#stepdad!jackson

[slut4thebroken]

Practice Makes Perfect

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | stepdad!Jackson Rippner x reader

Summary | You go to your stepdad for help… with very pure intentions… obviously. (Heheh)

Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, innocence kink, corruption, large age gap, but not under age, hand jobs, oral both m and f receiving, spanking, daddy kink technically, also incest I guess?, groping, thigh riding, praise, a sprinkle of degradation and humiliation.

Words | 7.5 k

Notes | I hope it was worth the wait folks. Also ionno how I feel about this gif but whatever lol

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

You liked making men crave what they could never have, that’s why you dress the way you do. But it seemed like the one man you actually wanted to crave you, never did. Much to your disappointment. 

But you liked doing it in a subtle way, where at first glance, it wouldn’t seem like your goal was to get his attention. You’d wear loose, frilly skirts, always on the shorter side, but not short enough to be too obvious, and tight crop tops that were somewhat see-through. You also liked wearing pretty dresses and knee high socks and dainty jewelry and soft makeup. All of which at first glance would just seem like a cute, unintentionally sexy— yet still in an innocent way somehow— outfit. 

Nothing you ever did caught his eye though. Sometimes you’d forego the bra all together so that your nipples were just barely poking through the thin fabric of your top, but you still didn't get a reaction. So you decided to step it up. 

“Mr. Rippner?” You asked quietly, making him look up from the computer screen as you hesitantly walked in. 

“How many times have I told you to call me Jackson.” He said teasingly.  

“Sorry…” You couldn’t help the blush that painted your cheeks when he gave you a soft smile. 

“What's up?” 

“I can come back later if you’re busy…”

“Never too busy for you. Come sit.” He clicked a few buttons on the computer then gave you his full attention. You dragged one of the arm chairs a little closer to his desk, then sat down. 

“I just… had a question— questions. But I’m scared to ask my mom.” You said quietly, nervously playing with the fabric of your skirt. 

“Scared?” 

“I don’t want her to see me any differently… and I’m scared that asking this might do that.” 

“You can talk to me.” His tone was so genuine that it made you want to tell him anything and everything about yourself, even your deepest secrets. His warm smile wasn’t helping much either. 

“Thank you… So, um— there’s this guy that I like..” He just barely stiffened when you said that. “He’s older,”

“How much older?” 

“A little more than twenty years…” 

“He’s in his forties?” 

“Early fourties, yes.” You said quietly, not able to maintain eye contact any longer. You couldn’t figure out what emotion was on his face right now. “But I really really like him, Mr. Rippner, and he treats me right.” 

“Any man going after you who’s that old will not treat you right.” 

“Oh…” You kept your eyes on your lap as your chest ached. Even though this wasn’t a direct rejection it still hurt. “Sorry.” 

“Hey— no, I'm sorry.” His tone was noticeably softer. “I just worry about you, kiddo.” Your whole face heated up at the name, as it always does. “I'm sorry. If you still want to talk, I'm here for you.” 

“Thanks…” When he didn’t say anything, you took that as your cue to continue. “I- I’ve been having.. bad thoughts about him, Mr. Rippner. And I know that it’s wrong, but I just can’t help it. I don’t even really know what he’s making me feel, just that it makes me feel dirty…” His cheek tensed as he clenched his jaw.  

“Inappropriate thoughts, you mean?” He clarified and you nodded in response. “I see. And before I respond, what exactly is it that you’re asking me?” 

“I- I want to impress him… but I’ve never done.. anything. I’m scared I’ll make a fool of myself, so I was hoping… you could help me?”

“Help you?” He choked out. You nodded and bit your lip. “Let me just make sure I’m hearing this right. You want to fuck a man twice your age,” you blushed at his crude words, “but you’re nervous about it… so you’re asking your step father, who’s also twice your age, to help you practice so you feel more confident?” 

“I’m sorry, this was stupid.” You muttered as you got to your feet. 

“Sit down.” His voice was technically still soft, but you could hear the underlying sternness in his tone, so you lowered yourself back down in the chair. “Why me?” 

“I just… I trust you a lot, Mr. Rippner— more than most. I know you’d never do anything to take advantage of me.” You said, even though you hoped he would. 

“And what about your mom?” That made you frown. 

“I didn’t mean it in a cheating way. Just for you to show me what to do— to teach me. That’s not cheating.” 

“Sweetheart…” He started, making your frown deepen. “You understand why this would be wrong other than that, right?” 

“…No.” You did. 

“Not even talking about the fact that I'm twice your age— I’m your step father. This is not something that step fathers teach their step daughters.” He explained gently. 

“Oh.. I guess you don’t have to, then. I can just… ask him to teach me or something.” 

“Absolutely not.” He said sternly, startling you. “Telling him that will practically give him the green light to manipulate and coerce you.” 

“He wouldn’t do that.” You frowned. 

“Yes he would. Every man would.” 

“Clearly not every man.” You muttered. 

“Look,” he sighed, “I do want to help you, kiddo, but it’s more complicated than that.” 

“It doesn’t have to be..” 

“But it is.” 

“Are you not attracted to me?” You asked suddenly. “Is that why?” He sighed again and looked away from you, making your stomach churn. “Oh.” You felt like you were about to cry any minute now— this is not going how it was supposed to at all. You felt stupid and embarrassed and you wished you never came in here. 

“I…” he sighed, “It's not that. I shouldn’t be attracted to you, honey. It’s wrong.”

“…But you are?” He said ‘shouldn’t’ so maybe that’s a good sign. 

“It’s doesn’t matter if I am,” 

“I’m attracted to you, Mr. Rippner.” You said quietly, waiting nervously for his reaction. “It doesn’t feel wrong.” He let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes as his head tilted back a little. You watched him carefully, trying to figure out what he was thinking. When he suddenly leaned back up and opened his eyes, they were significantly darker, the pretty, pale blue almost gone now. “Mr. Rippner?” You asked when he didn’t say anything. 

“I’m not going to show you, but I’ll tell you. How does that sound?” You frowned and looked away. 

“Okay… If you think that’s best, I trust you.” You said, silently praying for him to do more than talk to you. 

“Let’s just start off with you telling me what you do know.” 

“Um… Well, I’ve seen people kiss.. and I’ve tried to practice, but it feels awkward and I don’t want it to be weird when it happens.” 

“You never kissed anyone?” His eyebrows were raised as he stared at you in poorly concealed surprise. 

“…No.” You said, voice small. 

“Okay,” he cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, “okay. What else?” 

“I mean… I think I mostly know how the rest of it goes? The part where.. I don’t really do much. It’s the other parts that I don’t know.” 

“You mean foreplay?” You nodded with a blush. “And you know how to practice safe sex, right?” 

“A condom?” 

“That’s the most common way, yes.” He leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy breath. “Okay. I think I can help you out with some of it, but the rest you might just need to practice on your own. 

“But I have!” Your blush deepened when you realized what you just implied. 

“You have?”

“I- I mean.. I just— It…” Nothing you could say would save you. 

“Dirty girl… Do you have a toy hidden somewhere?” He said teasingly and you didn’t know how to respond, not when the real answer is so much more embarrassing and perverted. 

“Something like that..” He examined you carefully, making you feel like he was uncovering every secret you've ever had. 

“Oh I see.” He chuckled. “Creative little minx, aren’t you? What’d you use?” You looked down and bit your lip, feeling far too embarrassed right now. “Hairbrush handle? Cucumber?” 

“Stop teasing me, Mr. Rippner.” You pouted and he gave you a small smile.

“I’ll stop teasing once you stop calling me that.” When your gaze stayed on your lap, he continued. “Where'd you use it? Your mouth or your cunt?” Your head snapped up with a gasp at his vulgar language. 

“Mr. Rippner!” You scolded him, but your cheeks were far too red to uphold the sternness of your reprimand.

“It’s just a simple question, kiddo. You’re going to have to get used to those words if you want my help. I can’t really explain it without saying it.” 

“I- I know. It just caught me off guard is all and um… mouth.” You muttered, not able to maintain eye contact. “But I couldn't do it, it was too hard.” 

“What’d you try to do, sweetheart?”

“I dunno… just— anything that I thought might be right. I didn’t really know what to do.” You looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Need someone to teach me…” 

“You know that I can’t.” He said softly. 

“But how else am I supposed to learn? Why can’t you just help me?” You pouted, making him sigh. 

“I am helping you.” 

“But….” You were going to beg again, but so far that’s gotten you nowhere, so you decided to try something else. “Fine— I’ll just find someone else!” You said, standing up and turning around to walk out. 

“Sit down. I won’t tell you again.” He said sternly, making you freeze, but not turn around yet. 

“Mr. Rippner…” You finally turned back to face him, but you couldn’t look at him, “I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day,”

“You really don’t want me to tell you again.” He warned and for the first time, you felt a little afraid of him. It was flustered fear, but fear nonetheless. You slowly walked back over and sat down again. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to help you, but you’re not going to tell anyone. Especially your mother. Do you understand?” You couldn’t help the smile that creeped up on your face as you nodded. 

“Come here.” You got back up and walked around the desk, waiting awkwardly for the next instruction. “On your knees.” Your stomach fluttered and you could feel the ache between your legs that you usually get when you’re near him. Slowly lowering yourself to the ground, you placed your hands on your lap and looked up at him as he rolled his chair back and faced you. 

“Do whatever you think is right. I’ll stop you or tell you what to do if you need help.” Even though that made you nervous because there was a higher chance you’d embarrass yourself, you agreed. 

Shuffling forward, you settled between his legs and reached for his belt. The bulge in his pants was already making your mouth water and you pressed your thighs together without thinking. His breath hitched when you accidentally brushed his crotch, but he let you continue until his pants were open enough for you to pull them down a little and reach inside to take out his length. 

You gasped at the size of him and stared at it with wide eyes and slightly parted lips— how is this ever going to fit.. anywhere inside you when it barely fits in your hand? He brushed your hair out of your face and you swallowed thickly as you forced your eyes away from his length to look up at him. 

“Y-you’re… Are they all this big?” You asked nervously, making him chuckle quietly. 

“Not all, but I’m only a little above average.” 

“Oh.” So the average is only a little smaller? That didn’t ease your nerves at all. 

“Just take it slow, kiddo. Don’t rush into it, go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.” You were struggling to get yourself to follow the soft demand because of how badly you wanted to impress him. “Start with your hand.” You nodded and swallowed down the lump in your throat as you reached for his length. Tentatively grasping it in your hand, you stroked him slowly, looking up at him for confirmation. “A little harder, love.” You squeezed harder, but immediately pulled back when he winced. 

“I’m sorry,” 

“That’s okay. Here,” he took your hand in his and wrapped it around his cock, moving it slowly. “Like this, okay?” When you nodded, he let go for you to continue on your own. You noticed that his limited reactions seemed to mostly happen when you were at the tip, so you focused on that, rubbing your thumb over the bead of clear liquid on top, making him curse under his breath. 

“You know what that is?” He asked, almost breathlessly. 

“…Precum?” You were terrified of embarrassing yourself by saying the wrong thing, but you vaguely remembered learning that somewhere. 

“That’s right.. good girl. Have a taste.” With a blush from the praise, you tentatively brought your hand up and sucked your thumb into your mouth. “Do you like it?”

“I think so. It’s… watery but a little sweet almost?” He laughed quietly and you gave him a small smile. 

“Keep going.” You started stroking him again, keeping the pace a little slow as you got used to it. “Do you want to try using your mouth now?” You looked up at him nervously, but nodded anyway. “Okay, just suck on the tip while you keep stroking it.” You shuffled forward even closer and placed your free hand on his thigh to steady yourself as you leaned up a little. When you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, he let out a shaky breath and put his hand on top of yours on his thigh. 

“Suck it and flick your tongue over it,” you obeyed and he let out a low moan, “there you go… Keep using your hand.” You hadn’t even realized you stopped stroking him until he mentioned it. 

“Atta girl. You’re a natural, kiddo.” You couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out at the praise, even if he was just teasing you. You continued stroking his length while mouthing at the tip, not sure what to do next. Thankfully he seemed ready to help you with that. 

“You want to draw it out a little so how about you practice kissing, hm?” You perked up at the thought of finally being able to kiss him, but almost pouted when you realized he didn’t mean on his lips. You gave the tip and quick kiss, then looked up at him, asking a silent question of what to do. “Kiss all over it, sweetheart.” You obeyed, working your way down the underside of his cock. “Good girl. Keep going down.” You were quickly reaching the base and you looked up at him in confusion. 

“You didn’t think you were just going to suck my cock, did you?” He chuckled, making you frown. You did think that… What else would you suck? “Start with kissing and licking my balls.” That made you pull back as your eyes widened. 

“Your— But… Is that,” 

“You’re not going to impress any man with a mediocre blow job. I’m trying to help you, baby.” You didn’t know that was a thing you had to do… and for some reason it felt dirtier than everything you’ve done so far. He picked up on your apprehension and his teasing smirk dropped into a more serious expression. 

“Hey, we don’t have to.” He said softly, genuinely. “The second you change your mind, we’re done, no questions asked. I can make you some hot chocolate and put on that movie you like and we don’t have to mention this ever again.” 

“I…” You swallowed the lump in your throat as your gaze shifted between his eyes and his cock. “Can we still do all of that after we do this?” You asked timidly, making the corners of his lips turn up into a small smile as he reached out to pet your hair. 

“Of course we can, kiddo. I’m pretty much done with work for the day so I’m all yours until it’s your bedtime.” You flushed at the mention of the silly rule he was so adamant about implementing. You told him that you’re an adult and adults don’t have bedtimes and he said that he just wants what’s best for you and that getting a good night's sleep is one of the best things you could do to take care of yourself. You didn’t protest again after that— mostly just because you liked the idea of him having that power over you. 

“Since it’s Friday… could we maybe.. extend my bedtime?” You asked coyly, staring up at him with wide pleading eyes. He raised his brows as he looked down at you for a moment before letting out a breathy laugh and looking away. 

“You’re getting too spoiled. I might as well start calling you princess.” He said with a sly smile, making you blush. 

“If I’m your princess, does that make you my daddy?” You asked innocently, making his breath catch in his throat, but he recovered quickly and decided to tease you a little. 

“Now where did you learn something like that?” Your blush intensified and you couldn’t maintain eye contact any longer. 

“Heard some classmates talking about it…” 

“Aren’t you a nosy little thing? But no kiddo, that doesn’t make me your daddy. I’m still just plain old stepdad Jackson.” He said with a small shrug. 

