
You'd been together for months now, a whirlwind of kisses and late-night talks, but sex? That was still new territory. Jason was a virgin before you; his life was packed with quests and duties to explore much else.
And you? You were the one who'd gently pulled him into it, showing him the ropes— or rather, the sheets— on those rare nights when the world let him take a breathe.
It started simple.
The first time, in the dim glow of his cabin, you'd straddled him, guiding his hands to your hips as you sank down onto his cock. Jason's eyes had widened, his breath hitching at the feeling of your pretty cunt clenching.
He was thick— impressively so, the kind of girth that stretched you in ways that made your toes curl— but he didn't know what to do with it !
He laid there, mostly passive, letting you set the pace while he gripped the bedframe like it was his lifeline. You rode him slow, feeling him throb inside you, but it was all instinct for him, no rhythm and definitely no drive.
You'd come, sure, grinding against him until the pressure built and shattered, but Jason? He finished pathetically quick, spilling outside with a groan that sounded half-apologetic. Afterward, he'd hold you close, whispering how amazing you felt, but you could see the frustration in his eyes. He wanted to be better for you.
That became the pattern.
Jason underneath, you on top, controlling the ride. He'd thrust up sometimes, tentative, his hands roaming your breasts or ass, but it was always you leading.
You didn't mind— his eagerness was endearing, and that thick dick of his filled you up just right. He even thrusted up into you with all the enthusiasm of a guy desperate to please from time to time, but it was pretty much always the same: quick, predictable, leaving you satisfied but not exactly screaming. You'd come, no doubt, but he knew it wasn't fireworks for you.
Little did you know, Jason was already plotting his redemption arc !
Starting with asking Leo for a laptop without dying of embarrassment in the attempt... Anyways! Once he got it, he immediately started investigating.
It was as innocent as it could be.
One night, after you'd left his cabin with a kiss, Jason couldn't shake the frustration gnawing at him. He was built like a god— tall, broad-shouldered, with that chiseled jaw and a body honed from years of discipline in the roman legion— but in bed, he felt like a rookie fumbling the ball.
So, alone in the dim glow of his new laptop, he dove in. Porn first, the kind with titles promising "mind-blowing technique" and close-up shots of couples who looked like they were inventing new laws of physics. Then articles, forums, even a dog-eared book on anatomy he'd swiped from a roadside library box because he knew that pornography was not a reliable source for pleasing a woman..
He watched how guys used their mouths, their hands, the way they'd build tension instead of rushing to the end. Jason took notes while his cock hardened because he imagined practicing on you. He wanted to erase that look of polite pleasure from your face and replace it with something raw, something that made you cry of pleasure.
Now, here you were again, grinning as you tugged at the hem of your shirt.
"Missed you," you say, your voice so soft. How could Jason deny you anything?
Jason swallowed. "Mh, yeah? We saw eachother at breakfast."
He adjusted his glasses, but you were already closing the distance, your hand brushing his arm.
"But I can miss my boyfriend," your hands slided under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his abs.
And like that the clothes disappeared after some kisses.
You pushed him down gently, like always, straddling his hips. Jason's cock was already hard, thick and straining against your thigh, a detail he'd always been shy about, never knowing how to wield it beyond the basics.
You guided him inside you, sinking down slowly, and he groaned, hands gripping your waist. It was familiar: you riding him, setting the pace, your pussy clenching around his length as you ground against him. He thrusted up awkwardly at first, overthinking the angle, but the heat built anyway, your moans filling the room.
"Ah.." you breathed, rolling your hips, chasing that edge he could never quite push you over.
Yet tonight, something shifted. As you leaned forward, breasts brushing his chest, Jason's hands tightened—not in surrender, but in resolve.
He'd watched those videos, read the guides: how to make it about her pleasure first! His mind usually raced with the pressure to perform, but this time, it fueled him.
With a sudden surge, he flipped you both, his weight pinning you to the mattress. You gasped, surprised, your legs parting instinctively as he settled between them.
"Jason? What—"
He didn't answer right away, his face flushed, those blue eyes dark with determination. Instead, he kissed down your neck, nipping at your collarbone, then lower, tracing the curve of your breast with his tongue.
You arched, expecting him to slide back inside, but he kept going, lips trailing over your stomach, hands spreading your thighs wide.
His breath ghosted over your pussy, already slick from riding him, and your breath hitched. He'd never done this—never even hinted at it. Oral? That was unknown territory for him, something he'd jerked off to in secret, imagining your taste but too embarrassed to ask.
"Jason, you don't have to—" But his mouth was there before you could finish, tongue flicking tentatively against your clit.
It was clumsy at first, a hesitant lap, but then he remembered the videos: circles, pressure, the flat of the tongue. He pressed in, licking a broad stripe up your folds, tasting you fully for the first time. You moaned, loud and unrestrained, your fingers threading into his blond hair.
