Me as soon as the fic mentions “Y/N” only for it to be described as an OC, being extremely submissive and childish or uses some dumbass pet-name like “puppy”🥀🥀
Why are you not re-blogging? You think the fandom is dead, that no one’s interacting anymore, no one’s doing anything, no one’s writing, no one’s posting. ‘Everyone was so hyperfixed on that character, Where is the writing?’
People are writing. People aren’t reblogging. People aren’t giving some good feedback to motivate the writers that are putting their hard work, time, effort into making this piece that you were reading.
‘oh, it’s just too much work. You don’t wanna click that button and then click a few tags.’ Then you’re gonna have to suffer and not see a lot of writing from a lot of people because the only way this fucking app works is if you reblog.
I see so many pieces of work with 59 likes and 1 blog, I just saw one that had 690 likes and it had 9 reblogs. Even 1,000 likes and only 59 reblogs too. It’s devastating to see for the community of Tumblr. And I’ve been here for like five years, the way this app works is if you re-blog.
There’s so many people that are writing. There’s so many amazing things that I see and I try my best to reblog every single one that I read. That’s what I love doing because sharing someone’s piece of work is just beautiful because it allows me to show it to more people.
I reblog. And the beauty of it is;
I get notifications that this person liked it and this person liked it, and then that post continues to get more views, more likes and reblogs. All just because one person, reblogged it.
so please, if you are a part of Tumblr and you love reading your favorite writers fics, or love reading about your favorite character, please do your job and reblog it.
And if you don’t like re-blogging because you don’t want to do that on your account, then you can make another account and put all of the things that you read on that account. You can do separate things, like fic recs.
You can figure it the fuck out if you want people to actually be writing for a character you love. The writers are writing, you ain’t helping them share their work.
⟢ 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.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐬 : In which you have an extremely high sex drive and Percy can't keep up.
𝐜𝐰 : Switch ? Percy ⸝⸝ m! oral ⸝⸝ making out w soft dick ⸝⸝ praising ⸝⸝ grinding ⸝⸝ creampie(s)
Percy wondered about many things, the first being how he had pulled one of the most beautiful girls in the whole camp when he was an insecure teenager and you one of Aphrodite's children, and the second being how you could have such a big appetite for sex after so many years together.
The guy thought Aphrodite's kids were supposed to be all charm and beauty and he doesn't even know ! Just not— not this... this endless fucking machine. If he didn't love you so much, he'd be terrified.
Well, he was terrified.
You had started his day by giving him a blowjob between the sheets, laughing until you managed to swallow his seed. Later, between chores and training the young demigods, you had managed to get him between your legs again.
Percy also wondered how it was possible that you hadn't gotten pregnant with the number of times you made him ejaculate inside you; according to you because it felt a thousand times better to have all of him.
The thing is, by the time the day was over, you were both sweating even after showering together because apparently you hadn't finished with him after following him inside.
You crawled onto the bed beside him, your body humming with insistent ache. The day's exertions had left you sensitive and your pussy still tingling from the way he'd filled you over and over— but not satisfied. Not nearly !
Percy lay on his back, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, his dark hair matted to his forehead. You traced a finger along his hip, feeling the faint tremor in his muscles.
His dick was soft against his thigh, spent and innocent-looking after you'd drained him dry four times already today. His balls looked tender, probably sore from all the cum he'd spilled for you over the day.
You dropped to your knees beside the bed, eyes locked on that limp length. It was cute like this, a pretty pink colour and relaxed, not the thick, veiny monster it became when you coaxed to life. You leaned in, inhaling his musky scent-salt and sweat and that faint tang of cum. Your tongue darted out, licking a slow stripe from the base to the tip.
It was floppy against your mouth, barely reacting, but you didn't care. You wanted it hard, needed it stretching you again.
"Come on, Perce," you murmured, leaning in. Your tongue flicked out once more, tracing the soft underside from base to tip.
Your boyfriend groaned, half-asleep, his hand coming up to rub his face.
"Babe," he muttered, voice rough. "It's been a full fuck day. My dick's done.."
It didn't twitch much at first— just the faint warmth spreading under your touch. You licked again, slower, savoring the salty residue of your earlier fun and then your mouth closed around the head, sucking gently, tongue swirling like you were coaxing a reluctant flame.
Percy shifted, propping himself on an elbow to watch. "You're insatiable. What is it with you and my soft cock? Just let it rest."