“But… if I want you to be?” You asked nervously. He let out a heavy breath that turned into a quiet chuckle. 

“If you want me to be… Then, we'll do a trial run tonight, how does that sound?”  

“Good. Thank you, daddy.” You decided to try it out immediately and it was strange how natural the word fell from your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his cock twitch. 

“Okay, princess. You do a good job and I’ll reward you by pushing your bedtime back an hour.” That made your face light up, but you were feeling bold right now. 

“…Two?” 

“Thirty minutes?” He asked, in the same tone as you, making you pout and accept his original offer of one hour. “Pick up where you left off.” He spread his legs to give you more room to shuffle forward and lean your face close to his length, but instead of aiming for his cock, you went lower. You did as he instructed, kissing and licking them gently. It felt dirty and wrong doing this, but somehow, at the same time, like the most fulfilling thing you've ever done. 

“Now suck one into your mouth.” The second your lips wrapped around one, he cursed under his breath and let out a sigh of pleasure, but it quickly turned into a wince, making you pull back instantly. “Gotta be gentler, honey.” 

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You rushed out, face flushing with shame, and he shushed you. 

“It’s okay. Just do it a little softer.” You hesitantly leaned forward to try once again, now much more apprehensive this time. “There you go…” He cooed, “Few more seconds, then do the same to the other one. Don’t forget to use your hand on my cock while you do this.” You blushed at the crude words but wrapped a hand around his length again to start pumping slowly before releasing him with a loud pop and moving to the other one. His sounds gave you confidence and you flicked your tongue as you sucked, then pulled back to keep licking and kissing while you stroked him. It was hard to multitask though with how overwhelmed you were getting from his scent and his hand holding yours on his thigh and just his closeness. 

You tried not to get too embarrassed when your spit kept building up until it was covering your lips and chin, making you feel even dirtier. But you realized that you like how it feels. You like feeling filthy as you make him feel good. 

You kept mouthing at his balls, occasionally sucking on them, and he placed his free hand on your head, stroking your hair. 

“Fuck… Look at you— Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” He asked teasingly, not giving you a chance to reply before speaking again. “There’s no way this mouth belongs to my innocent little girl.” You blushed, feeling shy at the compliment. 

“Daddy…” You whined against him, never stopping the movement of your hand or mouth. 

“It’s okay, kiddo. You just keep sucking on my balls and stroking my cock. Don’t need to do anything else.” You whimpered and squirmed at his feet, quickly growing uncomfortable with the weird feeling between your legs. 

“Daddy, it hurts.” You didn’t want to disobey him by stopping right after he told you to keep going, so you barely pulled back enough to get the words out. 

“What hurts?” You whined quietly and pressed your thighs together. His gaze traveled down your body curiously. “Your cunt?” You mewled and blushed at the vulgar word, but nodded in agreement. 

“You’re a proper whore, aren’t you?” He chuckled, making you frown and pull back. 

“No…” 

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, baby. If sucking balls is what gets you off, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Stop making fun of me.” You pouted, making him smile. “And ‘m not a whore.” 

“Of course you’re not a whore, princess. You’re my whore.” Your entire face heated up and the ache between your legs got infinitely worse. “Isn’t that right?” You whined quietly and he chuckled. 

“Y-yes…” You whispered. “Yours.” 

“My what?” Your expression turned into a pout and you averted your gaze. “Hm?”

“Your— your whore.” You choked out as tears welled in your eyes from the humiliation of it all.  

“Good girl. Keep going.” 

“But,” He gave you a warning look so you ignored the fire in your belly and leaned back in. Your hand picked up again as you tried new things with your mouth on his balls, making sure to repeat the ones that drew any sounds from him. There was even more saliva now and you could feel some of it dripping down your neck to your chest.

“Go a little lower now.” 

“W-what?” You choked out, trying to pull back, but he used the hand on your head to hold you there. “Relax, kiddo. Just a little bit.” He explained, but you were still apprehensive. He pushed you down until your chin hit the chair then pulled you closer, burying your nose into his balls and holding you there. 

“Lick.” He demanded, but you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be licking. Since you weren’t able to question him, you just stuck your tongue out and moved it as best you could with how close he was holding you to his body. “There you fucking go.” He groaned, bucking his hips against your face. 

“So fuckin’ filthy.” He said through a breath. Despite the degrading words he used, his tone was full of admiration and pride. “Covered in your own spit as you lick my taint.” He chuckled, voice a little darker now. “Work your way back up slowly.” He lessened the pressure on your head and you gave one last lick before moving up to his balls, mouthing at them for a few seconds, then kissing up his length until you reached the tip. You pulled back and looked up at him, waiting for the next instruction eagerly. 

“…I’m on the fence about teaching you this.” You furrowed your brows in confusion. 

“What is it?”

“It’s not necessary for a good blow job, you can leave a guy plenty satisfied with what I’ve taught you so far, but this just makes it even better.” You wanted to make him feel even better so there wasn’t any doubt in your mind. 

“Please teach me?” You asked, even though you still weren’t really sure what he was talking about. 

“Are you sure?”

“Please, daddy.” You whined. 

“Okay, princess. Hands off.” You let go of his cock and placed your hand on his thigh. “Open.” Your mouth fell open and he adjusted so he was gripping your hair, then slowly lowered you onto him. 

“First I want you to show me how far down you can take it.” He kept his grip on your hair, but let you move freely. Slowly forcing yourself down, you looked up at him for a moment before taking a deep breath through your nose and closing your eyes to concentrate. This is what you’re not good at. You kept going down until he brushed the back of your mouth. When you tried to move down even more, you gagged and had to pull off. 

“Good girl. Almost halfway.” You all but beamed at the praise. “I’m going to try holding you there. Pinch my thigh if it’s too much, okay?” You nodded and he gave you a small smile. “Take a deep breath.” You inhaled and let your mouth fall open, waiting for him to guide you down onto his cock. He pushed your head slowly until he reached the back of your mouth, then held you still. You were fine for a few seconds as you breathed heavily through your nose and focused on suppressing your gag reflex, but once it started, you couldn’t stop it and you had to pinch his thigh. 

“That was good, kiddo. You’re already getting better. Just try to keep your mouth open wider so your teeth aren’t touching it, okay?” 

“Okay. Sorry…” You looked away, feeling embarrassed. You didn’t know how you were supposed to open your mouth any wider when your jaw was already starting to ache because of his size. 

“Don’t apologize. You’re learning, you’re bound to make a mistake or two.” He said, easing your nerves. 

“Can I try again?” 

“Whenever you’re ready.” You sank down on his cock voluntarily this time and took deep breaths through your nose as he held you there. You didn’t want to gag, but you could feel it coming anyway. When it happened, you squeezed his thighs to keep yourself from pinching him, wanting to hold out a little longer. He shushed you and used a hand to pet your head while the other held you down as your body instinctively tried to pull up. 

“Good girl. See if you can control it.” You squeezed your eyes shut with a strangled whimper and tried to breathe slowly. “That’s it… I'm going to pull you up a little so you can take a breath.” He lifted you only an inch or so up and you heaved in a shaky breath before he pushed you back down. You weren’t expecting him to actually only let you take a single breath, so you gagged again the second he hit the back of your mouth. This time though, you gagged hard enough to make you feel like you could throw up if it happened just one more time so you pinched him and he pulled you off. 

A string of saliva connected your lips to his cock and you panted heavily, trying to catch your breath and push down the nausea. 

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo. You’re doing amazing.” It didn’t feel like you were doing amazing, but you blushed at the compliment anyway. 

“Thank you.” You rasped, giving him a small smile. He cupped your cheek, rubbing the saliva on your lips around a little as he returned the expression. 

“Keep this up and I might consider pushing your bedtime back two hours instead.” Your face lit up at that and he laughed under his breath. 

“Really?” 

“You deserve it.” You smiled and his thumb swiped over your lips again, so you took it into your mouth and sucked lightly. “Christ— You’re going to kill me, baby.” He groaned, making you blush. “Do you think you can try something a little harder now?” 

“I think so.” You said quietly, after reluctantly pulling away from his thumb to speak. 

“I’m going to push you down farther, okay? You’ll probably gag, but I know you can take it.” He pushed your hair out of your face and gave you a reassuring smile. You nodded and moved closer to his length, taking a deep breath and waiting for him to push you down. He did it slowly and stopped once he reached the back of your mouth. Placing both hands on the back of your head, he applied more pressure, but did it quickly. You gagged instantly, but it cut off into a garbled whimper when he breached your throat barrier and pushed you all the way down until your nose was buried in his pelvis and your chin was resting on his balls. 

“Fuck— good fucking girl.” He said through a moan. You tried to stay there despite the intense need to gag, but it was quickly becoming too much. “You feel incredible, baby.” You squeezed your eyes shut, hearing him curse under his breath as you choked. When you couldn’t take it anymore, you pinched his thigh and he hesitated for a second before letting you pull off. He stroked your hair as you coughed and tried to catch your breath. You looked up at him through teary eyes and his other hand moved to cup your cheek and brush his thumb over your lips that were slick with even more saliva now. 

“How you holding up?” He asked softly and you cleared your throat before responding. 

“Good I think..” 

“Do you want to stop?” Kind of… but at the same time you wanted more. More of this— more of him. 

“No- no… I want to keep going.”

“Don’t just say that because you think it’s what I want to hear,”

“‘m not. Wanna keep going.” You whined. 

“Do you want to keep doing this or go back to what you were doing before?” He seemed to like this the most and you wanted to practice so you could get better for him. So even though your throat was already sore, you said yes. 

“This.” 

“Okay, baby. Whenever you’re ready.” You cleared your throat again and tried to even out your breathing before wrapping your lips around the tip again, waiting for him to push you back down. He moved you slowly until he reached the back of your mouth and you braced yourself for what was about to happen. 

Even though you were anticipating it, you still gagged when he applied more pressure, and then choked when he finally entered your throat. You were coughing and sputtering around him, each time forcing more spit out of your mouth, making your face heat up when you felt more of it roll down your neck to your chest. 

“That’s it… Good girl.” The moan that escaped you because of his praise sounded more like a garbled, incoherent sound rather than anything else. “Fuck— I’m gonna come, baby.” He groaned, making your stomach flutter. 

You wanted nothing more than to pull off so you could breathe and cough, but you wanted to let him finish. So you squeezed his thighs hard enough to make him wince and his hips flinched up, burying his cock even deeper. 

“When I pull out, keep your mouth open.” He rushed out and you could only make a strangled sound in return. His hips were rutting up into your mouth now as he kept a tight grip on your head, not letting you move when your body reflexively tried to pull away. He cursed under his breath, then let out a loud groan, and you felt heat in your throat until he pulled out. You coughed, but tried to keep your mouth open as he stroked his cock in front of you, making more come land on your tongue and around your lips. When his sounds quieted and his hand slowed to a stop, he stared down at you as he panted. 

“Swallow.” He demanded softly. You reluctantly closed your mouth and swallowed, then he swiped up the come that landed on your face and put it on your tongue for you to swallow as well. 

You tried not to let it show in your expression, but you weren’t expecting it to taste like that at all and it caught you off guard. Especially because you were expecting more of the sweet taste that the precum had. 

“Everyone tastes like that?” You asked quietly, making him chuckle. 

“I wouldn’t really know, sweetheart, but I would assume so.” He wiped your tears and the spit from your chin and your stomach fluttered again at the soft, simple action. “You did such a good job. I’m so proud, kiddo.” Your whole face flushed at the compliment, but you didn’t understand why he said it since it didn’t seem like you improved much. 

“Thank you..” You said anyway, making the corners of his lips turn up into a small smile. 

“Get up here, princess.” You immediately got giddy at the thought of being so close to him and you eagerly climbed onto the chair and straddled his legs, putting your hands on his shoulders. He rubbed up and down your thighs slowly, teasing you. 

“Do you think you’ve learned enough?” You tried not to frown at the thought of this ending so soon. 

“No…” You muttered, looking down. 

“No? What else can I teach you, baby?” He chuckled. You knew his question was rhetorical, but you answered anyway. 

“I- I don’t know how to… touch myself.” You said with a blush and his eyes widened a little. 

“You don’t touch yourself?” He asked through a breath, almost completely frozen. 

“I’ve tried… I just end up feeling awkward and dumb so I stop. But I need you, daddy, it hurts. Make it go away.” You whined, giving him puppy dog eyes and a frown. He cursed under his breath and closed his eyes for a moment, his grip tightening on your thighs. 

“Fuck— fuck, okay. I’ll teach you, but after that, no more.” 

“Okay.” You agreed, even though you knew you were going to be begging him to keep going when he decided to stop. He took a deep breath and you waited anxiously for him to do something. 

“You have to start slow, build up to it. Women are different from men, they need more than we do to get started.” His hands dragged up your thighs— over your skirt— to your hips, then up your waist, and sadly back down again. 

“Don’t wanna start slow.” You whined, squirming in his lap. 

“You told me to teach you and that’s what I’m doing, princess.” You huffed and looked away from him with a pout. When he suddenly grabbed your cheeks in one hand, then turned you back to face him and pulled you closer, your breath caught in your throat. 

“I don’t want any attitude from you when I’m the one doing you a favor.” He said lowly, but you were distracted by his breath fanning your lips and his grip on your face. “I control how fast or slow we go. Do you understand?” There was that fear again, only this time you subconsciously tried to grind against him. 

“Y-yes.” You whispered, staring at him with wide eyes, getting needier and needier. “Please,” You whined, squirming again, but stopping when his hand moved down to your throat. 

“What did I just say?” He gritted. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry— But I can’t take this anymore, it’s torture!” You cried. He stared at you with a dark look that made you nervous and you waited anxiously for what was next. 

“Fine. Up.”

“Daddy…” You whined, but it cut off then he roughly grabbed your hips and lifted you to your feet. He didn’t even give you a demand before pulling you forward by your hips so that your legs were on either side of one of his. You gasped when he pulled you down and reached for his shoulders to steady yourself. “Grind on my thigh.” 

“W-what?” You choked out, eyes widening even more. 

“If you want to act like a bitch in heat, that’s how you’ll be treated. Hump my fucking thigh or we’re done for tonight.” He menaced, making your whole face heat up. You’ve never heard such degrading words before, especially not aimed at you, and even though you were probably supposed to be upset that he basically just called you a dog… you started moving your hips anyway. 