Because, holy shit, he had never done this before. Not once in all your relationship had he gone down on you; it was always hands or his cock, quick and to the point. But now? He was doing it, actually eating you out, his inexperience showing in the way he paused to adjust, but God, it felt good.
He grew bolder, sucking your clit between his lips, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. One hand braced on your thigh, the other slid up, two fingers teasing your entrance before pushing inside and curl them, seeking that spot he'd read about, the one that made women squirm.
You bucked against his face, the dual sensation— his tongue swirling, fingers pumping— sending sparks up your spine.
"Fuck, Jason," you talked between moans, your voice breaking. "Where did you learn this?"
It was messy— his chin glistened with your arousal, his breaths coming in hot puffs against your inner thigh and his cheeks red.
"I- I read about it. Online. In those... you know." He looked up at you, vulnerable but earnest, fingers still buried deep, stroking slowly. "Am I doing it right? Does it feel good?"
You could barely form words, pleasure coiling tight in your core. Instead of answering, you grabbed the back of his head, guiding him back down firmly.
"Keep going. Don't stop." Your voice was a command wrapped in a plea, and he obeyed, diving in with renewed focus.
His tongue worked faster now, alternating flicks and sucks, while his fingers thrusted deeper, hitting that ridge inside you with each curl. The pressure was building, relentless, with your hips grinding against his mouth as he devoured you.
You'd always taken the lead before, riding him to your satisfaction, but this— him taking care of you, learning on the fly— was intoxicating. His thick fingers stretched you sososoo damn right, slick with your arousal, and when he added a third, scissoring gently, you cried out, the fullness pushing you closer.
It built so fast, that orgasm, hotter and more intense than anything Jason had given you before. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets, and you shattered, whimpering his name as waves of pleasure crashed over you.
Your pussy clenched around his fingers, pulsing, and he didn't let up, licking you through it until you were shaking, oversensitive and boneless.
When he finally lifted his head, lips swollen and shiny, he looked triumphant. "Was that okay?"
You pulled him up, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.
"More than okay. That was fucking incredible."
Your hand wrapped around his cock, still rock-hard and throbbing, the thick length pulsing in your grip. Precum beaded at the tip, and you stroked slowly, intending to reward him— climb on top again and let him feel you milk him dry. But Jason shook his head, a small smile breaking through his flush.
"Not this time." He caught your wrist, gently but firm, and pushed you back down, his body covering yours once more.
You laughed, breathless, as he positioned himself. "Bossy now?"
He didn't respond with words, just nudged the flushed, angry tip of his cock against your entrance, still sensitive from your climax.
He'd never known how to use his size before— thrusting too shallow or erratic, leaving you wanting. But right now, guided by all that secret studying, he pushed in slow and deep, inch by thick inch, filling you completely.
You moaned, legs wrapping around his waist, the stretch delicious after his fingers.
He started moving, hips rolling with purpose, not the hesitant pumps from your other encounters. Each thrust kissed your cervix with that swollen tip, a deep, insistent pressure.
"God, you're so tight," he muttered, voice rough, with his forehead pressed to yours. He adjusted his angle, pulling back almost out before slamming in, the head of his dick dragging right over your g-spot.
You gasped, nails digging into his back, the spot-on hit sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He'd read about it, watched the diagrams— how to angle for the maximum pleasure— and fuck, it worked. Every stroke targeted it, building that pressure again, faster than before.
Jason's rhythm steadied, his weight pinning you a bit as his hands braced on either side of your head. Sweat slicked his skin, his glasses fogging slightly as he fucked into you, harder now, the bed creaking under the force.
Your pussy gripped him like a vice, wet and hot, and he groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Feels so good— you feel so good."
He was still overthinking a little—you could see it in the way his brows furrowed—but it only made him more attentive, hips snapping with precision, chasing your reactions.
When you clenched around him, he hit that spot again, relentless, the thick base of his cock grinding against your clit with each hilt-deep thrust. You were lost in it, your body arching to meet him, the coil tightening impossibly fast.
"Jason— right there, don't stop."
He didn't, couldn't, pounding into you with a focus that bordered on fierce, his cock stretching and filling every inch. The room filled with the slap of skin and your shared breaths ragged.
He reached down, thumb finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles like he'd practiced in his mind from those videos. It was too much—the deep kisses to your cervix, the G-spot hammering, the added friction—and you shattered, your orgasm crashing in waves, pussy spasming around his thick length.
He followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, tip pressed flush against your depths as he came. Hot spurts filled you, a creamy rush that leaked out around him.
That was also new; the coming inside thing, but you were so fucke out and happy you didn't even care.
Jason collapsed half on you, both of you slick and spent, his cock twitching inside as the aftershocks rippled through.
