— 💬 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
𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 :: the guys’ reactions to overhearing you say smash when they’re mentioned.
𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 :: percy j. luke c. leo v. jason g. frank z. connor s. travis s. will s.
𝑐𝑤 :: mildly suggestive.
𝑎𝑛 💬 :: i’m drowning in requests, but i wanted to also do some of my own prompts, so here’s this little thing <333 also, poorly proofread :>
— 𝑝ercy 𝑗ackson 🌊
it happened during capture the flag. percy’s exhausted after it all. winner or loser all he cared for was cooling down and hitting the showers. so to say that you, unashamed you btw, just casually mutter smash as he passes by your friend group, allas shirtless; drying his sweat away with the cloth that was covering his abs and back muscles the whole game. “he’s such a smash, i can’t even lie.” to which you’re earned a light smack on the head from your sibling as he turns you away from perce’s now bewildered gaze that just kept looking at you “you’re shameless.” your sibling muttered, pinching his nose bridge. “he looks like a guy from a surfing commercial who works summers as a lifeguard at the beach, and he’s posideon’s son! cut me some slack.” later, as he showered away dirt and sweat from his tanned skin, percy couldn’t help but imagine the said smashing while he let the warm water wash away the knots from his muscles.
— 𝑙uke 𝑐astellan 🗡️
he’s always known he was that guy, okay? sure, he had a tough upbringing. but being one of the best fighters in the camp and a demigod child whose godly parent actually doted on them a lot (for the better or worse), it got a guy some advantage, you know. plus his looks. his brooding bad boy look always reeled admirers in. still, luke didn’t think of that the moment you oh-so-confidently said you’d smash him. “castellan? smash. i’d lick his washboard abs for days on end.” he paused. turning to the voice. his eyes landing on you. a girl known for her…usually closed off nature, now gossiping with your friends about him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “he isn’t even all that.” he saw you roll your eyes as a guy from another cabin butted into the conversation. “and you’re the judge of that…since when?” luke half smirked at your snarky response. finidng your defense of him adorable as he focused back on sparring. he should really give you that ‘licking his abs for days’ chance, huh?
— 𝑙eo 𝑣aldez 🔥
“leo valdez’s such a smash, not gonna lie.” those words made leo pause work with his hammer, lifting his goggled face and looking around. his only possible source landing on you. okay, there were like a bunch of half-bloods walking around his workshop window whilst he was working. but he knew it was you, leo could recognize your voice from a mile away. your sweet, soft, melodic, and mind-melting, boner rising – you get it, voice. a derpy smile made its way onto hephaestus’ son as he admired you walking with your friends to the pavilion. “gosh, princess, i’d smash your cervix if you let me,” he muttered quietly, completely and derpily smitten. which earned a gag from his sibling who was working next to him. “ewww. inside thoughts bro.” “oh, i definitely want to be inside of her, 100%.”
— 𝑗ason 𝑔race ⚡
when jason heard you gushing over him and telling you’d “smash him in a heartbeat,” he didn’t…know it was admiration and gushing. not at all. zeus’ son was convinced you meant smash like hit him, as in you had some beef with him that he had no clue about! it all happened earlier that day, “i’d smash grace in a heartbeat.” you whispered, but unknown to you, he heard, stopping the polishing of his blade completely. which led to now, in the posideon cabin with a laughing percy hitting his shoulder lightly. percy says your name before continuing, “she said smash, yeah?” jason nodded. “jace, she meant like…sexually.” that made the older guy raise a brow “i don’t want to be assaulted.” “no–!” ten minutes later, and jason was confused and flushed in a whole other way. adjusting his glasses and stammering lightly as he turned to posideon’s son. “so, how do i go about this? it’s ungentlemanly to just…take even if she said she would and is offering. i think i should ask her out on a date, or three, before we officially smash, if she’s in the mood to, of course!” oh well, percy was not explaining any further, he just gave the boy another pat before politely kicking him out of his cabin as he felt a migraine coming. “yeah, you go get her, tiger. respectfully, y’know? like: ‘may i slide inith your velveth walls, madam?’ that’ll do it.” “what, perseus, wait–”
— 𝑓rank 𝑧hang 🏹
oh frank, poor frank. he was even more flustered than jason. unlike the son of zeus, zhang knew what the word meant, and his face just lit aflame when he heard you direct it towards him. he was flattered. i mean, he noticed you around a few times and liked how kind you were to him. “zhang’s such a smash, bet he’d just lift me up and we’d do it standing the whole time!” frank nearly chocked on his spit as he heard your words, his brown eyes following the giggly you out of the training area as you left with your just-as-giddy girl friends who were ushering you about how good of a couple the two of you would be! it wasn’t brought up again until you were injured during training a few days later. frank rushed over to you, scooping you up in his arms and getting you to the infirmary. after you were looked over and left alone with him, he mustered up all his courage and said: “now that you saw my strength firsthand while carrying you, still think we could do it standing the whole time?” now it was your turn to become crimson in the face. breath hitching as he leaned in, his opposing figure being so gentle with you in that moment, his lips gently resting on your forehead.