You pulled off with a wet pop, grinning up at him.
"Rest? This little guy's my favorite toy." You replied and dove back in, kissing along the shaft, your breath hot against the loose skin. It stayed mostly limp, refusing to swell, but you could feel the subtle pulse beneath.
Minutes stretched— five, maybe ten— your jaw starting to ache from the persistent effort. You sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks, then lapped at his balls, careful not to press too firm on the sensitive spots. He winced a little, but his hand found your hair, stroking absently, affectionate even in defeat.
"Aren't you persistent?" Percy asked, a tired laugh bubbling up as his eyes, sea-green and hazy, tracked your movements.
Part of him wanted to just pass out, but watching you- lips shiny, tits brushing his thigh— stirred something low in his gut. You were a vision, all need and devotion, and yeah, maybe he was a bit of a perv for getting off on the sight.
You hummed around him, the vibration pulling a soft grunt from his throat but still nothing much.
Time to up the ante.
You nuzzled the base, your voice dropping to a playful whisper right against the flesh. "Hey there, handsome. You can do it, hm? I know you're tired, but look at me.. I'm all wet and ready for you."
You planted a kiss on the tip, dumb smile curving your lips as if you were chatting with an actual person. "Come on, get nice and thick for me. I need you stretching my pussy again."
Percy snorted. "It's not gonna happen. Told you I'm tapped out."
But you tuned him out, eyes half-lidded, focused on the cock in your hands. You stroked it lightly with your fingers, then licked a broad stripe up the length.
"Shh, don't listen to him. He's grumpy, but you? You're my good boy. Grow for me, yeah? Make me proud and get all long and hard so I can fuck you silly."
Another kiss, deeper this time, your tongue dipping into the slit. You talked to it like that for what felt like forever, praising every tiny twitch, your words breathy and encouraging.
"That's it, baby dick. You're stirring. Knew you had it in you. Fuck, you're so cute when you're waking up."
To Percy's surprise— and hell, his growing interest— it worked. The blood flow trickled in, reluctantly at first, as the shaft thickened a bit, lengthening from soft handful to something semi-firm, curving slightly against your palm. Not rock-hard, but enough to bob when you tugged.
You popped off, beaming up at it like you'd won.
"Yes! Look at you, so perfect." You planted a firm kiss on the tip, tasting the bead of pre-cum that had finally leaked out. "Knew you could do it."
He stared down, a mix of awe and amusement. "Holy shit… Did you just sweet-talk my cock into action? That's a new one."
You laughed, low and wicked, crawling up to straddle his hips. Your pussy was slick, folds swollen from the day's teasing and your own endless want. You grabbed his semi-erect dick, guiding it to your entrance, rubbing the tip along your slit.
"Mmm, feel that? I'm still sooo wet for you."
But he wasn't quite there— too soft to push in without folding. So you ground down, letting the length slide over your clit instead, the friction sparking heat up your spine.
Percy gripped your thighs, thumbs digging in. "You're torturing me over here." His voice had that edge that said he was into it despite the ache in his balls.
You rocked harder, persistent, your clit pulsing against the warming shaft.
This endless stamina was your gift— or curse— letting you chase pleasure without burnout, but even you felt the sensitivity building, raw from the earlier fucks.
The cabin's wooden wall creaked faintly as you moved the bed with your soft thrusts, your breaths syncing with his.
"Fuck, Percy, it's perfect like this. Rubbing you right… there…" You hugged him close, arms around his neck, tits pressing to his chest as you ground in circles.
The pressure built nice, your thighs clenching slightly his sides, and then you came— shuddering, a huff of air escaping as you buried your face in his shoulder. Juices slicked his cock even more, making it glisten.
He held you through it, hands roaming your back, affectionate murmurs in your ear. "There you go. God, you're beautiful when you cum."
Panting, you lifted your head, feeling his dick now - throbbing, harder from the stimulation, finally rigid enough to take you.
It wasn't his usual steel, but it was serviceable, the head nudging your folds insistently. You shifted, sinking down slow, inch by inch.
"Yes… Finally inside me." You didn't know when to stop, did you? Just had an orgasm and already looking for more.
He filled you just enough, the stretch satisfying that deep itch. You started riding, hips rolling in a steady rhythm, your walls clenching around him.