For a moment, you just lay there, catching your breath, his head on your chest. Then he lifted up, pushing his glasses back into place with a sheepish grin.
"I... I wanted to get it right this time."
"You did more than right. That was heaven." You traced a finger along his jaw, smiling.
No more frustration or overthinking shadows. Jason Grace, the guy who'd never touched a girl before you, had leveled up. And damn if it didn't make you crave the next sex session already.
But as you drifted, sated and warm, Jason murmured against your skin, "Think I need more practice?"
You smirked, nipping his ear. "Only if you're volunteering." He laughed, the sound light, and for the first time, he didn't doubt the answer.
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
on the scale of 1 to 10, how much can they match your freak?
— including.ᐟ Percy Jackson, Jason Grace, Leo Valdez, Frank Zhang.
— warning.ᐟ fem! reader, cunnilingus, body worshipping, edging, literally since all of them ends in a cliffhanger, praises, petnames (just baby though), swearing and profanity, but this is tumblr so..., SLIGHT size kink on Jason's part, phone call smash, masturbating, overstimulation, dirty talk, specified relationship, all of them are aged up!
— word count.ᐟ 5.9k
— a.n.ᐟ first fic on tumblr dot com! Sorry if Percy's part's too short... also had a lot of fun writing for Frank on this one! And can you tell I have a favorite?
「 ✦ Percy Jackson ✦ 」
Too focused on doing his hero duties, being the gods errand runner and all that has lessen your sexual activities with your boyfriend. He always discourages you from thinking any negative about his rowdy schedule and always ensure a brief make out before Chiron would call him. It doesn't bother you though, because you know by how he keeps texting you at night—via a smartphone the Hephaestus kids just made—he's not fine with the shits that's thrown at him either.
It'll always start with him checking you in, a few jokes and banter typed in, then it eventually ends up with you playing with your own squelching intimacy as he listens to every sound with a call. Every gasp from your mouth when he'd tell you just how he would handle if you if he's there instead. Every drip that your pussy floods when he's barely holding himself together. Every cry that slips out of your sweet lips coaxes him to abandon his studies and reach for his pants instead. Finger eagerly releasing his pants just before his hardening cock springs out, squirting tiny spurts of whites against his finding nemo t-shirt.
"Shit," he curses under his breath, and your back arches just when he lets a chuckle slips out, "You doing good there? Are your fingers better than mine?"
He'd say that, and when you just shakily whisper out a quiet no, you could practically imagine his crooked stupid grin. His own ragged breath matches yours, though it's clear that your moans and pleas are music to his ears than any of the rock bands on his room's wall could be.
Maybe your pussy might sing a little better than you do. He's observant enough to catch every filthy slaps and how your pussy sings just a much heavenly squeal with your whimpers. Fuck, maybe he should record the call in case he ever gets these nights again.
So yeah, based on that quip, Percy Jackson's a total 8.5 to match your heinous freak. It's pretty high for a boy who spends his sleeps wearing cartoon pajamas. You even sarcastically mocked at his choice of fashion when your first slept together, well—he quickly proved you wrong by shoving your face in his shark pillows and slam your cervix each time he pounds in behind your back. You weren't complaining, never with him. Cause he'd give you a thousands of munch to your raw and swollen pussy right after as an apology. Determined to make your pussy sing better than you.
「 ✦ Jason Grace ✦ 」
It's no secret that Jason Grace is good at leading; how his voice would lower into that authoritative tone when he's in battle, how his eyes seems to inject the graphic of lightning itself in the irises, how his brow would furrow slightly, and how the air changes to a steady flow that faintly circles his steps. That's the same Jason that appears when's all he's all buried in your deep, warm pussy.
To be real, he's not that clingy or thirsty eyes when you're outside in the day. But when you do catch him slip up one time, you waste no time to take the opportunity to confront each time he done it. Each time his gaze lingers slowly on your chest while you adjust your armor, each time his finger twitch when you're all sweaty after practice—light eyes suspiciously too fixated on how a sweat dribbles down past your armor. And he's already imagining on how lucky it is to be that useless dew of sweat to be able to kiss you pretty cleavage.
Because one thing about Jason Grace? He doesn't voice out his opinions immediately (unfortunately). And he'd definitely feel awkward about dreaming you in such position under the clear sun.
Of course, you decide to confront him today.
The talks of schedules, impromptu tournaments, and quest are filling up the room as Jason discuss with other campers. Right in the big house, you tug his sleeve. And Jason abandon all of his chatter when glances to you. Not even Mr. D's rantings are audible when you demand for his attention. He's a weak man when it comes to you. Though his expectation about your intentions are purely curious.