“You need to learn,” he landed a hard smack on your ass, making you cry out and tighten your grip on his shoulders, “when to fucking listen.” Another spank, this time on your other cheek. “I didn’t have to let you suck my cock, but I did…” When he hit you again, you felt tears brimming in your eyes. “I didn’t have to teach you how to deep throat,” you let out a choked sob when he hit you again, the hardest so far, “but I did.” He growled, spanking you twice in quick succession. 

“I’m sorry!” You cried, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Look at the fucking mess you’re making.” He roughly fisted your hair and forced your head down so you could see the damp spot on his pants where you were grinding. You whined, getting so overwhelmed with the feeling between your legs and his words and his hands and just him. 

“Get the fuck up.” He suddenly said, making your heart drop. Was he going to leave you like this? All needy and achy?

“Daddy, ‘m sorry.” You whimpered, staring at him with puppy dogs eyes and a pout. In response, he just lifted you off of him by your hips and stood up. You protested with a whine, but it cut off when he pushed you in front of the desk and roughly forced your chest down on it. You tried lifting yourself up, but he just placed a firm hand between your shoulder blades and forced you back down. 

“Stay.” He growled, making you stiffen. He flipped your skirt up and you squirmed with a low whine. “No shorts?” He spanked you again and you quickly scrambled for purchase on the desk. When he roughly groped your ass, you let out a quiet moan and squeezed your thighs together, but he kicked your legs apart, not letting you have any relief. 

“Daddy…” You whined, but it cut off into a yelp when he spanked you again. He roughly cupped your sex and you mewled in response as you pushed your hips back. 

“Such a needy fucking pussy for a virgin.” He gruffed, making you blush, but it only intensified when he pulled your panties to the side. 

“Fuck…” He muttered, then dragged a finger through your slit, spreading your arousal. “Fuck!” You jumped at the sudden increase in volume. Was he mad? He sounded like he was quickly losing his composure and you weren’t exactly sure why or how you could help him. 

“Daddy?” 

“Shut up.” He hissed, roughly gripping your underwear and pulling until he ripped it off of you. “Just shut the fuck up.” 

“Mmph!” He shoved your panties in your mouth before you could even register what was happening. He ignored you and roughly groped your ass again, pulling you apart to spread your holes and cursing under his breath. When wetness and heat replaced the chilly air on your clit, your hips flinched back toward the pleasure as a surprise moan escaped you. 

He licked over you slowly, still having a firm grip on your ass to keep you spread open. Moving up to your hole, he licked and sucked, making a loud, vulgar slurping sound that had you whining from embarrassment. 

You whimpered, hiding your burning face in your arms. He lapped up your arousal for a while before going back down to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. You choked on a whimper at the sudden, intense pleasure, making him chuckle against you. 

Your knees shook and you moved your hands to grip the desk, trying to ground yourself, but it was just so fucking intense. Eventually, your legs got too weak to hold you up and all of your weight was resting on the desk with the hard wood digging into your hip bones painfully. 

You whimpered, feeling your stomach tighten with arousal even more, but let out an anguished sob when he suddenly pulled back. Your head was spinning with how fast he lifted you off of the desk and sat you down on his chair, removing the makeshift gag.

He pulled your hips to the edge and dove back in eagerly. Your hands landed in his hair as you rocked your hips against his face, moaning and whining at the new feeling— you could already tell you were getting addicted. Moving down to your hole, he lapped up your arousal and rubbed his thumb over your clit, making your stomach feel even tighter.  

“If you let that… that fucking pervert anywhere near you I swear to god you won’t be able to sit for a fucking week.” He growled and you moaned at his words as well as the sudden possessiveness in his tone. “This pussy is mine. Do you understand?” You mewled and tugged his hair, trying to pull his mouth back on you, but he was stronger. 

“Y-yes. Yours, daddy.” You whined, tugging harder. “Please!” You cried, when he still wouldn’t give in. “It’s yours, daddy! I’m all yours.” You sobbed out, grinding your hips in hopes of getting the stimulation back. 

“Pull your shirt up.” He gruffed, only leaning back down after you obeyed. His mouth took over his thumb again and he reached up to grope your breast as he sucked on your clit in an almost feral manner. “Who’s tits are these?” He mumbled against you, starting to toy with your nipple now. 

“Yours.” 

“Who’s allowed to see them?” He switched hands, giving your other nipple the same treatment. 

“Only you.” You said through a breath, feeling the coil in your stomach get impossibly tighter. 

“Who’s allowed to touch them?” 

“Only you, daddy. Please!” He didn’t respond, he just worked harder and faster on your clit until you fell over the edge. You sobbed out a moan and pulled on his hair hard enough to make him hiss in pain. But that was overshadowed by the feeling flooding your entire body, making you tremble and writhe as you rutted against his face. You weren’t lying when you said you don’t touch yourself, but now that you know what an orgasm feels like? You might start trying honestly. 

Once your body sagged into the chair and your sounds died down, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. You were panting, still trying to calm down even though you were practically dizzy with pleasure. You felt warm hands running up and down your thighs, soothing you, and you gave him a dopey smile as your eyes fluttered open to look down at him. 

“You’ve got quite the grip on you, kiddo.” He chuckled, making you blush and loosen your hands in his hair. 

“Sorry.” You said sheepishly, trying to rub his scalp a little to soothe the ache he must be feeling from you pulling so hard. 

“You okay?” He asked and you nodded wordlessly. “I… I didn’t mean to get so harsh. I just worry.” 

“I know, it’s okay. I won’t go near him.” It felt like you were hit with a wave of exhaustion all of a sudden. Is that what orgasms do? Make you sleepy?

“Good girl. You tired?” When you nodded, he chuckled quietly. “Let’s get you cleaned up really quick. Wait here.” As if you could stand on your wobbly legs. You thought with an internal scoff. He left the room and returned with a damp washcloth a minute later. He started with your face, gently wiping the mascara from under your eyes and the dried spit around your mouth, trailing down your chest. Once that was cleaned up, he went even lower. You jolted when the cloth brushed over your folds. 

“I’ll be quick.” He said, trying to soothe you. He wiped the area gently and you couldn’t help the quiet moan that slipped out when he brushed your clit. “None of that.” He reprimanded you softly and with a smile. When he finished, he pulled your top back down and fixed your skirt. 

“Do you still want that hot chocolate and movie?” You nodded with a lazy smile and he chuckled before picking you up and carrying you to the living room. He set you down on the couch gently and laid a blanket over you, then kissed the top of your head. As he was walking to the kitchen, your brain was already starting to come up with new ways to get this to happen again. You still have so much to learn, after all. 

Taglist (join here)

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[demigods-posts]

think it'd be really cool if percy could teleport using water. just needing to be in direct contact with a water source to transfer from one puddle to the next. cornering monsters in damp alleyways like it's no one's business. foregoing the subway when the forecast calls for showers. crossing the ocean quicker that you can say pacific. quality content.

[bugwolfsstuff]

In hindsight Travercy is really funny cause imagine your boyfriend helped your older brother kill himself and you still went:

Mmm let me hit that

Permes is also funny for similarly funny reasons plus the addition of Percy becoming Luke's stepdad (He could legitimately be the dad that stepped up for Luke)

[loo011]

Say whatever you want but Lucy-furr will always be jaxer's child

[faytears]

when I see ppl shit on poseidon and say paul is percy's "real dad"....when I see ppl say you shouldn't like poseidon bc he cheated on his wife he did bad things in the myths etc...do you guys know how goofy you look trying to hold a greek god to human standards of morality. he is ANCIENT. his true form is literally pure light. he's acting within his nature as a god. and despite not being able to always be there for percy at the end of the day he's STILL the best parent out of all the gods and he loves his son and that's that!

[cjbolan]

I hope everyone hating Sally Jackson for being frustrated for ~5 seconds, can direct equal hatred at everyone else’s parents for doing much worse.

[lalitjdsc]

BABY TJD

[frauleinfunf]

my age is really showing bc i haven't read the percy jackson books since i was in middle school in the late 2000s (well except for the lightning thief which was one of the assigned readings for my genre class in college and i was very happy to bring my childhood copy to the discussion, think i was the only one with that sick illustrative style cover that had the green spine). so while everyone else is arguing about the changes the show made and details and plot points i've forgotten about, i'm just sitting here going "oh i remember that!" or "ooh i forgot about that part!"

[callmeanxietygirl]

Riley Keough, la hija de Lisa Marie Presley, recuerda su época con su padrastro, Michael Jackson.

Como parte de un nuevo reportaje de portada con Vanity Fair, se le preguntó a Riley Keough sobre cómo fue crecer bajo los focos de su abuelo Elvis Presley y las relaciones de su madre con grandes estrellas como Michael Jackson y Nicolas Cage.

"Toda mi infancia fue probablemente muy extrema. En retrospectiva, puedo ver lo disparatadas que serían estas cosas para alguien de afuera. Pero cuando vives con ellas, es tu vida y tu familia. Sólo recuerdas el amor, y yo sentía verdadero amor por Michael", dijo Riley sobre Jackson al hablar con Vanity Fair.

"Creo que le encantaba hacer feliz a la gente, de la forma más épica posible, algo que creo que él y mi abuelo tenían en común", añadió, antes de comparar su estancia en el rancho Neverland de Jackson con la finca Graceland del abuelo Elvis.

"¿Cuál me gustó más? Pasé más tiempo en Neverland que en Graceland, para ser honesta, ese fue un verdadero hogar, mientras que Graceland fue un museo en mi vida".

mjvibe.com

La nota completa 👉🏻 vanityfair.com

[rafesteddy]

Can we get dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Max lets it slip to rafe that his buddies ogle and find milf!reader so hot when they saw her pick up Max and Winnie from school a few times? You can choose how it goes afterwards!! I love your writing of their fam saurrrrr much

awe thank you bb 💕 I'm so glad you like it 🤭🤭🤭 sorry this one got a little long—but I hope you enjoy 😋💕 This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au.

+18 -> smut

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: teenage boys being gross, jealous rafe, swearing, ownership kink, possessive rafe, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstim., squirting, fingering, unprotected p in v, mirror sex, dirty talk, spanking, lots of cum, female oral (post-shared climax)

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You lean into the counter, absentmindedly squeezing lemon after lemon into the glass pitcher. Cold juices run down your fingers, sticky as it slips into the creases of your palms and drips to your wrists. The whole kitchen smells like sugar and citrus, with that warm, buttery hint of cookies still cooling behind you.

The plate’s already half gone, devoured by teenage boys lounging in the common space: tall, tan, loud, sprawled across your furniture like they own the place.

“Sugar, please?” You ask, gesturing toward Kelce’s son, perched in front of the one cabinet you need.

“Yes, ma’am,” he hums, flashing you a grin as he hops down to grab it.

His hand brushes yours as he passes it off. You smile, polite and sweet as ever, returning to stir the mix.

“Fuck, she wants me,” he mutters to Max—just out of earshot.

Your son groans, tipping his head back against the cabinet. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Why else would she be in here squeezin’ her lemons?” Tripp groans, dragging the sentence out like it’s a double entendre.

“You’re still goin’, huh? Not scared?”

“M’not scared of shit—”

Before Max can answer, the door opens with a thud.

“Hi, Mom!” Winnie calls, sandals slapping the marble as she breezes in. Her boyfriend Jackson’s behind her, arms full, carrying the twins, still damp from the sprinkler, dressed like they’re headed out.

“Is it cool if we take the twins out for ice cream?” Winnie asks. Her tone’s breezy, but she looks sharply toward one of Max’s friends eyeing her up.

That same boy yelps when Max nails him in the arm. “M’gonna fuckin’ kill you,” he mutters, while the kid doubles down, clearly unbothered, shooting his shot at your daughter like it’s all just part of the game.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you say, crossing the counter for your purse.

“Mrs. Cameron, really—I’ve got it,” Jackson says, voice firm.

“That’s very sweet. But not necessary… Thanks for taking them off my hands.” You kneel in front of the twins gently brushing back your daughter’s curls; cupping your son’s cheek lovingly. “You two be good for your sister and Jackson, okay?”

You lean in to kiss their cheeks, and without realizing it, your sundress shifts. The neckline dips, your breasts press softly together, the hem lifts just enough to tease. You linger, whispering something about sprinkles and chocolate.

Behind you, the room goes silent.

One boy swallows hard. Another just stares—slack-jawed—like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Max… Dude. This is your life?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Max mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’d move in tomorrow,” Tripp grins. “Be your stepdad today.”

“Bet she tastes like sugar—”

“I said shut up,” Max snaps, louder this time.

Just then, another boy walks in from the hallway, Trevor. He catches sight of you, still bent low in front of the twins, and freezes. Smiling like the goddamn Cheshire Cat, he lifts both hands like he’s gripping your hips and starts thrusting the air behind you in slow-motion silence.

The other boys lose it—coughing, choking on laughter, trying and failing to keep it together.

You straighten up, sundress swaying back into place as you smooth it down with both hands, blissfully unaware.

“All right, go have fun,” you sing out, waving them toward the door.

You turn back to the pitcher, lift it to the sink, and flip the tap without thinking.

Water churns—lemon juice and sugar swirling, rising to the rim—as your gaze drifts out the kitchen window. And then you see him. Rafe…

His white t-shirt’s soaked through, hose in hand as he rinses down the G-Wagon. Sunlight turns the spray to glitter. Water drips down his arms, soaking the cotton clinging to every curve and cut of his chest and abs.

He turns, flipping his hat backward with one hand, jaw flexing as he wipes his brow.

Your thighs press together. Grip tightening on the pitcher just as the lemonade spills over, cold and sticky down your wrist. You fumble the tap, blinking fast, but your eyes don’t leave him.

His shirt clings to his back, practically painted on, while his blue swim trunks ride low on his hips and high on his thighs.

One hand coils the hose, and the other grabs the wash bucket. His chest flexes with every move, muscles rolling under wet cotton like sin in motion.

“Have fun, boys,” you call out, pouring lemonade into a glass, still watching him.

The front door clicks shut as you step outside barefoot. The grass is crisp beneath your feet; sun shining hot on your shoulders.

Rafe looks up the second he hears you. His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile. “Oh shit, pretty,” he drawls, eyes dragging down your body. “That for me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, offering him the glass—but he doesn’t take it. He steps closer, warm, wet arm curling around your waist, pulling you flush to him like he can’t help it. His mouth finds yours instantly—hot and slow. Your fingers hook behind his neck, greedy for more.