Percy groaned, head falling back. "Shit, you're tight. Easy, babe I'm sensitive as hell.."
But you didn't ease up— bouncing happily, tits jiggling with each drop. The bed squeaked under you, the air thick with the sounds of your pussy taking him.
It was all you, drawing out those weak bucks from his hips. His balls brushed your ass with every grind, probably stinging, but he didn't complain— just watched you with that tired, loving gaze.
"Fuck me, Percy," you gasped, leaning forward to kiss him. Your tongue tangled with his, tasting salt and him. You rode faster, chasing another peak, your clit grinding his base. He was close too, you could tell- his dick twitching inside you.
"I'm not gonna last," he warned, voice strained. His hands squeezed your ass, guiding you down harder.
"Don't care. Cum inside again."
The sole idea of it pushed you over, your orgasm ripping through, your cunt spasming around him. He followed with a weak spurt, not the flood he normally gave you, but enough to warm your insides— a final, exhausted release.
You collapsed onto him, both of you slick and spent, the cabin quiet except for your shared breaths.
As the aftershocks faded, you nuzzled his neck, a content hum escaping your lips. Percy wrapped his arms around you, kissing your temple. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"
You chuckled softly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "What a way to go. Hero of Olympus, taken down by his girlfriend's pussy."
how about percy getting all putty and whiny, eyes rolling back, when reader rides him?
Overstimulated
Pairing: Percy Jackson x f! readers
TW: Sexual Content/Overstimulation/Vulnerability/Power Dynamics/Physical Intensity.
A/N: sub!Percy is gonna be the death of me.
The salt-scented air of the Poseidon cabin was thick with heat, the only sound the rhythmic, muffled thrum of the Long Island Sound against the hull-like walls. Percy was usually the one in control—the hero who faced down Titans and giants, the leader who kept his head when the world was ending—but here, pinned to the silk sheets of his bed, he was utterly defenseless. The cool blue lighting of the cabin seemed to pulse in time with his racing heart, casting deep shadows over the sharp planes of his face.
You moved with a slow, agonizing deliberation, your hands braced against his chest. Every time you shifted your weight, the friction sent a jolt through him that made his toes curl into the mattress. Percy’s breath came in ragged, hitching gasps, his fingers digging blindly into the bedding as he tried to find some semblance of an anchor. The sheets bunched beneath his knuckles, a poor substitute for the stability he so desperately craved.
"You're... you’re doing that on purpose," he managed to choke out, though it sounded more like a plea than a tongue-in-cheek accusation. His voice was thick, dropped an octave into a raw, gravelly tone that betrayed exactly how close to the edge he was. His chest heaved beneath your palms, the skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat that made your touch slide effortlessly over his pounding heart.
As you leaned forward, hair brushing against his feverish skin, you watched the transformation take hold of him. The "Hero of Olympus" was gone, replaced by a boy who was rapidly coming undone. His head fell back against the pillows, his neck straining, the tendons standing out in sharp relief like the rigging of a ship in a storm. He was unanchored, drifting into a sea of sensation that he had no hope of navigating.
When you sank down fully, a long, high-pitched whine broke from the back of his throat—a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender. It was a pathetic, needy little noise that he would have been mortified by in any other context, but right now, he was too far gone to care about his dignity. The sound vibrated through his entire frame, a shimmering note of desperation that filled the small space between you.
"Wait, wait," he whimpered, his hips stuttering upward in an involuntary, desperate search for more of you, even as his mind screamed that he couldn't take another second. His hands moved from the sheets to your thighs, his grip bruisingly tight for a fleeting moment, then softening immediately into a trembling caress, as if he’d lost the physical strength to hold on. "Please, just... you're killing me, you're actually killing me."
You didn't stop. You picked up the pace just a fraction, grinding down with a targeted pressure that shattered what little remained of his resolve, and that was the final breaking point.
Percy’s green eyes, usually so sharp, defiant, and full of life, began to glaze over. As the pleasure reached a fever pitch, his lids fluttered, losing the battle to stay open. His eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible—a physical manifestation of a mind completely short-circuited by overwhelming sensation. He looked dazed, almost delirious, his mouth hanging open in a silent, breathless gasp before he let out another broken, whiny moan that trailed off into a sob-like hitch.