So he follows you right outside, thinking about how you probably want to talk about the crowd of sticky notes plastered all over your desk in the cabin. About the simplified notes of your school subjects that are served like a Michelin star on it. He's hoping to help you through your academic comeback during this year. While he believes you're smart, well, anyone smart must need someone as their assistant, right?
"You just need to repay me by acing that grades." He intents to say that as soon as you're between the bushes, though some harpies and demigods who doesn't have their own love life are trying too hard not to glance at you both. Jason's all ready to puff up his chest and smile the widest on his cheeks as he explains the reason for all the study bazaar in your room.
That is not what you called him for.
"Oh, no," he clears his throat just after a saliva got stuck in his own throat, "No, I mean..." his foot shifts to the other, breaking away your eye contact, "Are you uncomfortable with it? If I looked at you like that?"
Not really, you think.
So that explains the whole chronological order of how you are now getting your cervix smashed while desperately holding onto the crumpled bedsheet underneath. His hands are splayed on the either side your hips, locking you down as if you'd run away from his grasp when his bulbous cock is all the way in your tight heat. Making a transparent bulge in your abdomen that he can't help but shudder at the sight.
Your legs are cradled around his waist, diminishing any distance that doesn't involve you gasping and writhing your claws to paint a delicious painting on his back. As testament on how good he's getting your pussy to open up and take him in. Almost like he's pushing to shape your squelching walls based on the shape of his cock—that you almost swear you could not fit in earlier.
Well, it's not Jason if he doesn't usher you sweet praises and kisses all over your tears while he quite literally wrecks your senses to oblivion. His glasses are fogged up, sketching a hint of restraint on the lenses. He's trying so hard not to overwhelm you, really. But when your moans are the only sound filling this room and you're in front of him, all needy and wet—he just couldn't help it.
Besides, he trusts you more than anything to drop his guard and love you so good. Your cries are wanton, and you feel hazy with all the blood gathering in your walls—coaxing more fluids from your pussy that sucks him in with impeccable tightness. Every exhale of his mouth that hits your own almost feels like an unspoken language only the both of you understand. You see the clench of his jaw, how his hips are moving with a tremble like he's holding back.
So you tap his shoulder, just before caressing your hand on the flesh, "Jason," you inhale, "Faster."
"You're sure?" he croaks, the sound so vulnerable, "I'm not hurting you, aren't I?" his lips are agape, eyes wide behind his glasses as if he's searching for any hidden discomfort in your face.
You're not, though.
A sigh left his mouth, a long and trembling one. You crooked a smile when you witness how slowly his facade crumbles, just in the face of your sweet and clenching heat. Though that grin on your face? Gone just right as his one sharp piston hit the weakest spot inside, your freaking g-spot.
He doesn't to be willing to let you breathe and adjust to the sudden impact, because all you know by now is how good he's making you fly—wait, fly?
You could feel your hips raised up with your legs on top of his shoulders, what's abnormal is the fact that your back is raised from the sheets too. Your eyes immediately widens at the realization, but he does another thing that made you realize just how much of a freak he's hiding from you.
His glasses are placed upon your brow, and its lenses doesn't take too much time to blur when his breath are mingling on your face. Especially when he jolts your body by another one of his slam and startles the glasses to jump slightly.
And you could swear a low, "Fuck." could be heard from his line. Alongside a crooked smile on his cheeks.
Yeah, you should double check his purity test and see if it goes up to 7.5 now.
「 ✦ Leo Valdez ✦ 」
Leo freaking Valdez. Being a freak is his zodiac sign, his MBTI type, or whatever personality tests both of you take in leisure times. That should be no surprise to anyone, really.
It's deep in winter season; crystal falls like seeds that rain during pollination, and the air is crisp with jolly and hot chocolate's smoke. In your case? The only thing hot is the chocolate who's nuzzling his cheek to your neck. A blanket is splayed on your shoulders, enveloping you both like a cocoon.
It's understandable if getting down is the least on your mind at times like these. But knowing Leo...
It seems like he's determined not to pay attention to the movie you're watching right now. Courtesy of the TV screen that he stole from the Hermes Cabin (which is an impossible mission anyway). Usually, during these times, you'd play your favorite or absolute defect musicals, nothing in between. Sometimes, you'd have a bet on who could sing best of the songs from the theatrics (which you both sing horribly). The reward? Kisses and make out and cuddles until night.
"Leo." you warn, tapping his knuckles where he takes that as a sign to intertwine both of your hands instead. Which is ... not what you want but you're not complaining about that specific physical touch currently.
"Hmm, yeah?" his reply is one of that very raspy and lazy voices. It makes sense since you only got to interrupt his all night working (probably more than a night) today. The only sound coming out of his mouth is a sigh and whimper—which you're not sure where that comes from. That must be from exhaustion, right?
Wrong, because now he's slipping his hand right under your shirt.