You giggle into the kiss, breathless. “How much longer?”

Rafe pulls back just enough to smirk, water dripping down his temple “What? You want somethin’, baby?”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ 15 minutes earlier…

The garage is quiet at first—just the clatter of golf clubs and the squeak of a sponge as Rafe scrubs the green off his chipping wedge. The radio hums softly from the corner, low and easy. But that peace doesn’t last.

Beer bottles clink inside the fridge; ice rattles in the machine. And just around the corner from where Rafe sits, the boys start talking their shit like they don’t have a care in the world.

“I’m done,” your son mutters—tone flat and fed up like he’s been saying all day.

“Not my fault your mom’s hot as fuck, Maxi.” One of the boys fires back, voice deep and smug. “M’just waitin’ for the day she gets stuck in the washer. I’ll pound her shit right there—”

“Fuck you,” Max hisses. There’s a sharp thud and a groan; Max hits his friend hard enough to give him a moment's peace from him, but it doesn’t stop the rest of them.

“Did you see her in that swimsuit the other day? Playing with the twins? That bikini? She’s still got an ass on her. Those tits too?” Trevor chimes in, practically drooling. “I wanna play with her twins. Slide my dick right between ‘em—”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Max growls.

“Hey, you fucked my sister, Max. Both of ‘em. Think I get to tug one to your mom… every night—”

“She’s so hot, bro. Like stupid hot,” another pipes up. “Your dad doesn’t deserve that. He can’t keep up. Can’t handle all that. His stamina’s gotta be shot.”

“She made me cookies like it was foreplay,” one of them says, breathy and laughing. “You think she ever looks at us and wonders…”

“She made cookies for my dad,” Max mutters.

“Yeah. That’s what I said—”

And then Rafe clears his throat, loud and measured. The sound slices through the room like a blade. So quiet you could hear the soft clink of a stolen beer cap hitting the concrete.

The boys scatter like mice out the side door and back into the house. Their smug laughter from moments before dies on their lips, replaced by frantic whispers of “do you think he heard” and the squeak of boat shoes skidding across the floor.

“Come here,” Rafe says, low and calm.

Max exhales hard, stuffing his hands in his front pockets. His shoulders drawn up to his ears as he drags himself across the garage floor.

“You wanna explain what that was?” Rafe asks without looking at him, voice steady as he cleans his club.

Max shrugs, sullen. “I mean, you heard it.”

“Yeah… I heard everything—”

“Every fuckin’ day,” Max mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anytime we’re at the house. I try shutting it down—it’s impossible.”

“They were talking about your mother,” Rafe says. “You just gonna let that fly?”

“They’re fuckin’ idiots,” Max scoffs. “Just givin’ me shit. They’re not gonna do anything. And what am I supposed to do, huh? Beat the shit out of every guy who opens his mouth about mom?”

“Nah,” Rafe says, smiling without humor. “They’ll get the hint some way or another.”

“Well that’s not horrifying,” Max mumbles, giving him a side-eye—because he knows damn well Rafe might handle this himself.

“She’s not just your mom, you know. She’s my wife,” Rafe says, nodding toward the garage door. “So yeah. I know exactly how hot she is.”

“Ew.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Rafe grins. “I just had to listen to that perverted pissin’ contest over your mother. And Trevor’s sister? Really?”

“…Sisters,” Max murmurs, not meeting Rafe’s eye.

He cringes, face twisting in the exact same way his son’s had moments earlier. “Aren’t you dating Top’s daughter?”

“They’re Trevor’s sisters,” Max repeats. “Doesn’t count.”

Rafe stares at him. “And what’s the math on that? It doesn’t count? You serious?”

Max shrugs, then deflects. “Hey—remember who the enemy is here, alright? He was talkin’ about Mom.”

That earns a dry laugh. Rafe crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall, still giving Max a look like this conversation’s not over.

“I like that excuse better,” he breathes. “Y’all headin’ out?”

“Mhmm,” Max hums, already inching toward the door like he’s trying to disappear. “Just gonna grab some snacks.”

“Yacht Club?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms, eyes on the exit.

“Be safe,” Rafe says, a little quieter now.

Max mumbles something back as he pushes into the house, and the door shuts behind him with a soft thud.

Rafe doesn’t move. He just stands there for a second, staring at nothing, letting the quiet settle. He knows what he feels. Always has. He just doesn’t always want to name it.

He used to love the attention. The looks. The envy. Part of him still does. When you were younger, his friends couldn’t keep their eyes off you. Couldn’t help the comments, the sideways glances. And he loved it—loved knowing that no matter how many mouths whispered your name, it was his bed you came home to.

You were his. All his. Always. But this? This was different. Hearing that kind of shit from teenagers—his son’s idiot friends, their mouths full of his food, beers stolen from his fridge, spending long, lazy days on his boat—no. It didn’t feel flattering. It felt like a fucking insult.

The way they talked about you was like you were some option. Like if given half a chance, they’d step right into his role. As if they could touch you. As if they could handle a woman like you. His wife. It pissed him off. And he knew it shouldn’t—not like this.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t shocking. But today? It got under his skin in a different way. Raw and hot and fucking personal.

He let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. This is what happens when your wife is you. People want you. They always have.

He laughs under his breath—half at himself, half at the absurdity of it all—and reaches for the sponge and bucket again. He wasn’t gonna fight them. He didn’t need to. There were better ways to remind them where they stood.

They wanted to act grown? Act like they could love you, care for you, fuck you like a man? Fine. Let them watch. Let them see what a real man does.

Rafe lets the door swing shut behind him and strolls across the drive, relaxed, deliberate. His gaze lifts straight to the window above the sink—and there you are, stepping into frame like you were waiting for your cue.

Rafe squeezes the hose handle, blasting water against the side of the G-Wagon. He shifts a little closer, just enough to let the spray bounce back misting his skin, ricocheting off the glossy paint.

The sun is hot, but the water is cool against his skin. The soaked fabric clings to the muscles of his chest and abs. He tugs his shorts a little higher on his thighs, watching the droplets slide down his body.

Then he smiles again—cocky and quiet—as he pulls the oldest trick in the book: flipping his cap from front to back like he’s not thinking about it at all.

Next, his shirt. He peels it off slowly and casually and tosses it aside, revealing his tan, chiseled frame. The gold chain with your initial catches the light.

“Five… four… three…” Bang. The door claps shut. He chuckles to himself, smug, reading you like a favorite book. He doesn’t even have to look to know it’s you. But he does.

Rafe glances over his shoulder as he hears your bare feet brushing through the grass; sundress swaying in the summer breeze. And then he sees you, glass of lemonade in hand, eyes already locked on him like he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted.

“Look at you,” he mutters, watching you float closer. You took the bait. You always do. And he lives for it.

He spots movement through the glass, Max’s friends still inside, lingering, pretending not to watch.

Rafe praises you as he always does, a breathy “mhmm” buzzing past your lips is the only thing passing before he’s kissing you deep, hot, and possessive—right there in the driveway, letting them see. Letting them know who you belong to. How good you fit in his arms. How easily he could take you wherever and whenever he wanted.

He pulls back just enough to breathe you in; Rafe brushing his lips across yours like he can’t stop touching you. His big hand drifts lower, sliding over the slight curve of your back before grabbing a handful of ass—firm, slow, and so intentional it makes your breath catch.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You laugh quietly, barely holding it in. His shirt’s been tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm and bare against yours, that heavy gold chain glinting faintly against his chest.

The teenage boys barrel out of the house, faster than usual. Lugging the cooler through the grass as they look anywhere but at you.

“Where are you headed?” Rafe calls out, still holding your waist.

“Told you—yacht club,” Max grits, like a chore.

“Yacht club, huh?” Rafe echoes. “Sounds real productive. Why don’t y’all finish cleanin’ the car before you go burnin’ my gas?”

“Dad, seriously?” Max groans, letting the cooler drop to the grass with a thud.

“You’re about to torch another five hundred dollars of fuel,” Rafe says, grinning as he jams the sponge into one of the boys’ chests hard. “Don’t even get me started on yesterday. Three-fifty in food, six bottles of cheap-ass liquor—none of which I’d let past my lips or hers… It’s the least you can do.”

“Pretty sure that was all Winnie—”

“Spare me the bullshit,” Rafe drawls, his Southern accent soaked in judgment, cutting like his smirk.

“Since when are you washin’ cars anyway?” Max mutters, dunking a sponge into the soapy bucket. You try not to giggle but you can’t help it. Rafe’s flair for the dramatics is so visible in Max it’s like looking in a mirror.

Rafe laughs as well, already turning back to you. He reaches up, wiping a drop of water from your cheek with his thumb, pressing a kiss to your lips—gentler this time, like he’s taking back the moment before their arrival.

“Now what did you need, baby?” Rafe murmurs as the boys start scrubbing the truck. You glance up at him, feeling nothing but butterflies. Rafe bites his lip slightly, head tilted slightly, making your brain short-circuit. “Name it, princess,” he mumbles, thumb tracing slow, possessive circles on the small of your back.

“You.”

That one word has him grinning, dark and knowing. “You want me, huh?” He mutters, voice dropping an octave. “Alright. Do somethin’ for me.”

“Anything…”

“Go on back inside. Head to the guest room. Get on the bed, just like this. Don’t take a single thing off,” he adds. “I wanna take it off you. You think you can do that for me?”

“Yeah… yeah, baby,” you murmur, lifting up just enough to press your mouth to his.

He leans in, lips lingering like he’s already counting down the seconds. “Beautiful,” he mutters, voice low, that crooked grin spreading as his hand lands on your ass with a lazy smack. “I’ll be right behind you— ”

“Love you, Max! Have fun, boys. Be safe,” you call out, voice bright and sweet as you disappear toward the house.

The driveway shifts the second the door closes, all the sunshine snuffed out the second you’re gone. The boys go silent, scrubbing like their lives depend on it.

Rafe’s shadow stretches long across the driveway. He folds his arms over his broad chest as he surveys the group, his gaze unreadable—far colder than anger.

“Yacht club, huh?” He says, nodding toward the cooler. “Gonna load up the boat? Burn my gas, drink my liquor, make some memories? I hope y’all have fun,” Rafe adds, and if they didn’t know any better, they might think he means it.

“Thanks, Mr. Camer—”

“Maybe you’ll even get lucky,” Rafe cuts in, clean and easy. “Pick up a few country club girls: pearls, spray tans; the kind who won’t notice your hands shakin’ while you fumble with their bras.”

A nervous chuckle slips out, quickly catching Rafe’s glare, his lips curling into a fake smile.

“You’ve seen my wife, yeah?” He asks casually. “Beautiful. Fuckin’ stunning actually. Prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He looks back at the house giving the boys a moment to breathe before shifting his sights to them again.

“I’ve been working since I was eighteen. Built this house. That boat. Everything you boys use like it’s yours.” He leans in slightly, voice tightening. “And even after all that—I don’t deserve her.”

That hits. You can see it land—all of them blinking like they’ve just been slapped across the face.

“So what makes you think you do?”

“We were just joking, Mr. Cameron. I swear—”

“That’s my wife,” Rafe snaps. The words hit like thunder in their chests. “Mine. Always has been. Always will be. And I don’t give a shit if you go home and jerk off thinkin’ about her—hell, that fantasy’s older than any of you.”

His smile returns, slow and razor-sharp. “But if you say another word—if you breathe another comment about something you’ll never fuckin’ touch…”

He steps forward, and they shrink; stepping toward Max is self-preservation. His eyes zero in on Trevor. The kid nods before Rafe says another word, like he’s praying it’s enough to stay alive. “I’ll make sure the only thing you’re sliding into is a fuckin’ ditch. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor stammers.

Rafe claps a hand on his back hard. The slap echoed through the grounds, making the boy stumble forward with a wheezing gasp.

Then, just like that, Rafe turns and walks away. Calm and steady, like it didn’t happen. He passes Max on the way back to the house, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Love you, kid.”

“L-Love you too,” Max mutters, the lot of them holding their breath until he’s gone for good.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴

You shift on the bed the second he walks in, soft and shy, biting your lip as your eyes meet his. His gaze darkens instantly, heat rolling off him like a wave.

“I know I changed…” You murmur, voice gentle as a pout tugs at your lips.

The robe’s already falling off your shoulders. Just hanging there. Lace underneath—barely visible, but that’s the point. One leg crossed, stockings tight on your thighs, garters showing just enough to make him stop breathing.

Rafe’s tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip as his eyes roam over you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

He’s already hard, straining against the front of his swim trunks, jaw tight as his fists curl at his sides—like it’s taking everything in him not to rip that robe off you.

“Baby… Don’t apologize. Not when you look that fuckin’ good for me.”

Rafe steps closer, making your thighs part without thinking, giving him room, inviting him in. His hands slide up your legs—rough palms dragging higher—his thumbs hooking under the garter straps, snapping them against your skin.

“You bought this for me, didn’t you? Knew I’d lose my mind over this. Fuck, you know me too well…”

Your pussy clenches at the raw need in his tone. You toy with the satin belt at your waist, slowly teasingly letting the knot fall loose. The robe slips open completely as you lean back, arching your back, tits round in the pretty lingerie.

“Fuck... You don’t even realize what you do to me. The way you picked this out thinkin’ of me? Wantin’ me to see you like this?”

He kisses you, soft and slow, then starts to trail lower—his mouth brushing along your jaw, every touch unhurried, deliberate. His hand glides up your thigh and grips tight, spreading you open. His eyes are sharp, blue, and hungry—fixed on yours.

“Rafe…” You whine, already feeling your thoughts blur.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you for them,” he groans, hardly holding himself together. “Make sure they never look at you the same. Make sure they know it’s me in your head when you close your eyes. You know what they’ll never have?” He whispers, breath fanning across your lips.

“This. This soft little mouth. These legs wrapped around them. This sweet pussy drippin’ for them.” His voice drops even lower. “All mine.”

You blink up at him, a little crease forming between your brows like you’re trying to figure him out

He lets out this low breath, almost a laugh, but not really. “Fuck, you’re perfect… You don’t even see anyone else, do you?”

“Who, baby?” You whisper.

He scoffs, low and humorless as he tugs down his trunks, tossing them to the floor. “You should’ve heard what they were sayin’ about you.”

“Rafe…” You blink. “Is everything okay?”

Your words tip up into a gasp as he pushes you back suddenly, one knee sinking into the bed, his body climbing over yours. “Those boys,” he mumbles. “They want you.”