He was like putty in your hands, his body humming with a frantic, electric energy that seemed to mimic the power of a brewing hurricane. Every muscle was taut, vibrating with the effort of holding back, then suddenly loose and pliable, then taut again as another wave hit him. He was babbling now, his filter completely destroyed. Nonsense words and soft, weeping sounds of "please" and "more" spilled from his lips, his head thrashing slowly from side to side against the pillow as he tried to escape—or perhaps immerse himself further in—the white-hot haze.
"I can't... I can't think," he whispered, a tear of pure overstimulation pricking at the corner of his closed eye. He was entirely at your mercy, his movements reduced to weak, rhythmic twitches that followed your lead. The fierce warrior who had stood against the King of the Titans was reduced to a shaking, sobbing mess, his fingers feebly curling around your wrists as if to beg for either release or a permanent stay in this blissful torment.
In this moment, there was no prophecy, no monsters, and no heavy crown of god-like expectations. There was only the weight of you, the agonizing rhythm of your movement, and the way you could turn the most powerful demigod of the age into a shivering, pleading mess with nothing more than a steady, unrelenting heat and the ruthless command of your body over his. He was yours, entirely dismantled, a wreck of a hero washed up on your shore.
And when he came? Gods, it was full blown whimpering and sobbing, muttering soft 'thank yous' while burying himself deep inside of you.
യ (p. jackson ) 𓂃 you hate the look of blood on demigods; every drop of the reddish liquid only serves as a bleak reminder of all the grueling work you have to do as a healer. however, an unassuming tuesday makes you realize that sometimes, blood looks oh so good on a certain son of poseidon.
alternatively, where you realize you want percy after he shows up to the infirmary bloodied and gashed.
cws. nsfw / smut under the cut , 18+ only ; minors dni ! fem apollo reader. fingering (f! receiving) . oral (m! receiving) . unprotected piv & he cums inside . . . reader is referred to as “pretty girl”, “my girl”. percy and reader are adults. percy is cocky. implied post-hoo. porn with some plot . lmk if i missed any other warnings !
wc. 4054 words. requested by @myrapottah
sol ‘s note : though this was requested (like MONTHS ago . . . i'm sorry myra babes) , i’d like to dedicate this fic to a special recent achievement of mine: passing nursing school in one of the best schools in my state ! :’) the fic’s quite long, but i had so so so much fun writing her. i hope u all enjoy reading !
tuesdays were always training days.
every tuesday of the week, campers would flock towards the training ground, celestial bronze weapons in hand, picking fights with straw dummies in bronze armor. oftentimes, campers who grew bored of the non-moving, stationary strawmen flocked together and decided to use themselves as their own training dummies. this became a new, innovative method of melee fight teaching, and has carried on to the present day.
this demigod versus demigod training brawls always happen on tuesdays.
it was an unspoken tradition, written in the minds of these orange-clad campers like it was law. tuesdays were always training days. for the rest of camp, it was a day to hone and develop new skills, to have a better chance at defending themselves against monsters that were prevalent outsidecamp half blood’s borders. it was because of this reasoning that the campers got far too carried away with their training.
for the apollo cabin, it’s the worst day of the week.
with the influx of injured campers—all with injuries ranging from pin-sized papercuts to almost amputations—the infirmary was almost always full. more often than not, training days meant that the apollo cabin had to be spread thinner to accommodate the number of people who needed medical attention.
the apollo cabin holds a mild dislike for tuesdays. you do, especially.
you often regretted saying yes. after leaving camp half blood years ago, you thought it’d be a nice few years in the mortal world—pursuing your education and bettering your skills away from the world of deadly prophecies and gods and goddesses. it would have been a nice break, until chiron reached out to you privately, asking for a small favor.
according to him, before you left and for a while after, the tuesdays system was never this bad. apollo could manage it enough; they didn’t need to spread themselves out so thin to treat injured campers.
the system worsened after chiron asked percy jackson to train the campers in swordfighting. this led to a staggering increase in injured demigods.
you thought it was a false cause—post hoc ergo propter hoc, or whatever. but, after you said yes to chiron’s plea to come back to camp and help apollo manage injuries, you saw with your own eyes that chiron wasn't just incorrectly assuming that because one event followed another, the first event caused the second.
you saw how the poor campers were tripping over themselves and nearly getting mauled because of their efforts in swordfighting. and—upon asking a patient with a finger that almost fell off—it wasn’t because of his methods of teaching. no, it was because the kids wanted to be like him so bad, they went to extremes just to get better, to be like their hero, percy jackson.
the apollo cabin held a mild dislike for tuesdays. you? you loathed them.
this tuesday, however, is an exception.