"Leo!" a startled inhale escapes your throat, and you jump slightly in your position. That encourages him to curl his arms around your waist tighter, bringing you much closer than before.
"You said," he exhales, shifting in his seat to press a gentle kiss on your fluttering pulse. His hot breath is all over your skin, and the heater shaped as a cake in front of you might not be needed when he's the definition of flame itself.
"You said I should take my rest." Leo repeats, finally pulling away from hiding space to look up at you. His brows are scrunched together in an almost desperate image, his pupils are slowly dilating, and he puffs his cheek as if he's not a grown man currently, "So shouldn't I take a rest inside you?"
Then his eyes trails down, specifically to your thighs that are crossed right now, "Or maybe..." his tongue juts out to hydrate the dry lips, "What do they say? That it's better to eat first before sleeping?"
You're pretty sure it's the opposite.
"I've never heard of that—"
Your words are quick to fade down just like how the noises from Highschool Musical The Musical in your TV has gone to hollow. Blurry and static to your ears. Reason? Leo is quick as a bolt to sweep over all the stuffs on the desk, some tools are clanging against each other (which you're sure some are flammable). Even the makeshift heater displayed as a cake lets out a 'GAME OVER!' ring tone when it fell down.
There goes your beautiful popcorns too. And to Troy Bolton who is now going to witness something not very high school musical...
"Get on the desk." he says, almost like a breathless plea.
You do get on the desk.
His light honeyed eyes rakes over your form when you sits just upright the desk. He almost feels like a man who just got his Christmas present, or maybe a devout man who just witnessed his goddess for the first time.
"If I knew I could have you like this," his hand traces faint touches to your bare foot. Voice too reverent to fit for someone who just exploded a whole toaster earlier. "I'd ask you to pull me away from that toaster a lot sooner." his gaze meets you, and he really wants to watch your reaction when he lifts one of your foot and bring his lips to your midriff.
That brings a surprised stunt on your face.
A shaky exhale tumbles out of his lips like he just found an equation for his automatons. Though this is different. You're you and you're definitely made from more than just physics theories and equations. His lips are splattering tender kisses across your shin, each one a silent prayer and praises.
Leo flutters his eyes close, lashes brushing against your skin when he trails much higher. This time, with each kiss, he mutters a small quote, "Beautiful." and also, "So sweet." which you're more confused with the last prefer, are there any scientific proofs on thighs having a sweet taste?
Time to throw away all rational thoughts. Because one thing about Leo Valdez? Is that his words can pretty much nonsensical.
"Why have you been hiding this from me all the time?" he shudders. While you don't exactly agree with his accusation. He literally already ate you out when you know nothing but the fact that it's eight in the morning, and he's under the covers in your shared bed.
Oh well, told you to throw away all your logic when you're with him. Especially if he's needy.
Leo stops his mouth on your knee, he leaves one open mouthed kiss on the spot just before his hand splays over your other thigh. Slowly, he pushes your thighs apart—revealing a scenery of dessert that he's been craving ever since you got in the bunker looking all pretty. Which you technically are everyday.
"And this?" He laughs out loud, the sheer excitement carving a smile on his cheeks before he looks up to you, "You might as well not wear any panties coming right here." he points out, referring to your choice of clothes where you're not wearing any pants and only a baggy sweater (his sweater, by the way) to shield your body from the cold.
And as if he's not enough on bullying you—his fingers moves over to play around the waistband of your panties, pulling it and snapping it. "Not that I'm complaining." he notes, voice evident with that teasing tone, "I know that you're wearing a new one, and don't get me wrong," Leo flings his hands to the air, like a criminal who just got caught robbing a dessert store, "I like—no, love it so much with that little ribbon in the middle and the way your pussy is basically transparent—" he stops when you glare at him.
Though that classic Leo Valdez's grin appears on his lips, all teeth and slight dimples (if you squint hard enough), and it basically paints mischief over the apple of his cheeks. "But you know I'm just gonna rip it off in the end," pause, "Or steal it to keep for myself."
Wait, so that's why your underwear quantities are decreasing miraculously?
Before you could protest, Leo's lips are off your thigh and on your clothed center—the damp fabric is already a delicious taste for his mouth. You could hear an audible moan from him as he presses a kiss and pulls away from your wet panties.
His gaze locks up then, cheeky with that crooked grin and a lick of his tongue. Like he had won the best thing that ever happened to him (and in this case, it's you).
"Don't worry," he mumbles, eyes widening in haze, "I'll buy you a new one."
His mouth is back on your closed pulse, and his teeth tugs lightly on the wet fabric—which accidentally nibbles on one of your folds. That earned a quick gasp out of you.
"Leo." you call out, hands trailing to find anchor just before it tugs to his dark curls. Your pussy is practically sending warning signals to your brain—get it fucked or it might just get swollen and cry alone.