“Max’s friends?” You gasp as your face twists in disgust; eyes flicking toward the door.

Rafe grabs your cheeks, forcing your focus back to him. His fingers slip under the lace and he groans—low and guttural—when he feels how wet you are.

“Already soaked,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’ve been sittin’ here all sweet and innocent, like nothin’s goin’ on—when your pussy’s this fuckin’ desperate for me. Say you're mine… Who do you belong to?”

You whimper, breath hitching as he slips your panties to the side and drags two fingers through your slick slowly, savoring every second.

“Say it,” he demands, his forehead pressing to yours; hand working you open.

“You,” you whisper. “I belong to you—”

“That’s right… Mine to spoil. Mine to love. Mine to fuck.”

You go to touch him, but he grabs your wrists before you get the chance. Forces them up over your head, holding you there. His body presses into yours and when his hand slides down your thigh, it pulls a shiver straight out of you. “Uh-uh, angel. Not yet.”

His fingers curl just right, pressing into that spot that makes your hips jolt off the sheets. He keeps it slow, steady—watching your face with quiet adoration. He’s memorized every flutter of your lashes, every soft gasp that slips from your swollen lips. He knows what it takes… what you crave. And he knows you’re close.

“You’re gonna come for me, pretty,” he murmurs. “Just like this—”

You nod rapidly, falling apart not a moment later. “Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, trembling as your pussy clenches around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps working you through it, fucking you with his fingers until you’re gasping into his mouth, thighs twitching, hips jerking away from the overstimulation. You reach for his wrist, gripping tight, trying to slow him down—but he groans against your lips, loving how little it takes for him to unravel you.

He catches the lace of your panties and rips them clean off, the tear sharp and sudden. The sound snaps through the room, and your legs twitch from the jolt.

Rafe pulls you off the bed, guiding you right where he wants you, not wasting a moment. “Hands on the glass,” he says, voice rough as he unhooks your bra with one practiced flick. His other hand clamps around your waist, steadying you.

You press your palms to the glass, cool beneath you. Your reflection stares back: hair a mess, lips wet, chest rising fast—tits bare as you beg for more, fighting to keep your eyes open already as they flutter shut.

“Eyes on me,” Rafe whispers roughly, his chest pressed to your back now; hips flush against your ass.

He pushes into you slowly, giving you every delicious inch, your greedy pussy pulling him in. “Shit, baby… You’re tight.” Rafe grinds in deeper, hand splayed across your stomach as he holds you there, impaled on his thick cock. “This,” he pants, dragging back and slamming in again. “This is my pussy. My house. My fuckin’ wife.”

Rafe sets a brutal rhythm, hips snapping against your ass with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, lewd and filthy. He spanks your ass, hard enough to make you jolt forward into the glass.

“Let ‘em hear it,” he growls. “Let those little bastards outside hear what I do to you.”

Your body trembles with every ruthless thrust; the mirror rattles under your grip, the sharp slaps of skin echoing round the room.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” Rafe grits out, voice rough and hoarse.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, voice breaking as the knot in your belly coils tight, ready to snap.

“Yeah?” He growls, dragging you closer, rough hands holding you right where he wants you. “Then fuckin’ give it to me.”

One arm binds around your waist while the other slips down, fingers working your clit in rough, relentless circles that make your legs shake. “Show me what I do to you.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your body jerks—cunt clamping down around him. You peel your eyes open, desperate to see him. And there he is in the mirror behind you: jaw tight, lip caught between his teeth as his hips slam into you again and again.

“Good girl,” he snarls, not letting up for a second. “You ain’t done yet.”

Rafe yanks you upright, chest to back, one big hand wrapping gently around your throat, thumb stroking just under your jaw as he fucks you deep and hard—so deep it’s almost too much.

You break with a choked sob, another orgasm tearing through you so hard your vision blurs. You go limp in his arms, legs shaking, body spent. He doesn’t let go. Just grunts out a rough “Fuck, baby,” right against your neck as his hips pump forward. One last thrust and he’s coming, cock throbbing inside you, breath hot on your skin.

You feel every pulse of it, thick and messy, spilling deep as he holds you there, buried and shaking, not ready to move.

Rafe nuzzles into your cheek, soft kisses dusting your jaw as your breath comes out in shattered little gasps. He listens to every sound. “You still with me, baby?” He murmurs, peeking over your shoulder with a teasing smirk.

“Barely,” you whisper, still catching your breath as you slump into his chest.

He lets out a soft laugh, mouth skimming the edge of your lips. “That smile,” he mutters, voice thick. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let your eyes fall shut, head resting against him.

He slips out of you slow, gentle to the last second, then gathers you up without a word. Carries you back to the bed like you weigh nothing, sets you down easy, and smooths your hair from your face with the back of his hand. Just stands there for a beat, staring like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Rafe…” you breathe, voice soft and pathetic, so sweet it nearly breaks him. He smiles, crawling between your thighs. “You gonna tell me you can’t take another?” He whispers, hands sliding under your knees, pushing your thighs open wide. “Yes, you can… You always do.”

Rafe kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, mouth warm against your sex. His stubble drags across your skin, rough enough to make your lip tremble.

Your hands shoot to his hair the second he dives between your thighs. His tongue works you over, lips locking around your clit as he sucks hard. You cry out, fingers gripping his hair, and he groans into you, the sound vibrating so deep it makes your legs shake.

Rafe’s fingers slide inside without warning, drilling his cum back into you until your back bows and your eyes blur with tears.

You sob, thighs quivering as your heels dig into the mattress, your body barely able to take it anymore; your brain not able to think of a single coherent thought.

“Give it to me. Let ‘em know who owns this fuckin’ bed, aight. You and me… You. And. Me.” A scream rips from your throat, so cock-drunk you cum without warning, soaking his hand, his face, the sheets beneath you, everything drenched in the proof of your pleasure.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Rafe sighs in relief, licking and kissing through the mess, savoring every drop. He slaps your pussy once, firm and wet, just to hear the sound of it. “Atta baby. That’s what I fuckin’ needed… So damn good to me.”

He drags his mouth up your body. Every touch lingers, every breath shared. He settles over you, wrapping you up in him.

You reach for his face, thumb stroking along his slick jaw. He leans into your touch, his mouth just a breath from yours.

“I love you,” you murmur, voice barely there.

Rafe’s leans in, resting his forehead against yours. A quiet smile breaks across his face.

“I love you more, sweetheart,” he says, low and steady. “Always have. Always will.”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ the next morning

“I warned you,” Max mutters.

Tripp doesn’t reply—just stares into the void like something sacred was taken from him last night. Trevor’s slumped next to him, hoodie up, eyes hollow, chewing his thumbnail.

“Warned us?” Tripp breathes, voice shot. “About the wet bed? The screaming? The headboard hitting the wall like a metronome set to ‘destroy pussy’ all night long?”

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bauer adds, thumping his fist against the kitchen table. “All damn night.”

Max shrugs, calm as ever. “I told you not to talk about my mom.”

“…She was crying about it,” Bauer mutters. “Crying about dick—”

“Enough,” Max snaps.

Tripp rubs both hands over his face. “I’ve got PTSD. Did you sleep?”

“You think I slept?” Trevor huffs.

“You could’ve knocked,” Max says casually, sipping his orange juice.

All heads turn to him fast. “Knocked?” They spat in unison.

Max shrugs again, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. “Could’ve asked to crash in my room. I slept great.”

You walk in like it’s any other morning—light on your feet, humming under your breath, dressed in a tiny pajama set that has no business existing in a house full of teenage boys. Your tank’s stretched snug across your chest, love bites just barely visible where your robe slips open at the collar.

You pull the cinnamon rolls out, set them on the counter, steam rising fast. Without thinking, you grab the icing, swipe some with your finger, and lick it clean. You smile, small and sleepy, still feeling kind of floaty from the night before.

And for the first time in god knows how long they sat there in silence.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Tripp whispers as heavy footsteps echo down the hall.

And then—Rafe.

No shirt, just his signature gold chain catching the light as it rested against his chest. His skin was tanned, muscles cut sharp, and those sweats hung low on his hips like he’d just rolled out of bed—or hadn’t bothered to pull them up all the way.

“Mornin’, baby,” He murmurs, already reaching for your waist.

“Good morning,” you hum, letting him pull you into him—cinnamon roll tray still in your hands—as he kisses your skin; fingers curling around the handle of the fresh cup of coffee you poured him, steam rolling over the rim of the handmade Daddy mug from a Father’s Day past.

“For me?” He asks softly, like the entire house isn’t holding its breath.

You giggle, warm and syrupy. “Made your favorite.”

“Already had my favorite last night.” It’s a whisper meant just for you, but every boy hears it.

Rafe grabs a roll, swipes his thumb through the icing, and licks it clean like he’s still tasting you. He sips his coffee slowly, his focus unwavering.

“Breakfast on the porch, baby?”

“Yeah,” you smile like he asked you on a date.

Then finally, with one last glance at his house, his wife, and the group of broken boys who will never forget last night, he mumbles, smug as ever…

“Ya’ll have a great day. ”

[gutsby]

Joel Miller

Waiting Game (dbf!Joel)

Joel has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

One shots for the Waiting Game ‘verse

Homemade: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Diehard: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Ruined!: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Make It Stick

Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Stiff: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Stuck: Joel gets nominated to play Santa Claus for Jackson’s holiday festivities. Of course, you’re into that.

Stubborn: Joel sees your baby bump for the first time.

Stutter: Your daughter says her first word.

Cabin Fever (Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader) [DEAD DOVE]

Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Confines: Joel locks you up in a subterranean bunker.

Finders Keepers (bfd!Joel)

When you find an old shirt of Mr. Miller’s lying around, you can’t resist. When he finds you humping a pillow and moaning his name, neither can he.

Cry, Baby

Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Just Peachy [anal]

Joel’s got a jealous streak and a bold idea.

Wingman (himbo!Joel crackfic)

Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Watch Your Mouth

Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Love Tap (dad!Joel)

Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

If You Like Piña Coladas (neighbor!Joel)

You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

My Body, His Choice [freeuse]

After a long day, Joel just needs some relief.

Who’s Your Daddy? (stepdad!Joel)

You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Cowboy Killers

On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Seeing Pink [DD/LG]

Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take.

Easy to Please (sleazy landlord!Joel)

Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Wants and Needs (sugar daddy!Joel)

Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Bigger in Texas

Joel won’t fit.

Trashed (trailer park!Joel)

You fuck Joel in his filthy double-wide.

Too Close for Comfort

You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

Brighter Times (dark!Joel)

You’ve always been Joel’s favorite. Always.

Older, Bolder (GILF!Joel)

Joel can’t get it up.

Marcus Acacius

Bloodline

The General needs an heir.

Bucky Barnes

Wedded Bliss (Mob!Bucky)

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Daryl Dixon

Dead Ringer

Weeks of separation and sexual frustration come to a head when Daryl pays you a visit in the middle of the night. Whether it's the product of your own sex-deprived subconscious or reality, you can't be sure—and couldn't care less. Daryl wants to fulfill the fantasy any way he can.

Easy Street

You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Nighthawk

You decide to bring Spencer to the neighborhood Halloween bash to take your mind off your breakup with Daryl. Your ex isn't so easily convinced of your intentions and decides there's no better place than his motorcycle to show you just how much he misses you.

Cherry Pie

You know virtually nothing about sex, and Daryl’s done it all. Together, you take on an impromptu anatomy lesson, and you learn that Daryl has a lot more to teach you than what’s covered in the textbooks.

Walker Bait

An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Grow a Uterus and We’ll Talk

Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Honey Trap

You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Pregnant Pause

Babymaking is a bit trickier than anticipated, and months have passed with no sign of pregnancy. When your period finally doesn’t show up on time, you and Daryl act fast and head straight for the pharmacy—and get a little caught up along the way.

Mr. Dixon

Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Playing Dangerous

Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Best Served Cold

Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Coming Soon:

Bite the Bullet

Back at the prison, new recruits have been showering you with gifts. One of these presents doesn’t sit quite right with Daryl, and he decides it’s time to let the men know just how he feels—and who you belong to.

Atlantic City

A very drunk Daryl meets a stripper in Jersey and wastes no time putting a ring on her finger. With the late, great Elvis Presley presiding, the two get hitched in a slipshod ceremony a couple weeks before the world descends into chaos. This marriage may be short-lived, but damn if the honeymoon won’t be one to remember.

Requests are open!

[bugwolfsstuff]

Now I know Percy x any god is controversial but think of the hilarity

He really went and became the dad that stepped up.

Also a camper saying in the most horrified voice, 'Percy Jackson fucked my dad/mom' is fucking hilarious to me.

[hardlyinteresting]

love's never lost when perspective is earned

Jake Seresin x Reader

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.” Peter Pan, J.M Barrie

Peter by Taylor Swift S P E Y S I D E by Bon Iver Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov Smother by Daughter

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, Parentification of eldest siblings, bad first date experience, gets a little spicy towards the end (no smut), (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please)

This one shot was written for @arcane-vagabond Fairy Tale writing challenge with the inspiration of Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie, and the use of the word Scintilla.

Word Count: 6.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

She remembers that summer wrapped in a golden glow. Back when hot, humid days were spent bathed in the sun’s vivid orange. Their fingers were sticky with jammy pie fillings, stolen from his mama’s kitchen. Cold water from the garden hose always tasted better after a day of chasing themselves around the properties. 

What do you want to be when you grow up?” Jake had asked her as they lay in the grass behind his house. 

“I haven't decided yet,” she told him matter of factly, “But, I’m gonna have a nice house, and I’m going to go far away from here”. 

“I'm gonna be a pilot,” Jake said, “And I’ll fly wherever I want”.

She knew he was entirely serious, even as a little boy he’d never failed to accomplish what he put his mind to. The gentle waiver is his voice as his statement teetered around the edges of his true feelings and fears. “I wish I could fly away,” She told him, watching the clouds shift across the bright blue sky above them. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you with me,” Jake promised. And back then, a promise had felt like enough. 

They were seven; her shins were always bruised from climbing trees and tackling the Seresin boy during their daily football scrambles; his cheeks were always sunburnt, and he lied every time his mother asked if he had put sunscreen on. In many ways, she thinks those two months running after Jake Seresin had been both the peak and the plateau of her childhood wonder. 

September meant returning to school; finishing supper and homework before being allowed out to play, and with the autumnal turn crept in early sunsets and earlier curfews. In November, her stepdad moved in, and her mother told her to expect a little brother in the spring. The days of scraped knees and make-believe slipped away before the winter frost set in. 