“jackson…” you pause. you have to chastise yourself. healers aren’t supposed to sound this horrified upon seeing their patients, no matter how battered, bloody, or bruised they are. they aren’t supposed to sound horrified at all. you try to mask it with a cough. “what…happened to you?”
threre’s a gash. no, not even that—to call it a gash would be an insult to the mere magnitude of it. it was an ugly, jagged line, the origin at the dead center of his chest. it curls around his pectorals, and you can see it end on a point between his armpit and his bicep. from a blunt weapon, most likely. blood is splattered on his chest like a bad watercolor painting, but thankfully, the wound isn’t gushing out any blood at all.
he’s led to the bed—thank you, you tell his companion—and when he’s sat down, the muscles of his abdomen flex ever so noticeably.
my gods, was his body always this defined?
a traitorous, unserious voice in your head points that fact out, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks.
he straightens at your gaze.
“you should see the other guy,” he tells you, snapping you out of your thoughts.
your eyebrows furrow, your mouth curls into a wince just thinking of all the healing you’ll have to do to this poor other camper. “i hope i don't get to see the other guy at all.”
you glance at the pitcher of lukewarm water used to clean wounds.
percy is the son of poseidon. the pitcher would be an easy way to heal him—you wouldn’t need to spend so much cleaning his large wound and sewing it up. you probably wouldn’t even need to consume the entire pitcher to make the wound disappear.
it’s convenient, the voice in your head says, but it comes at the cost of you not seeing or touching percy’s muscles.
it’s a moral and ethical dilemma.
you shake your head and turn to the cabinet above you. from there, you pull out sterile gloves, cotton balls, antiseptic, a needle and thread, and some nectar. in the end, the traitorous voice prevails.
after you put the gloves on, you tell him, “i’ll start by cleaning your wound.” you douse the cotton ball in antiseptic. “your wound’s quite big, it might sting.”
he purses his lips and nods, as if steeling himself.
you circle the edges of his wound with antiseptic. once clean, you take a nectar-doused cotton ball and dab it gently against the open wound.
his stomach flexes at the contact. his arms brace against the bed frame, and you can almost see the same arms wrapped around you, same bare torso pressed against your bare back—
“did a kid beat you up this much?” you ask to rid yourself of those thoughts. and oh, how you prayed he couldn’t hear the small tremors in your voice.
his head snaps around, and he throws a small glare at you. “i’ll have you know, i wasn’t beaten up by a kid.”
“i don’t know who you’re fooling,” you say. “the nymphs, satyrs, and chiron are the only things in camp older than us.”
percy shuts his mouth after, giving you the perfect opportunity to sew the wound closed.
you trace a line around the wound's perimeter.
“i’ll sew around here,” you say. at the look on percy’s face, you reassure him: “there’ll be nectar in the thread, don’t worry. it won’t hurt.”
after you’d sewn the wound closed, you dab over it with nectar for good measure.
“alright, that’s all you’ll need from me.” you hand him a spare camp shirt that—you assume—is his size. “the wound’s all closed up, and i made sure the thread’s fortified enough that the wound won’t open with strenuous activity. you can continue training; just don’t let any kids cut you up that bad, yeah?”
you turn your back to him. you dispose of the antiseptic and nectar cotton balls you used to clean his wound, wrap the needle in tissue and throw it, shelve the bottle of nectar and antiseptic, then tidy up your area.
when you turn back, percy jackson is still sitting on the infirmary bed.
he didn’t even put the shirt on.
“why aren’t you leaving—?”
“you want me,” he says, blunt as the blade that slashed through his—defined, toned, muscled—chest.
“what?”
shit.
your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, loud enough that you can hear it roaring in your ears.
“i do not,” you state, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to lower your heart rate. it doesn't slow.
“do too,” he replies. “weren't you checking me out a while ago?”
this was new.
“i was assessing you. what’s gotten into you?”
“was it the blood, doc?” he smirks. he didn’t even answer your question. “you're into that?”
you hate how much he sounds like he’s mocking you.
and you hate how much he's right.