Well, who's to say no when your own brain tells you to get eaten out, right?
"More." you say.
And that's all it takes before he tugs down the panties with only his teeth. Pulling from the waistband while he directs his head down to string it away from shielding your heat any longer. Besides his hands, he's no amateur when it comes to his mouth it looks like. Now you're all bare under, panties halting on your knees, and your drowning heat shivers under the cold snowy air that hits it.
Leo's determined to change that temperature.
"Look at that." he laughs, "She's dripping already."
Did he just refer to your pussy by a subjective pronoun?
His calloused palms moves to your thighs to hold them apart. It doesn't take long seconds for him to press his lips onto your pulsing lips. A sigh immediately cracks out like it's always been natural. His mouth is gentle, but not without a tinge of hunger when he flutters his eyes back open and gaze up to you. Like he's all at your service.
You tug his curls much tighter.
Leo takes that as a sign to suck on your clit, not quite satisfying but enough for a moan to slip out of you. He works his mouth more harder then, using his expert tongue on pressing all over your folds that leaves a squelching sound. Your face shifts into a squirm as his hands draws closer to your heat.
He uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips apart, and the expansion is impactful. Your eyes shots wide, back arching off when the perfect pleasure hits you like a scorching flame. The tip of his tongue flicks over your clit, and only now does he decide to bully it. His lips closes around it, and he finally kisses all the fluids and trembles that your heat emanates. Only giving you a time to breathe just to say, "One kiss and she's already crying."
You'd smack his head if it weren't for his mouth working so good in your intimacy.
Leo dives back in with another whimper of his, and he has no right to sound so cracked when you're the one getting ravished here. His focus is all on your clit for great minutes, determined to reach you over the heights of stars you wouldn't generally see in the night.
This is so much higher.
"Gah!" a gasp finally breaks out like a broken lyre, and your tug turns to a pull so he could dive deeper as if he's swimming through the fucking Mariana Trench. His tongue has curled and slipped into your clenching walls—you could hear a muffled groan below when his tongue just started to trace your hole.
Plump and sticky against your throbbing pulse.
He pulls out of the cavern, heavy breaths dropping from his slick—stained mouth like a lipgloss, literally. Just that it's made specifically from the sour fluids your pussy cried out. His honeyed eyes trails back upwards, almost dilated black from the angle you're viewing him.
"Come on," he breathes, almost delivering it like a plea with how wide his pupils are, "You can give me more, right? Get more nice and sloppy for me?"
Who are you to deny him?
His mouth is back on your fluttering heat when you pushes him back on your own tug. And it seems like the action is just another turn on besides the way your pussy must've felt to his tongue. Like even in this state, you couldn't resist to command him.
Leo may not be good at taking orders from others, but from you? You might as well make him an obedient puppy.
The folds of your pussy are screaming when he bites on it—because holy shit, who the hell goes aggressive at the first foreplay? The bite is sending another arch to your spine, it's not that harsh, but still torturous to your sensitive ache. Then his tongue involves in like he couldn't get enough of you. Swirling past the bitten folds before his thumb brushes against your clit.
Who the fuck ever goes this rough at first foreplay?!
"Ah! Oh, L-Leo—!" you couldn't see clearly with all the pleasure basking in your sight, so you close them instead. Lashes fluttering against your cheek when another loud moan rips out of your throat. Both of his thumbs now moves to spread your pussy lips wider, serving an entrance for his tongue to sliiide in like it's always belonged in your drowning walls. With him basically making out with your pussy, you could feel the slope of his nose brushing against your clit. And it took everything in you not to combust like his exploding mechanics.
And he does all that while whimpering like he's the one being undone right now. The sounds out of him are muffled and high pitched, like he lose all sense of control and just lets his voice pitch to mewl however he wants. He's not ashamed of being loud, it sounds like a perfect duet between him and your squirming lips (both on your face and between your legs).
"Leo, I swear—" you choke out a cry, head thrown to the back as more moans broke out of your throat, "Slow down—" which quickly turns into, "Haaah...! Mmm!"
He does halts. Mouth pulling out with a lewd pop! while his gaze fixates on your ache. He looks like he just got high on hundreds of drugs and drinks. His eyes lingers on the way more pre-cum drips out of your swollen folds, some even spurting out in a small burst.
"What's 252 divided by 7?" his question took you off guard more than the accumulative blood that clenches your muscles when it seeks for stimulation. You look at him wide eyes, like a deer in headlights as your brain processes his words dizzyingly.
"Uh... 36?" you stammers.
A shuddering laugh tumbles out from him right after. His eyes are hooded now, lips peeking flashy whites as the laugh continues on like he just watched Sherman Yang speeding around camp with fire in his pants.
"Smart girl," he coos and the praise goes straight to your impending release.