When he thinks about her now, he pictures her laughing like she did when they were ten years old. He misses the days when she had the freedom to forget herself. 

At ten years old Jake Seresin couldn’t understand why his friend wasn’t as fun as she used to be. He watched from his kitchen window as she sat on the front porch with her little brother, settling next to her and feeding him from tiny jars of baby food. At a distance, it'd be easy to mistake her for any other girl playing make-believe with one of her dolls. But Jackson wasn't a doll, he was fussy and gassy, and he needed to be fed and put down for his naps before she had a moment of spare time to spend with her pal Jake. 

Her little brother had been followed by a new baby girl two years later. Tire marks on the dirt driveway highlighted where her stepfather’s truck should have been most days. Jackson had finally gone down for a nap but Olivia had been teething and her wailing could be heard from a mile away. 

“What do you want to do today?” Jake asked her as he made his way up her porch steps to sit next to her on the stoop. “I want to fly away,” she told him. 

Without a second thought, he grabbed her hand as he took off running, down the stairs, across the lawn and into the field behind the house. The long grass tickled at their ribs as they ran as fast as possible, their arms outstretched on either side of them. 

Circling, and jumping, hooting and hollering they made their way across the flat land with boisterous laughter bubbling from their lips. By the time they stumbled to a stop at the fence line their breath came to them in quiet gasps, their cheeks warmed by the exertion of their activity. 

The sound of his pulse fell in time with her carefree giggles as she twirled around mimicking some kind of bird. Had it not been for the physical boundary of the wire fence he thinks they could have kept running forever, the promise of freedom they didn’t yet understand beneath their wings. In that moment he knew he’d chase that feeling for the rest of his life. 

At sixteen she felt more like a substitute parent than she did a teenage girl. Her mind and her soul had aged beyond her years and stayed wrapped in a youthful vessel. School had become an escape from the responsibility she felt at home. While Olivia and Jackson clambered onto the school bus excited for first and second grade, she climbed into the passenger seat of Jake Seresin’s restored F-150. Each morning he'd pass her a wrapped sandwich made in his kitchen with his mother's fresh-baked bread. A replacement for the meal he knew she sacrificed to divide the last of the breakfast cereal between her siblings. He filled her with servings of farm butter and homemade jam, or ham and cheese. Their silent dialogue in brushing their knuckles during the exchange, as he always chose to ignore how she saved half for her lunch later in the day. 

Pulling into the parking lot at school she had been keenly aware of the way the other girls looked at her as she walked hand in hand with Jake; the glares shot her way when he kissed her cheek as they parted ways to head to their classes.

Their jealousy rolled off them in waves, and she heard how they spoke about her in the locker room after gym class. Whispers about his gorgeous green eyes and boyish charm. What could the hottest guy in school possibly want from the strange girl in her secondhand clothes and studious persona? Surely he'd have more fun with a girl who wanted to party. 

It was true. In the span of one summer, he'd grown 6 inches, towering over her now. His shoulders broadened. The lanky awkward limbed boy she'd known in her childhood grew stronger and more defined as he learned better how to pull his weight on his family’s farm. His masculine stature and maturity softened only by his flushed cheeks, and childlike grin. 

And yes, he snuck beers from his father’s garage fridge and did handstands for ovations at parties hosted by the school football team. An absolute joy to be around. To know Jake Seresin was to love Jake Seresin, but didn't know him the way she did.

 They didn't know he was terrified of thunderstorms until he was 12. They weren't there when he split his pants open trying to climb over a fence when they were 9. They had never had the privilege of listening to him read aloud from all his books about aircraft; his 11-year-old fingers tracing the letters as he sounded out the big words, the fear of being held back in 5th grade hanging over his head. 

They had never held him as he tore into himself. The golden boy, raised in the shadow of an older brother who hadn’t lived long enough for him to remember; so deeply loved, but not enough to fill the ache in his parent’s hearts. 

No one in those school halls would ever be able to tell the difference between his happiest days, and the smirk he plastered on always aiming to be better than what he believed himself to be. 

He was so stubborn and far more clever than he ever let himself sound; she scolded him almost daily as he tried to shrug off his homework. “You'll need math and science if you ever want to fly a jet,” she would remind him, accepting the glass of sweet tea he offered her. Their textbooks and notes would lay spread across his kitchen table while Jackson and Olivia occupied themselves with blank paper and wax crayons, offering Jake scribbled drawings of airplanes, “wow! That's amazing, thank you,” he'd say every time. 

She hadn't asked Jake to worm his way into her soul, and yet even now she knows some part of her soul belongs deeply to him. Their games of tag had slowly become time spent talking about their parents and watching the clouds; their hands intertwined between them as they listened to each other's dreams and desires for the future. 

And on the nights when his life just didn’t seem to fit quite right, he’d tap on her window, willing her to join him in the bed of his truck a couple of miles from their homes; and she’d remind him who he was. The bright boy with a heart of gold, and a laugh that reminded her of everything good in the world. She’d rest her head on his chest, his fingertips tracing aimless shapes across her back, as she convinced him he was more than a collection of hand-me-down dreams. 

His eighteenth birthday crept up to him before passing in a blur of candlelight and buttercream icing. His mother cried in the kitchen when she excused herself to ‘take care of the dishes’. His father clapped him on the shoulder. Their two sets of hazel-green eyes met as the older man offered a nod.  The action itself did not speak to a relationship of closeness or specific affection, but still, it managed to convey a message of approval, apology, and love too difficult to speak. 

She had knocked on the door shortly after dinner had been cleared from the table, the remaining half of his birthday cake being ushered into the refrigerator under a cling wrap film. Shivering in the night air, her hands clutched a package of brown paper with a shiny blue ribbon, his name scribbled in her careful writing. Quickly, he’d pulled her into the house greeting her with a kiss as deeply passionate as she deserved. “Happy birthday,” she’d whispered, pressing the gift she’d brought into his hands. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he’d told her. “I wanted to,” she insisted. With steady hands, he unwrapped the box. His question was silent, but the shocked expression on his face must’ve conveyed enough for her to be able to answer him anyway. “It’s the one from the antique store,” she grinned, “Mister Abbot let me pay for it in instalments”. He tipped the brass nautical compass into the palm of his hand, staid in his evaluation of both the physical and emotional weight of the gift. “This is too much,” he spoke after a moment. 

Her eyes went wide, her smile dropping. “I love it,” he was immediate in his attempt at reassurance, “but, you’re saving for school. I don’t want you spending your money on me, darlin’”. He tried to pass the compass back to her, a woebegone ponderosity settling in his stomach at the very idea of rejecting any part of her. Insistent, yet patient, she curled her finger over his. The digits were so much smaller than his own, cracked and raw from washing dishes and cleaning tables at the local diner. The painful reminder of how hard she’d been working to climb her way out of her own life. “I want you to keep it. Selfishly,” she said, “I want you to always be able to find your way back to me”. How could he have argued with that? 

Politely, she’d popped into the kitchen to see his mama, accepting a Tupperware of cake slices to take home for the kids to enjoy. His father met them at the door as Jake shrugged on his denim jacket. “Where are you kids off to?” he asked out of curiosity more than any concern. “Just going for a drive,” Jake told him, slipping his keys into his pocket. “Don’t let him get you into any trouble, ya hear?” he warned her with a teasing grin, the humour evident in his voice. “Yes sir,” she had agreed easily, knowing Mr Seresin’s penchant for faux sternness in the moments between his genuine stoicism. Seemly satisfied to see her smile grow, he had turned to Jake with an immediate pivot back to his natural sternness, “You make sure you get her home at a reasonable time. It’s a school night”. Jake’s compliance echoed her own, with no room for jest, “Yes sir”. 

Parked in their usual spot, at the edge of a cleared field he wrapped layers of blankets around her shoulders, before settling down next to her. Their biggest dreams breathed between them and the night stars. “I love you,” he said. The statement was resolute, and immovable in its honesty. “I love you too, Jake,” she told him. Her words were spoken like a promise she desperately wanted to keep. 

“When we graduate, I'll drive us across the country,” he tells her, “I'll buy us a house. You can go to school and I'll fly”. 

“It’s a nice dream, baby,” she says. 

Their drive home is silent. 

She spent her nineteenth birthday sleeping in his childhood bedroom. He hadn't been home in months but the sheet still smelt like him. She scraped her knees climbing up the trellis to his window, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She’d laughed to herself examining the superficial wounds, enjoying the familiar bite of nostalgia. Memories of her childhood long since passed left tears at the corners of her eyes. Near manic laughter faded into a melancholy exhaustion. 

Her eyes focused on the small book collection Jake had managed over the years. They had all been perfectly aligned in their homes on his bookshelf; set in alphabetical order by author. His need for structure despite his free spirit had been amusing until it became mildly concerning. Routine, crafted to satisfy the need to stay completely distracted from an overwhelm of feelings he had always been sure he didn’t have the capacity to express. The hope in her heart had always been that he might learn to hone his particular brand of presentiment. He’d always been so rough-and-tumble, so hard to worry after; determined to never let the mask slip as he raced through life with a smile. 

1400 miles away she ached to be beside him; so lonely in her knowledge of him. She worked to comfort herself by tracing the titles on the spines of the books he’d left behind. Over and over. Over and over. With blurring vision and an unfocused mind, she slipped into a well-deserved sleep. The sun streamed so gently through the window of Jake’s room. A touch of light tugging her from her slummer had been a welcome change from the jarring wake-up call she had at home. Two siblings who had yet to figure out how to make themselves breakfast without bickering or clattering plates. The smell of fresh coffee and pancake batter wafted up from downstairs. 

The bedroom door squeaked as she opened it, and underfoot the floorboards in the old farmhouse creaked, each step down the staircase punctuated with the sonance of more than a hundred years of life. In the Seresin house, the noises reminded her of the generations who had come and gone, it was easy to imagine the lives that had been lived within the walls. Across the yard, the similar shifts and groans of her childhood home echoed like ghostly calls; the whispers warning of a life liable to be wasted if she stuck around. 

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” Mrs Seresin smiled, setting an extra spot at the kitchen table. His mother had always been the kindest person she’d known. Despite the undisputable reality that her son’s girlfriend had all but broken into her home, she welcomed her with open arms, asking if she wanted blueberries in her pancakes. 

The longer they went without mentioning the elephant in the room the easier it became for her to slouch a bit in her seat, appreciating each bite of the breakfast that had been offered to her. Nineteen years of being in rooms out of necessity rather than desire had made it difficult to trust other’s interest in her well-being.

 Feeling her shoulders drop in relief left her feeling something like a stray cat brought in to shelter from the storm; glad to accept Mrs Seresin’s kindness, but uneasy all the same. She had grown used to being weary of tenderness and generosity; always waiting to hear the conditions of the beneficence. 

Sipping her coffee, Mrs Seresin smiled over the lip of the mug. “If you want to stay a little longer, you could help me go through some of Jake’s old clothes. Some of them would probably fit Jackson now”. Her words reached like an olive branch across the table, and for a moment she understood that perhaps the older woman wasn’t just benevolent for the sake of it, not on this day at least. With her only living child out of the house she had been lonely in her need to mother someone, and glad just for the company as unorthodox as the circumstances may have been. She’d been glad to learn that some glint of selfishness lingered in everyone, and in a strange turn, it only made her trust the woman more. 

She hadn't expected a pile of folded sweatshirts to make her cry, and yet in a blink of an eye, she found herself sobbing. A flicker of hurt rushed through her with the realization that some things will always matter more to her than they do to anyone else. Just another piece of clothing to Jake, another part of her task for the day to his mother. But she was holding the world in her hands. 

She remembers that sweatshirt well, red and worn out by time, always just a bit too tight in the shoulders, the seams stretching at the sleeves. He was wearing it the night he picked her up from her first date.

Bobby Dunbar had been two years older than her, and had no idea of the meaning of the word ‘no'. She left him alone in the movie theatre after he'd tried to creep a hand up her skirt for the second time. With a quick call from the closest payphone, Jake was on his way to pick her up without questions. 

Together, they drove out of town and past their homes the sun dipping down below the seemingly endless horizon. Overhead the stars had begun to make themselves appreciable against the backdrop of the darkening sky. Parked, they lay in the bed of the truck looking up at the sky ahead. He took care to trace the constellations for her, naming them as he went. In the meantime, her fingertips copied the shapes with invisible lines across his chest. The well-loved red sweatshirt was soft beneath her cheek. 

He kissed her for the first time that night. Not her first kiss, but the first one that mattered. Jake always had this ability to make her world stop spinning, even if just for a moment. Sitting on the edge of his bed sobbing into the sweater she wanted nothing more than to be near him, to hear him tell her everything was going to work out for them in the end.

“I got my scholarship,” she told Mrs. Seresin, “I'll start in the fall, and I'll be able to live on campus”. 

“That's amazing news sweetheart,” her affirmation, so much like her son’s. 

“It's a lot farther for Jake to drive. I won't be here to check on Jackson and Olivia. My mo--”

“They'll be alright. It's high time you live your dream, honey”. 

At nineteen years old, she struggled to understand that sometimes the beginning feels like the end. A pit growing in her stomach, she clutched the bags of hand-me-down clothes as she headed home. The sky above was dotted with the same stars Jake had taught her about years ago, she stood still for a moment trying to remember the feel of his lips, or the comfort of his hand in hers, but only felt the cool evening breeze.

Twenty-one felt like wearing a costume. Joining the Navy. Getting good grades. Helping on the farm whenever he had an ounce of free time. Being a good son, being a good boyfriend. He was playing dress-up in a life that wasn’t built for him, and yet he found himself so desperate to play the part. 

The first few months away had been excruciating. Most nights he chugged Pepto-Bismol before going to bed, hoping that the tearing feeling in his chest was just heartburn, and not just his soul stretching across four states. It had been the longest they’d ever been separated; smashing the previous record of the one week he spent with his aunt and uncle when he was ten. 

He won’t blame her for the divide that grew between them, but he knows that the ache in his chest cracked into a chasm sometime after she moved onto her college campus. 

The commute to see her was longer, his back was stiff, and his eyes were tired after driving hours, and crisscrossing state lines. The time they spent together was almost exclusively spent sleeping or skipping around their desperate need to return to what they once were, all while refusing to give up their dreams.