“no. i’m not. i treat a lot of bloody demigods. every day of the week. there's no way i get aroused by blood.”
i’m into how the blood looks on you, the traitorous (and truthful) voice in your head says.
then, you huff. “you lost a lot of blood back there,” you say. “you're delirious, jackson. delusional, even.”
“y’sure, doc?” and you can see the shadow of a smile that stretches across his face when he says, “why don't we test that theory out, huh?”
suddenly, your lower back meets the wooden table. in one long stride, percy had crossed the distance between the two of you.
there’s a soft smack as his hands land on the table, just right beside you, caging you in between his arms. he leans in enough that the low timbre of his voice reverberates through your bones and stirs the butterflies lying low.
“you're soaked, pretty girl.”
fuck. of course the son of the water god would know that.
and, from the look on his face, the same son of the water god knew that you’d never be able to deny it.
percy was hot—objectively, truthfully speaking. you knew this. especially now that you’ve seen his fine, god-esque figure accentuated by the sheen of blood. you doubt it was even the blood. it was just him.
you won't deny, too, what you’ve been feeling—the warmth in your entire body and the unmistakable dampness in your panties—the moment he entered the infirmary.
was it so wrong to give in to what you want, just this once?
when you look back up at him, his sea green eyes are boring into your very soul.
“have you made up your mind yet, doc?” he asks.
and fuck it, you have.
you lean in first, smashing your lips against his.
and, to your surprise, percy kisses you back with as much vigor—if not more.
the two of you waste no time in being careful. percy shoves his tongue in your mouth, you run your hands to his hair, tugging at the strands that get caught between your fingers.
you only register hands on you, then the loss of ground, before you’re lifted onto the wooden table.
he leans in, his kisses sloppy, desperate, and downright greedy as he sucks on your bottom lip.
he leaves your lips tingling for more as he kisses down, down, down, right at your carotid. he licks that very point, then hollows his cheeks and sucks.
you let out a sound. it teeters embarrassingly on the edge of a yelp and a drawn-out groan.
immediately, your hand flies to your mouth.
“don't do that, pretty girl,” he says, peeling your hands away from your mouth. he intertwines them, then presses another kiss there, mumbling against the soft skin: “wanna hear everything.”
“but they'll hear us, jackson,” you whisper.
the both of you are silent for a moment, until:
“wanna come over to mine?” he asks. “cabin’s soundproof. no one’s gonna hear a thing.”
the moments to cabin three pass in the blink of an eye.
when you cross the threshold of the seasalt-scented cabin, none of you linger.
with a sudden bout of newfound confidence, you pull him in by the hand, the kiss open-mouthed, wet—leagues away from your initial composure at the infirmary. there’s none now; you think you’ve lost it all.
percy leads you to the bed. he makes himself comfortable, and the hand entwined with yours pulls you onto his lap.
his one hand is everywhere. it cradles your face and deepens the kiss, it squeezes and grips at your waist, and, the next moment, latches on to it like a vice and pulls you impossibly closer to him.
your limbs are wrapped perfectly around him. one hand clings to his shoulders, locking him in place and feeling every oscillating wave of his muscles at every small movement. the other hand stays locked in his.
your pussy’s weeping, downright throbbing at the taste of his tongue in your mouth. you couldn't help but think about how it’d feel inside of you—
ankles lock right behind him, trying to bring yourself even closer and closer to where you needed him most. your drenched panties catch on to the tent at the front of his shorts, and you have to hold back a sob.
you think, in this moment, you’ve finally made up your mind.
“i want you,” you murmur. “so bad.”
percy lets out a small, mirthful chuckle. “can feel you getting wetter over me, doc. ‘s like a damn waterpark.”
before you can retort, percy’s hands grip your hips—not rough, not tight, but as if asking for permission—and only slightly lift. your fingers hook under the garter of your waistband and, with his help, you shimmy out of your shorts.
percy doesn't have to try, and yet, every move of his arm is showing off and flexing his biceps for you to ogle at.
and, as the next piece of fabric comes down, he lets out a guttural groan. both of you watch—percy, transfixed—as a few stringy wads of your slick stick to the front of your panties.
oh, you really were so wet.
percy continues to stare, a small smile stretching across his face and into a smirk.
“don't–don't get cocky about it.” your legs inch closer together in an attempt to block out the pure intensity of his stare, when—
“dont.”
his middle and ring finger swipe a long, languid stripe up your pussy lips, pooling your slick onto his digits.
your mouth drops into a little “oh!” as he starts to sink his middle finger into your pussy. and as if in a daze, he’s letting the second of his long fingers in.