"But that means," he pokes his finger on your clit, that immediately drives your nails to shape crescent moons on the roots of his curls. His voice is low and breathy when he proclaims, "I haven't treated her good enough," did he just seriously mention your pussy by a subjective pronoun, again?! "That you can still think with your brain," he pecks a small kiss on your folds, "And not with her."
Huh?
He wastes no time to take advantage of your confusion by plunging his middle finger to your startled walls. And if that's not shocking enough? His tongue presses flat on your upper labia. Swirling around your squirming bud as he lets out a guttural moan.
"Ah! Wh-Wha—oh!" you swear you could've seen the starry night and the constellations that decorates them when you feel it. His finger is deft inside you, like he's maneuvering through an engine's hole to fix the correct spot.
That spot is the bundle right at the top of your curved muscles.
Of course it doesn't take a minute for him to find it like the mastermind he is. He doesn't even brush against it, no. He's down bad pressing on it, igniting crackling flames that sparks up all over your veins and shuts off your brain. Your legs are now tied around his head, mushing his cheeks with your trembling thighs when you could only stare dumbly at the ceiling.
He has the audacity to pull out with a chuckle.
A lopsided grin graces his face, all the more frustrating with that low crackle of his voice that seems to spark chills down your spine, "Let's get her ready for something bigger, huh?"
Yeah, something as big as 9.0 inches. Oh wait, is that his dickmeter or is that just the number on how freaky you think he is for you?
「 ✦ Frank Zhang ✦ 」
Frank Zhang is the type of guy who's famous with his bold yet sweet upbringing, he'd always light up the room—not with the usual frightening smoke that circles around children of Mars—Frank's more tamed. He'd bring you some new polished weapons from the forge to your cabin, too sweet with that big smile on his face. Suddenly, it's a must for you to have a duel with him every morning like a maniac. You love him, of course. You'll do anything for him.
But... there are days where you're just not in the mood, and rather much basking in your comfy covers and cold pillows. You know that Frank wouldn't mind, maybe a small downturned smile—but that's all it will. He'd probably knock on your door with a hushed whisper. And when no one comes to abide his entrance? He'd just slump slightly and move on with his own practice, he's respectful like that.
Him busting down your door (and nearly making all the birds turn to your cabin) while looking like he ran all across the long island was not in your morning agenda. Frank—friendly and thoughtful—Zhang wouldn't come to your room, surprising your groggy half awake-half asleep state, and drop to his knees at the corner of your bed.
He'd speak your name softly, as if he hadn't strut in here with rough steps and breathing. It took three calls of your name before he drops his head low and sighs.
That defeated sigh is what gets you up, fluttering your eyes slowly with a low hum. Because as much as you love to fly in your dreams, there are some things that makes it worth to stay on the ground. Him being quiet for example. Not quiet like the kind and awkward quiet that he usually is with you. But quiet like he's prioritizing you over his own needs. That's not how this should work.
"Frank," your word is a dim whisper to the chirps of the birds, "Why are you on the floor? Especially kneeling?" you pushed your elbows to dig onto the mattress, just so you could rest your chin on your palm and take a sight of him more clearly.
If he's mad about you not going to your usual morning practices, shouldn't he be dragging you out of the pillows and not doing this?
"Look," Frank breathes out. Short black locks falling slightly to his upper forehead when he shakes his head, "First of all, I'm not mad about you skipping our practice." he finally peeks upwards to meet your eyes, and there's a way his pupils dilate that makes you frown a tad bit. "So don't get the wrong idea."
He shifts in his kneeling position, his palms holding onto the edge of your bed. And your brows knits even more, your hands are just beside his, why would he hold on to the bed instead of your hands?
"Second of all, did a certain bird left a note on your desk?" he asks nervously, eyes searching for any white objects on the desk across from him.
There is. A folded cream note on your small desk beside the bed. It doesn't look that suspicious at first, but now that he mentioned it...
He'd already grabbed onto your wrist when you attempt to grab the paper. His knee leaves the floor and climbs to the bed, his chest brushing slightly against your arm, and the way his every exhale fans over your neck makes you pause in your move. You know that Frank is excitable and sometimes impulsive, but since when is he hiding things from you out of all people?
"There's nothing there, trust me." he says each word with an emphasis. His eyes are peering down to yours, and there's almost akin to pinning down when it comes to what he's doing with you.
You try to slip out and act faster this time.
"No, no," he grabs your extended arm again, nearly flipping you over to flap your back to the mattress. That makes you realize in your still sleep-induced state, that he is pinning your wrist to the bed and places one knee to the space between your thighs.
"Trust me." he sighs, and you understand the context of this whole situation.
Your hand trails up to reach his own arm, brushing your palm against the muscles of his skin. Slowly, you traverse higher, massaging his beautiful, mouth watering biceps. Even your hand pauses at that area for a moment, feeling the faint veins tensing under your touch.