— 𝑐onnor 𝑠toll 🪙
cue to loonytunens heart eyes and practically floating after you before being pulled back by his older brother. though not even travis could get him out of his lovesick delusions, as you, the girl he’s liked and annoyed with his shenanigans since day one, said you’d smash him. sure, it was a bit of a reluctant smash, but conner noticed the way your eyes lingered to him and the blush that coated your cheeks as you noticed him already looking at you. “connor stoll? well, yeah…yeah, i’d smash.” obviously, the reluctance came from a place of uncertainty as he was a notorious prankster and whatnot. but when he overheard you? he felt like he could ascend into space. conner liked liked you, that’s why he teased you the most and always hid your stuff. when your eyes met his heart skipped a beat (or three), and so did his dick ngl. “not now, brother. i need to get l-a-i-d by my g-i-r-l.” was all the younger prankster said before sprinting after you like possessed, slipping as he rounded the corner, before “smoothly” picking himself up and leaning against the cabin as your friends and you turned at the noise. “ladies,” he winked, awkwardly trying to appear cool and calm, “i need to speak to princess, so…” the other girls immediately left, giving you knowing looks as you looked away from him. “ahem…wanna go back to my cabin? i could…give you your stuff back, and a little something extra; as compensation.”
— 𝑡ravis 𝑠toll 🎭
“smash travis stoll?, oh gosh…yeah, yeah i would.” hello mommy. was travis’ immeiate thought as he bit his lower lip in a boyish manner, dimples becoming visible. he suggestively raised his eyebrow at you from across cabin tables during lunch. to which you rolled your eyes, laughing nonetheless as he mouthed “i heard” to which you mouthed back “you suck”. travis stoll was a goner. he always noticed you, rarely even pulling pranks on you because he knew how much of a sensitive soul you were. he always noticed you beating yourself up over the smallest things. and stealing from you was another no-no, because he knew you were deeply attached to every possession you had. and soon enough, he realized that he didn’t need his meschivious charm to woo you, just his dorky and lowkey dry one. that’s how your banter and small flirtations began at every chance. present time, he stood up from the hermes table, walking over and sitting behind you on your table, wrapping his arms around your waist and littering a few small kisses on to your neck. “oh, i’ll give you something to suck on, princess, alright.” he said, creating a few hickeys on your pulse point as your cabin mates groaned around you two.
— 𝑤ill 𝑠olace ☀️
happens when he’s relaxing with friends by a bonfire and the lake. his lean form, shirtless and in swim trunks, is now wet from swimming just minutes ago, illuminated by the moonlight and fire in the most delicious and breathtaking way. you fan yourself lightly, sitting at the far end of the dock. “gosh, he’s so hot…” your friend laughs lightly, glancing at him. “hot enough to smash?” you huff, as if that’s not already obvious. “duh…he’s totally in my smash book.” will, overhearing it, coughed, trying to cover up the sudden waver of his usually confident voice and tone as he spoke with nico. he desperately hoped the blush that spread across his face wasn’t so obvious, because the last thing he wanted was for people to think he got flustered by the story of dionysus licking the door of the shed where the wine was locked up. that’d just be weird. he leaned back on his muscular arms, his gaze going back to your bikini-clad figure at the end of the wooden dock, heart speeding up as you subconsciously threw your hair back in a sassy manner. gosh, he adored you and your statement attitude, your sweetness mixed with cheekiness. will puts a cold can of sprite on his groin, trying to downplay it as just putting a can in his lap that he’ll soon use for hydration, when in fact he was trying to cool down his now excited friend. later, as you passed each other, he discreetly passed you the now warm can from fondling it between his strong hands, a sticky note on it: “meet me in the infirmery in 10 minutes, your(s) will.”
⟢ 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