“jackson—you… fuck!” you're trying not to wail, to keep your voice low so other campers can't hear you—but, fuck, do percy’s fingers feel good.
percy’s brows furrow and crease in the middle just as he watches your cunt swallow up his fingers. he moves them slowly, just a small wriggle side to side, before he feels the slight resistance—“fuck,” he whispers against your neck (he’s never felt so parched). “so tight around me, pretty girl,”
you whine when he pulls his fingers out. sheeny slick coats them, a line of it keeping you two connected still.
you miss the feel of percy in you for a few seconds, before he’s pushing his fingers back in, out, in. they were so vicious, so greedy, taking up all the space and swabbing at you. in, then out, then in.
“don't stop, please.”
“why would i?” he murmurs. his eyes aren't on you at all, but down, down, down.
he scissoring your entrance wide open with his roving fingertips to the point where you can feel his fingerprints against your soft insides. you shiver at the way he sinks them in again with a sluurp.
percy leans in a bit more, pressing a kiss to your carotid, then clavicle.
in that same moment, his wrist has found a newfound angle, one that somehow pushes his two fingers deeper in. hitting nearly the back of your pussy, pushing back and forth against your gooey walls.
when you feel it, your eyes widen.
he smiles. “found it.”
he hooks at your most sensitive gummy bundle of nerves. curves his fingers just right.
your loose limbs start shaking at percy’s relentless back and forth with your g-spot– “jackson—think ‘m gonna—”
lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and—
white-hot pleasure between your eyes. tension curling your toes.
“cum f’me, pretty girl,” he rasps out. he squeezes in a third finger inside your tight cunt—
and you're seeing stars.
he’s fucking you through your high, each thump of his fingertips against your g-spot and each glide of his long fingertips easing you down.
again, and again, and again.
right as the high bates, you feel an emptiness when percy’s fingers have pulled out of your weeping hole.
you pull him in by the shoulders, kissing him just to get a taste of his lips and tongue.
“give me more, jackson,” you mumble against his lips.
“what?”
“you know what i mean,” you tell him. your hands snake to his belt loops, pawing at them in delirious desperation. “want more of you.”
percy groans.
his feet land on the ground beside the bed. metal clinks against the floor. clothes ruffle as they're being discarded.
“been wanting this for so long, pretty girl–” he lugs his boxers down, along with his bottoms, “felt like i was dying.”
his cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen. he was big—so mouthwateringly big; flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light—every part of him was so unfairly pretty.
and, well, you just couldn't resist a taste.
beding down in one fluid motion, you press a kiss to his weeping tip, drag your tongue all the way down the vein under his shaft, and his hand immediately flies to your hair.
“shit— hah- you don't have to—”
“shut up, jackson.”
and with that, you’re shoving as much of his throbbing erection down your throat. there’s a slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip.
“shit, oh—yes, yes, yes–.” percy lets out a guttural moan. Fingers thread through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth, his hips stuttering and jerking with pleasure.
it was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his scent filling your senses. beginning to move up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips.
his dick twitches in your mouth and your cunt clenches. you brace yourself, ready for his orgasm, when he stops.
and just pulls his cock out.
there’s a loud, lewd pop! that accompanies it that makes his dick twitch and your pussy ache. you’re about to retort, mouth opening to ask him why— but he beats you to it.
“don’t wanna cum yet,” he tells you. he grabs his cock, tugging it ever so slightly, when he says, “lean back for me, pretty girl.”
and that you don’t argue with.
your legs are spread in front of him, and the look on his sea-green eyes is so carnal, so hungry that you motion to close yourself up. he places your legs above his shoulders, eyes stil trained on your soaked core.
he drags his reddened tip right through your swollen folds, catching maddeningly on your clit, teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. too slow.
you wiggle your hips just so that the tip just slides inside your hole.
he curses above you, and you feel small spurts of precum lining your walls.
with newfound vigor, percy pushes his hips forward, groaning out your name.
you could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in inch by inch.
his cock was long enough that it kissed your cervix, and that the mushroom tip hooked just right against your g-spot. it didn't lack girth, too—it was thick enough that you could feel the veins pressing against your walls.
deliciously painful, borderline addicting, and something you didn’t know you’d been craving until today.
and it’s almost like percy felt the same, cock hot and throbbing agonizingly inside of you, almost like his second heartbeat.
he buries himself to the hilt and stays. he bows his body down until his damp forehead meets yours.