"Then tell me what's in it." the mutter left your mouth like a soft command. And Frank can't help but perks his ears at the tone.
"It's not—really, it's just a bunch of doodles and—"
"Frank." your hand slips into the space behind his neck, just before you pull him in so he'd stop right in front of your face. A breather away from nuzzling your noses together.
His eyes dilates for a fraction. Suddenly being pulled into a half embrace and stare lovingly into his lovely eyes seems like a perfect method if you ever want to shut off his brain and let his mouth do the thinking.
"I was just—" he pauses, voice uncharacteristically quiet when he clears his throat, "I was in one of those hormonal phase. Like I just dreamt about you this morning and I woke up—well—needing you."
He blinks several times, a nervous gleam evident in his eyes as his mouth presses into a thin line.
You knew it.
"You don't need to keep it to yourself, you know?" your words attracts a shuddering exhale from him.
"Then can I..." he pauses, letting the variables linger in their shared warmth, "Can I take you?" it sounded more like a rhetorical question than a plea.
"I don't know," a cheeky smile curls its way on your lips, your finger twirling around his black locks, "Can you?"
With that, it feels like you just woken up the beast, as corny as it sounds.
His lips crashes to yours in an instant, stealing a sharp gasp from your end, especially when he sucks on your upper lip. His single hand wanders to your waist, brushing his thumb to your shirt without slipping its way underneath the cloth. He'll need your permission first.
"Baby," he exhales in a form that almost sounded like restraint, parting from your lips for a moment before catching your mouth with his own open wide. Brushing his tongue against yours.
You pull your own hand to his calloused palm on your waist, guiding him to touch the flesh underneath willingly.
His mouth shapes into a circular, a shuddering breath escaping his mouth as the kiss turned more open-mouthed and breathy. Like they're sharing air rather than sucking it from each other. His palm is like a touch of arousal to your skin, sending shivers down your spine.
It arouses you even more when the said big palm of his is traversing to the pulsing beat of your heart. Cupping your breast in one single grab. It doesn't help either that your hips presses against one another, brushing your dangerously thumping heat to his own.
Soon enough, your shirt is forgotten quickly on the floor. Your legs are hiked up to wrap around his bare waist, trembling with each dry thrust he pushes when he grinds onto your damp pants. His mouth is still eagerly sucking on your bundle of nerves, even giving a small bite before he moves on to the next breast.
"O-Oh," is all your mouth could utter, shamelessly.
"Gods, how did I get so lucky?" Frank mumbles, most likely to himself. As he is too far in trance when he grinds his hips back to yours, purposely pressing his bulge to your already sensitive center. Each brush is like torture wrapped in bliss, sweet with honey like the groan he slips out when he bites your nipple hard, and hot with spice like the words he whispers to you.
"You wanna know what I wrote in that letter?"
You could only reply in another mewl.
"I dreamed," his hand slides to your thigh, gripping the flesh under his large palm, "Exactly like this. Except..." Frank's mouth parts away from your bundling hard nipple, licking his tongue on it before speaking once again, "I'm handling you, backwards." another thrust to your squealing clothed pussy, "And I'm kissing you all over, from your back to your..." he blushes, as if you weren't the one being violated. His next word is a shudder, "Ass..."
Huh, he says it like you'd be uncomfortable by it.
Well, someone's gotta be the shameless one in this relationship, right?
"Make me come," you say, "And I might let you eat me out from behind."
In the span of seconds, he's ripping off your short pants.
"You can't just say that..." his face is burning red, black eyes dropping hazily while evident exhales are running off from his mouth. The only walls between his cock and your pussy is the pants he has on, and the panties he only left you in. A moan quickly broke out from your throat when you could feel him getting harder. Humping harsher and more desperately—the motion is almost animalistic. You'd think he shape-shifted, especially with his fingers now tugging on your hair.
Your folds are basically translucent to your fabric, highlighting your dripping lips and pulsing clit. It's half parted, like it's been too sensitive ever since he denied your pleasure and focused on his own instead. That relieves you though, at least he allowed himself to be selfish with you.
"How about," his next thrust almost makes you sob into his shoulder, your arms clinging around his muscular and wide back. You could feel every muscle of his tensing when you snap your hips upwards. The bed creaks under you both, and you worry the sound might wake up the dryads slumbering next to your cabin.
"You ride me," the outline of his hard cock presses like a charcoal to an ember, electrifying your body in a harsh arousal as your pussy lips physically squelch against his pants.
"And I might just let you come." Frank smiles against your lips, adding another smoldering snap to your clenching heat before he smashes his lips onto yours.
If you think your boyfriend is still oh so sweet and kind? Maybe you've lost your mind when he cracks your back with a score of 8.0.