 Two years into her degree he was exhausted. On base, his bed was assembled for practicality, not for comfort. Hard, uneven mattress and nights spent cold beneath the covers without the warmth of her body tucked against him. His bunkmates all snored, and the hustle and bustle of those still working during his allotted sleeping hours kept his mind alert even as his body dosed. In her dorm room, her duvet was plush and cozy, her pillows smelt like her shampoo, and she snuggled as close to him as physically possible on the nights he managed to make it to her. But her roommate was nosy and made it almost impossible for him to love on his girlfriend. Unable to touch her as freely as he yearned to-- and even worse, unable to speak as freely as he needed to, his feelings threatened to choke him. Lost without the level of communication that had become their life preserver for years, he felt as though he was drowning. 

At twenty one he asked his father for his grandmother’s engagement ring. A family heirloom he’d always known he’d propose with one day. He would make good on the promises he made. They would get married and he’d buy them a house-- he had already managed to save quite a bit. It was not a lack of love that broke them, but perhaps an excess of it. A shared desperation to do more, and be better; both of them hell-bent on clawing their way out of the ruts they’d found themselves stuck in. And with so much to prove it had been impossible to climb without letting go of each other. 

He was down on one knee when his heart was ripped from his chest. For a moment he felt it was impossible to breathe. His mind was silent, too stunned to think and too confused to speak. She was still shaking her head when he finally found the strength to look up at her again. “No,” she said. “I thought--”

“I’m sorry-- I can’t. I won’t. It’s not fair,” she told him. Certainly not fair, he thought desperate to understand. But when had life ever been fair? “I can’t,” she repeated. He watched, hopeless, as she shrunk in on herself. The bright, brilliant girl he’d spent more than half his life loving shied away from him, hiding behind a shame he couldn’t find a source for.

As he slowly made his way back to his feet, with the ring box shoved back into his coat pocket, she spoke again. “I think it would be better if we spent some time apart”. That he had not been expecting, and the words nearly had him keeling over; a brutal blow that knocked the air from his lungs. He found himself helpless, unable to do anything but nod. All his fight sat on the tip of his tongue, pinched between his teeth, betrayed by his pain, and misunderstanding. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. For anything. For everything. But the words never came out. “I’m sorry,” she wept as she ushered him out of her dorm room. 

With one hand, and no force he held the door frame for a moment, one last longing look at the girl he knew he’d love forever. “One day we’ll be enough for each other again”. He hoped that was true. 

She carries a spark of regret in her chest, it grows when she thinks of him, and it shrinks when she remembers she freed him too. She thinks now that her denial of Jake Seresin may have been hasty. Fifteen years older, and with more perspective than she had at twenty-one, she thinks their lives could have been different if she had been brave enough to talk things out. 

Her fear of stagnation had been her only motivation for so much of her life. His proposal had been on the surface a desperate attempt to cling to a bond they had begun to outgrow. And while his intentions at their core had been pure, getting married would not have saved their relationship. She had only begun to live for herself, and he still didn’t understand that his life was his own. Their marriage would have only served as a new way to masquerade and play pretend; years of running away from the fears that kept them both up at night. He would have grown to resent her inability to live without planning, and she would have hated his unintended absenteeism. Being married would not have kept his side of the bed warm, nor would it have given him any new ability to quell her anxieties. 

She still thinks of him often. From her apartment on a clear day her view of the sky seems to span for miles and miles. She pictures him up there, carving through the clouds with the dedication and precision she’s always known he’d be capable of. She imagines him happy, living his dream. She hopes he’s proud of himself, and she prays that he knows that she’s proud of him too. 

Sometimes, she lets herself wonder if he ever settled down; offered his grandmother’s ring and his heart on his sleeve to some other lucky girl. She’s tried to move on herself a few times, but never made it close to feeling like she was in love. The last guy had been a year ago now, he was nice enough, handsome, had a good job, and a good sense of humour. On paper he was flawless. He’d take her out for dinner, and walk her to her door. Sometimes he spent the night. He bought her flowers, and held her hand. But on one too many occasions she felt inexplicably lonely sitting next to him. He complained that she wasn’t any fun. She struggled to explain the sense of responsibility she’d never been able to shake. She asked him about his dreams. He never seemed to have any. 

And so the hint of any spark that had been there fizzled away into nothing. 

She tells herself she’s happier on her own and decides to keep moving forward, ignoring the cracking of her heart. She uncorks a bottle of wine, dancing alone in her kitchen, looking out at the vast evening sky and the setting sun. As much as she enjoys the view from her rental, she’s been in California long enough that it might be worth buying into the housing market. Nothing fancy, but something she can truly call her own. She’s been making good money for a while now, and her siblings have made it through college themselves. Jackson moved to New York with his sights set on being an architect. Olivia moved to Austin and became a nurse. Her mother hasn’t bothered to call in ages. Her shoulders relax without the added pressure of caring for others. For the first time in a very long time, her mind is quiet--it’s finally time to write the last chapters in her own story and stop running. 

He keeps an old photograph of her in the inside of his flight suit, right over his heart. He’s living his dream, and he won’t allow himself to forget that she’s the reason why. Driving home from base at night he passes houses much larger than the bungalow he’s been renting. He wonders where she went after she graduated, and what kind of job she has now. 

He chooses to picture her happy even at the expense of his feelings; a devoted husband coming to wrap his arms around her while she stirs a pot on the stove. A scintilla of guilt makes itself known as he grows somewhat jealous of this life he's envisioned for her. The truth is that he knows she was right for turning him down. They were too young, too naive, and too frightened. Breaking up with him may have been the first time he had seen her truly put herself first, and in hindsight, he’s glad she did. He knows he’d never have been able to live with himself if he had been what stood in the way of her making her dreams come true. It took him a while to understand the gift she had given him when she sent him away. The freedom to be the man he wanted to be, and not the man anyone else needed him to be. 

He’d fucked it up more than once along the way. At work, he had become too brash, too cocky, too full of himself. He put his walls up and wore the self-assured mask he thought people wanted to see. Unwavering confidence, and determination. His return to Top Gun had been a wake-up call. He’d been forced to adapt, to let his guard down and learn how to let people in again. And for the first time since he was a teenager he appreciated the difference between being valued and being important. The realization had come with a sense of belonging and camaraderie that he hadn’t expected but couldn't afford to forget.

In his personal life, he had failed time and time again to form long-term bonds. One-night stands didn’t hurt, but the idea of waking up next to someone left him nauseous. But the truth is he yearns for that connection. He wants to be seen. He wants to be understood. He stopped going home to visit his parents two years ago, the weight of self-placed expectation chewed through him and left him hollow; guilt filled its place. 

Last week he stood back straight, with his heart full of pride as he accepted his promotion. The new rank came with a new role, and a new more permanent position. He'd be stationed in San Diego for at least five more years. He called his mother. He booked a flight home for his next break. He started browsing real estate pages. It’s time to stop running. 

She’s only made it to a couple of open houses so far but she hasn’t been able to find anything she likes yet. Most of the houses she’s seen are out of her price range. Others have been too modern, some too outdated. 

She remembers the Seresin’s kitchen, the buttery yellow walls and linoleum tiles. Their house wasn’t flashy, nor had it been renovated anytime in 1980, but it was cozy. She can remember the smell of Mrs. Seresin’s baking. In her mind's eye, she recalls the feel of the cabinet doors that Mr. Seresin had built himself when they moved in, and his wife’s initials carved into the bottom corner of the cupboard over the sink. In every way possible they had made that ordinary farmhouse a home, and she wants the same for herself now. Like everything in her life, she decided her house has to be perfect. She’ll know it when she sees it. 

The house is a two-story craftsman, built circa 1935. The siding is a garish kind of coral colour, faded by the sun, and the trims stand out in a soft vanilla colour, chipped at the edges. She’s driving home from work when she sees the sign for the open house standing proudly on the front lawn. Without a thought she pulls over, throwing the car into park. Inside, it smells like freshly baked cookies-- a real estate trick she’s learned over the last few weeks. It’s easy to imagine a house is your own when it smells so inviting. She's come to expect this, and won't let it blind her. 

Her heels click across the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the empty house. She moves past the stairs into the surprisingly spacious living room. A large window looks out onto the quiet cul-de-sac, and the room sits bathed in the soft glow of the street lights outside. She imagines the room furnished, with soft drapery, a plush sofa, tv hung above the fireplace, and she can imagine herself unwinding here. The dining room is a fair size, and the kitchen has a sliding door that opens up to the backyard. The cabinets are brand new, and the owners have spent time renovating while staying true to the charm of the house. On the countertop, she picks up the real estate agent’s pamphlets about the home, amenities and nearby schools are listed, and she wonders if she might have the chance to raise a family here. 

Overhead the sound of steady footsteps, and a pair of heels make their way down the hall and then the stairs. “If you decide to put in an offer, do not hesitate to call, in this market the early bird gets the worm,” a woman speaks. “I appreciate it, thank you,” a man replies in a low southern drawl, “do you mind if I take a look at the backyard before I head out?” “Not at all! Take your time, I’ll be out front just getting my signs if you need anything else”. 

He’s barely stepped into the kitchen when he hears his name. “Jake?” a familiar voice wonders, her arms coming immediately to wrap around him. She hits his chest with a thud, but it does move him an inch. Her name is sighed into her hairline as he holds her close. “You made it-- all the way to California,” He smiles, pulling back to get a good look at her. She’s as gorgeous as he remembers, if not more so. Her features have sharpened over time, and he thinks her hair might be darker now, but she’s glowing. Her grin is wide and her shoulders relaxed as she reaches to trace his name and rank on his uniform. “You’re flying, Jake,” she all but whispers. He nods, his eyes softening as his hand comes to rest over hers, his heart racing beneath her palm. “Turns out I’m pretty good at it,” he jokes, and is rewarded with his favourite laugh. 

His free hand lowers to rest on her hip and she steps closer, familiarity allows them to skip out on formality. He’s missed this; a shared closeness loud enough for them to speak without saying anything. He knows her like he knows the back of his own hand, and even with years passed between them, he’s able to fill in the gaps. Her clothes are well made, and well fitted. Office wear. Her shoes leave her standing tall, reminding him of senior prom and the time they spent slow dancing. He knows what she’s overcome, and he’s never had any doubt about where she would end up. Clearly successful, and if the way her smile meets her eyes is any indicator, she’s happy too. 

In all honesty, she’s not sure who leans in first, but she knows she’s kissing Jake Seresin for the first time in fifteen years. He kisses with hesitation at first but allows himself to give in to a passion grown with time. He’s more skilled than he was the first time they kissed, and she tries her best not to flush with jealousy. His cropped hair is soft where her hand reaches up to hold at the back of his head willing him closer. 

One step at a time he backs her across the room until her back meets the wall. With fingers gripping the collar of his shirt she begs him to crowd her space. She swears he’s taller now. His shoulders are broader, his arms far more defined. He’s always been handsome but the boyish charm has been replaced by something far more deadly, and she’s convinced she’d die happy if it was him stealing her breath away. 

She melts beneath him. His hand moves across her hip, down to feel the round of her ass, before his grip tightens at the flesh of her thigh, warm in her cute little dress slacks. Neither of them bothers to suppress the moans or sighs that leave them when begins to kiss down his neck. His knee slots between her legs, thudding when it makes contact with the wall, startling them both. 

“Careful. You break it you buy it, Jake”.

“I think homeownership will be good for me,” he grins catching his breath. 

“Not if I buy it first,” she quips, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she blinks up at him. He groans, his knees weak as her smile grows. “Let’s talk it out over dinner,” He manages his counteroffer. 

***

Their house smells like chocolate chip cookies, made from the recipe Jake’s mother passed down. The window in the master bedroom offers a gorgeous view of the San Diego sky. On weekends, she wakes up to the smell of coffee brewing, and Jake sliding back into bed, his hands greedy as he pulls her from her sleep with warm kisses and the promise of breakfast if they manage to make it down the stairs. 

The floorboard creaks when he comes home at night, the weight of his day shed at the door. He greets her as if he's been gone for months even when it’s only been a few hours. And he holds as if he’ll never see her again when he returns from a deployment. 

The gentle breeze that blows through the open windows of their little home carries away their lingering anxieties, and they allow themselves to soften in each other’s presence. 

They lay in the grass in their backyard, paint smeared across their clothes, brows sweaty from a hard day's work. The siding is now a fresh, pale green, the trims glow in a soft white. Above them, the stars shine. The same stars they watched as children, and loved as teens. He watches her, enamoured, as she points to the North Star tracing her way around the night sky, recalling the stories he told her about each constellation. He wonders how many lifetimes are painted in the sky above them, how many lovers have admired the stars as they have. 

She pulls him from his thoughts, rolling to settle with her knees at either side of his hips, her left hand resting on his heart. He looks at her as if he’s in awe of her, his wedding band cold on her back as his hand slides underneath her shirt. Leaning down to kiss him she’s certain this is the life she’s always been running towards. 

[slut4thebroken]

The Bet

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Stepdad!Jackson Rippner x Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary | Your stepdad makes a bet with Tommy.

Warnings | Smut, dubcon, sharing, kissing, praise, innocence kink, technically incest, barely legal lmao, I need psychological help.

Words | 1.1 k

Notes | This was originally a request that I got back in March lol but I’m using it for this cause I can🫶 Also I need to def edit this again so I’m sorry if it’s bad lmao

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 8: sharing

“Mr. Shelby and I made a bet… Unfortunately, I lost.” 

“Oh… What was the bet?” You asked timidly. 

“You.” Tommy said with the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. Your eyes widened in shock and you waited for them to explain. “But it seems your daddy is a little protective of you…” 

“Cause I know you, Tommy. I’m not leaving her alone with you.” Jackson scoffed. 

“Regardless…” He continued, not bothering with a reply. “That means I get to fuck you while dear ole dad watches.”

“What?” You choked out, looking at your stepdad and waiting for him to say this was all just an elaborate prank or something… But that’s not what he said at all. 

“The only options are with or without me present. Either way, Tommy won the bet fair and square. At least if I’m here I can make sure he doesn’t go too rough on you.”  

“But, I- I don’t…” You whimpered, eyes already tearing up. 

“Are you a virgin, sweetheart?” Tommy asked gently, stepping forward and brushing the back of his finger over your cheek as he studied your face. You nodded and your bottom lip started trembling. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing…” He cooed, then glanced at Jackson. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried out her cunt yet.” 

“She just turned 18 last month, Tommy.” He scoffed. “I’m a bad person, but I’m not that bad.” Tommy looked back at you with a small smirk. 