“greedy girl,” he says. “so tight. gripping—hah–gripping me like a damn vice.”
he pulls himself out fully, just ‘til his tip is kissing your sloppy hole. you whine at the loss of contact, only for him to ram his cock all the way back inside your warmth.
skin on skin, skin on skin. he starts fucking into you, the sheer tightness of your pussy sucking him in so greedily, like she never wanted him to part.
“yes, yes—oh—just like that,” you moan out.
“all–all of it‘s ngh—yours, my girl. yours,” percy says, his baritone voice now raspier above the sloppy squelches that immediately start pouring out of your pussy.
slick gushes out of your cunt with every in and out, dripping down his length and pooling around his balls. they sting against your ass with every thrust in.
“percy—fuck,”
and you feel percy freeze. the loss of movement makes you cry out.
“why—?”
“say it again.”
“what? noo, just come on and fuck me—”
he thrusts once, then stills. “c’mon, my girl, please? lemme hear it one more time.”
oh.
“mmfh—ah—okay, okay.” and one more thrust, harder this time. “oh—! percy, percy, percy! fuuck—”
he keeps the pace constant, rough, kissing your cervix with every in and out of his cock.
“that’s so right, baby.” he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulders. “sounds—hah—sounds nice, right? better than jus’ jackson?”
you lean away from the bed, hand gripping onto percy’s shoulder for support as you grab his face and kiss him.
he continues thrusting his cock in and out of your poor walls, a sheeny white ring of fluid gathering around his base.
you feel him so deep, he’s pushing your eyes to roll allll the way to the back of your head with the crown of his fat tip.
it was intoxicating, inebriating—from the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, fucking into you, his lips kissing ever surface he can reach, his teeth biting and marking what’s his.
“m’ so close, percy,” you sob.
percy’s large hand trails down where your bodies meet to draw frenzied circles on your puffy clit. “cum with me—please, baby.”
“inside,” you gasp out. “want you inside.”
and this orgasm seems to be stronger than last time, lightning hot pleasure zapping through your body faster. sobs escape your mouth. your back arches so much you fear for your spine. your body flinches every time he brushes against your clit.
percy’s high comes right alongside yours, and he’s shooting thick, hot, strings of cum, painting your walls white with a low groan of your name. you feel it dripping out of your cunt and into the sheets under you before it's being fucked back in.
when your highs bate, you flop unceremoniously on percy’s bed.
he lets out a small chuckle, before kissing your forehead. “i’ll be right back, okay?”
you watch as his figure retreats to his closet and comes back with an armful of clothes.
the towel in his hands is warm as he cleans going down, passing your stomach, before finally wiping down your inner thighs. he slips his boxers on you, then a shirt.
when he finishes, he collapses right beside you. he pulls you closer, settling you right over his heart, draping an arm over your back.
for a moment, both of you just stare.
“you were amazing, percy,” you say. “i… i liked it. a lot. i'm glad it was you.”
percy presses a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. “i've liked you for so long. still can't believe i managed to kiss you, let alone…”
you let out a small laugh and snuggle closer.
tuesdays were the worst days of the week, you think.
but maybe, just maybe—you brush a stray lock of percy’s hair behind his ears—tuesdays had a little bit of merit to them.
( . . . )
“told you you wanted me”
you grumble against his chest. “shut up.”
he only presses you closer to him. “i don’t know who you’re fooling, baby. i saw you skip that pitcher of water entirely.”
your eyes widen and snap up to meet his. then, feigned nonchalance. “i didn’t need it.”
“i’d have healed faster with it.” then, he grins down at you, canines and eye crinkles and all. “it’s okay, baby, i’d do the same so i could get in the pants of my hot, muscular, super handsome—”
you smush a pillow over his face.
“you wanted me first,” you protest. “you probably asked a bunch of kids to cut you up so you had an excuse to come see me.”
percy’s lack of retort—and movement—makes you sit up.
“oh my gods.”
“listen—”
“there is no way.”
he groans, burying his face deep into your hair. "you're never gonna let me live this down, are you?"
you only grin in reply, canines and eye crinkles and all. "never."