“Shame… Because now I get to be the first one to use her little pussy.” He seemed absolutely delighted by the fact and your whole body started trembling in fear. “I can already tell you’re going to be such a good girl.” He said quietly, leaning closer to you. “Maybe even good enough to take us both, hm?” 

You let out a choked sob and squeezed your eyes shut, feeling completely helpless. It’s not like you can ask Jackson to make this stop… He already made it very clear that this is happening whether you want it to or not. 

“Tell you what, since I get to use her cunt first, why don’t you take her first kiss?” He grabbed your cheeks in one hand and turned you to face your stepdad. “I’m feeling rather generous tonight.” Jackson stepped closer and Tommy let go of your face as he backed away. Once he was in front of you, he gently cupped your cheek and brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. You stared up at him with glossy eyes, silently pleading for mercy. 

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that.” He groaned, voice low and raspy, as his gaze dragged all over your face. “I’ll make sure he goes easy on you, don’t worry.” He promised, not calming you at all.

You stiffened when he leaned forward, unable to do anything but watch as he slowly approached. His lips brushed yours before finally taking you into a kiss. You let out a soft whimper and his hand snaked around to the back of your head, keeping you from pulling away. Letting out a soft gasp when his tongue brushed your lips, he used that opportunity to deepen the kiss, licking into your mouth, making it even sloppier. After another moment, he finally pulled back, but kept his face close to yours as both of you panted. 

“You’re such a good girl.” He cooed and you blushed at the praise. “Fucking perfect… I hate that I have to share you tonight.” It was like a bucket of cold water was thrown on your head as you suddenly remembered what was about to happen. 

“My turn.” Tommy said firmly, stepping closer again. Jackson reluctantly moved away, giving the other man enough room to grab your hair and roughly turn you to face him. You gasped at the pain on your scalp, and then again when his other hand settled on your lower back, pulling you into his body as he captured your lips in a kiss. 

Snaking his hand down, he squeezed your ass over your dress, pulling you even closer until you could feel his bulge digging into your stomach. You whined in response, not used to being touched like this, or feeling something so crude, and he let out a low chuckle before moving back. 

“Y’know… I bet your daddy’s been wanting to do this for a long time.” He said quietly, smirking a little. “Between you and me, I think he lost on purpose.” He mused, talking in a teasing stage whisper.

Your bottom lip continued trembling and you glanced at Jackson before looking back at Tommy, feeling tears brimming in your eyes. 

“Oh, don’t cry, sweetheart. If you get me all worked up, I might not be able to be gentle.” He mused. You let out a choked sob, but quickly tried to stifle it because of his warning, which seemed to please him a lot. “So obedient…” He murmured, looking over you with a small smirk. “You’ve always been a good girl, haven’t you? Always so trusting and naive…” You swallowed nervously as you stared up at him, unconsciously trying to move away but being unable to because of his hand on your hair and your ass. 

“Now,” His hand let go to start petting your hair as his gaze shifted between your eyes and lips, “I won the bet fair and square. So you’re going to be a good girl and let me claim my prize right?” 

You bit your lip and looked over at your stepdad who nodded, telling you to agree. “Yes…” You whispered, looking back at Tommy. 

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He smiled, then took a step back, letting his hands drop to his sides. “Strip. Let your daddy and I get a good look at what we’re working with.” His smile turned into a smirk and you looked between them nervously, hesitating. 

“Do as he says, sweetheart.” Jackson urged gently. 

“Be a good girl and maybe I’ll even give you an orgasm or two. Would you like that?” Tommy asked, making your cheeks heat up. You’ve heard the word before, but you’ve never actually experienced it yourself. 

“I- I don’t…” You swallowed thickly and averted your gaze, making Tommy chuckle quietly. 

“Christ, Rippner, where'd you find such an innocent little thing?” He scoffed in amused disbelief and your blush darkened in response. 

“Her mom had her in Catholic school.” He explained with a small shrug. You’ve always been a little embarrassed about your upbringing and the way it made you different from a lot of other girls your age. 

Tommy hummed in acknowledgment, then reached out to grab your chin and turn you back to him. “You don’t want to disappoint your daddy, do you?” He cooed mockingly, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. You glanced at Jackson again before shaking your head. “Then be a good girl and do as you're told.” 

[your-nanas-house]

Tighter than usual

◇ Pairing: Stepdad!Jackson Rippner X stepdaughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, cheating, thigh fucking, p in v, Jackson, rough and dark

◇ Summary: Jackson searches satisfaction after a wet dream.

◇ Note: Came up with this idea yesterday and my lovely @mrkdvidal1989 helped me so much! Another amazing collaboration, enjoy!

Quietly opening the door, Jackson slipped inside without a sound. Whole house was dark, as his wife and Y/n were already sleeping. He was tired, hungry and completely drained. 

It wasn't surprising how late he was coming home, both his wife and step daughter knew how demanding his work was. 

Quietly making his way up the stairs after locking the door, he passed by Y/n’s room, glancing inside to see if everyone was okay.

The twenty year old was sleeping, as always at that time of the night, covered head to toe with her heavy, fluffy blanket, peacefully breathing. 

After seeing it, Jackson didn't wait any longer before heading straight to the bathroom for a quick shower, and less than fifteen minutes later he was finally in bed. The coziness and warmth overtaking him in seconds before he fell into a deep sleep.

”Fuck” Jackson murmured as he woke up covered with a thin layer of sweat, his whole body hot after the wet dream he had. A low groan leaving his lips as he reached under the blanket, feeling the rock hard erection that formed between his legs. 

Hard, hot and aching under the slightest touch, he knew that it wasn't an option to go to sleep with that. Huffing with how incredibly warm and aroused he felt, Jackson's hand wrapped around his thick member stroking it for a moment before he let go. The sensation of his own fingers wasn't enough in any way. 

Turning his head, he noticed the beautiful woman laying by his side, facing away. Her hair resting messily on the pillow as she slept rolled in a little ball. It's been so long since the last time they had sex, Jackson thought with sadness mixed with annoyance. 

Throb of his cock only deepening the despair, as he scooted closer. 

His big hand moves slowly on her body, his breath getting heavier as he stroked slowly her calf… feeling her soft skin while moving his calloused fingers up slowly, following the line of her bare, long leg.

His face moved closer to the back of her neck, allowing him to bury it in her hair.. taking a long sniff of her scent before groaning softly, getting more impatient with each second passing.

His hips moved involuntarily forward, making him find a bit of the friction he craved as his hands moved up the silky tank top she was wearing. So that he could stroke her bare hips before grabbing them.. his cock rubbing against the fabric of his boxers in an almost teasing way. He needed more… he deserved more, he thought as the frustration and anger started to grow in his body, making him quicken his movements. 

Pulling down his underwear freeing his cock from the boxers that grew too tight, too soon. 

Jackson's lips leaving wet kisses on her soft, smooth skin, his breath getting heavier and heavier at the thought of just taking what he wanted.. no, deserved. She smelled of.. a sweet, fruity scent that made his eyes roll in the back of his head, heart pounding in his chest at the burning list rushing through his veins. 

It was his wife’s duty to take care of his needs anyway so he could just slip it in her pussy while she kept sleeping, right? It's not like it would be the first time he did it. 

His bare chest kept moving up and down quickly, his chest hair tickling the woman’s back as his hips pressed harder against her round ass, making him groan softly breathless, his big hand flat against her tummy before he decided to pull carefully down the clothes that were covering her lower half.

His callous hand kneading his flesh of her butt, his breath caressing the shell of her ear 

“Fuck, honey” Jackson growled softly, smirking against the soft skin of her neck “Someone went to the gym, huh? This round ass of yours wasn’t that firm from what I remember” he praised softly, nibbling on her skin, getting more eager and horny. It was true, her body felt.. more firm. Sexier than the last time he had the opportunity to feel it well. 

It wasn't really surprising looking at how they just kept arguing all the time, the last time they slept together over six months ago. 

“Yeah..” he hummed, grinding his bare, leaking cock between her ass cheeks as he stretched to grab the lube from the bedside table. His bottom lip caged between his white teeth as he kept moving his hips. We don’t need a condom, do we, honey? He thought, glancing at the still sleeping woman, his chest pressed back against her back as he spreaded the lube on his cock, pumping it a couple of times before thrusting it between her clothed thighs. No, we don’t.. bet you won’t mind, he thought again as his eyes rolled back and his mouth dropped slightly. Remembering all the arguments she caused lately, acting ungrateful and rude towards her hardworking husband, Jackson bared his teeth involuntarily as anger filled his veins. 

He deserved to take her. Now and anytime.

His hips moved on their own as his hand kept her bare thighs together “Such a good, little slut” he murmured, increasing the speed after he checked that the woman was still asleep. 

His eyes narrowing softly as the thoughts kept spinning and occupying his mind, anger was now boiling in him as his hips increased the pace, making his skin slap against hers. His legs pressing her own down into the mattress, keeping her in place, angled the way he wished. 

That's the least she can do, he thought with arrogance, stay fucking put.

He couldn’t hold it any longer, the need to be inside of her completely overwhelming his senses. So completely lost in his pleasure he grabbed his cock, squeezing it in his fist lightly as his eyes fell shut for a moment, before moving her a bit. After making her change her position to allow him to press his thick cock at her entrance, Jackson's eyes widened feeling how wet she was in her sleep.

Someone had a wet dream too, huh? He thought with a grin. 

He didn't budge or planned to give her an easy time after waiting for several months. Mercilessly thrusting it completely at once, despite remembering how she always struggled to take him. 

His hips smacking her ass harshly “Nu, no spankies, daddy” a soft tired and breathless voice murmured, followed by a whine as his pubic bone kept slapping against her ass, his aching dick inside of the tight warm pussy, burying deeper and deeper with each stroke until finally, he nestled balls deep inside her for a moment, breathing deeply. Jackson didn't remember her being so.. tight. The sudden squeeze on his cock made him have to breathe a couple seconds to ensure he wouldn't cum right away.

“Daddy—” the voice repeated in a whine, squeezing him with her slick, hot walls as never before.

His incredibly bright eyes snapping open as soon as his brain registered whose voice it was, his hips continuing to thrusts in an animalistic pace. Fuck, he thought, stretching his body to go deeper inside of the warm cunt. His jaw dropping open in a silent groan when his hands grabbed his stepdaughter’s breasts from under her silky tank top.

“Fuck, baby.. shhh, everything is all right, go back to sleep.” he murmured, not stopping his assault at her cunt “Such a good girl, yes?” he praised, holding her closer as he increased the speed, listening to her soft moans and whimper.

Jackson wished he could stop, but the lack of pleasure for the last months made him go absolutely feral at the sensation of a tight pussy relentlessly squeezing him and sucking him right back in every time he'd pull back.

Y/n tried to look at him, turning her head to the side, but he didn't let her. Grabbing her jaw with his right hand, he squeezed it tightly keeping her head in place, panting right by her ear, his hot breath hitting the skin on her neck.

”Shouldn’t have come here dressed like that.” He hissed, hearing the whimpers pushing past her lips with each thrust. Jackson's hips had their own mind, picking up a fast rhythm, fucking her hard and without any intention of stopping despite knowing how wrong it was. 

“Where’s your mother?” he rasped out, groaning animalistically in the crook of her neck. It felt so.. forbidden for the both of them. 

Jackson couldn't help but let the little thought blossom in his mind, after getting neglected by his wife for so long. 

Revenge sounded pretty good to him, especially if it consisted in exploring and finding pleasure by using the young body that aroused him since the first time he saw her.

”She.. She..” Y/n attempted to respond, his fingers pressing on her neck a little too tightly to speak freely. ”She went to.. the club.” She managed to stutter out, followed by cries and loud moans as Jackson sped up, hitting her pussy harder than before as anger grew even more. 

“Of course, she went” he spat, clenching his jaw in annoyance and anger “Fucking whore” he insulted his wife, holding Y/n’s throat to keep her in position as his hips smacked against her red butt “But you are better, aren’t you?” He whispered, breathing deeply, inhaling her sweet scent again. 

Jackson leaned in closer, his wet lips grazing over her neck, a little above his hand. ”You’re not a whore like your mother, eh?” he breathed out, making her whine as his thick cock brushed her sweet spot “You’re a good girl, right, sweetheart?” His low voice praised her as Jackson's moves became more sloppy, more careless as he started feeling his climax getting closer and closer, tension in his lower stomach getting stronger with each thrust.

“Fuck, fuck—” he cursed, inhaling sharply… her scent getting him, making him feel surrounded and dizzy for a moment, till he suddenly felt a grip on his balls, her soft hand caressing them, causing him to finally shoot his load inside of her with a low groan.

“Fucking naughty thing” he rasped in her ear, making her giggle cutely that brought a small smile on his face. A smile that dropped as soon as her smaller hands moved his big one on her lower tummy “Will be a mommy now… mommy of your babies” she teased, holding back a smile as she felt his whole body tense, his hand gripping slightly the flesh of her tummy.

“W-what?” he murmured as thoughts ran inside of his head. 

Jackson was completely frozen as his brain started working again, no longer clouded with lust.

Y/n shut her eyes, feeling that he didn't soften inside her yet.. but rather twitched again. 

With a high pitched whine she started moving her hips while rubbing her clit, not wanting to be left without orgasm.

Jackson let out a choked breath, shocked with her previous statement as she kept moving, impaling herself on his still hard cock.

“Y/n..” He breathed out, holding her hips, but it didn't take long before she came, spasming and shaking for a couple minutes.

As soon as her orgasm subsided, Y/n breathed out with a giggle, turning back to face him. A mischievous smile on her face before he pecked his lips, turning back around.

“No worries, daddy, I'm on a pill.” 

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

[fryingpan1234567]

aaaaaanyways. pride month at Camp Half Blood?

if you remember that one post from a while ago (general hc’s about chb), I did say I would do a fully pride post eventually

so without further ado, I present to all my lovely gay demigods:

PRIDE MONTH AT CHB🗣️🗣️

SO we’ve already discussed the decorations of some of the cabins, like Percy putting rainbow hippocampi scales all over the walls, the Demeter and Persephone cabins growing colorful flowers all over their roofs, the Hecate cabin and its Sentient Gay Door

I like to think the Iris cabin is just fully blasting rainbows all the time it looks like a Minecraft beacon

they play capture the flag every June with a pride flag that has the CHB logo on it

limited edition CHB pride merch😭

Mr. D defending trans campers by driving bigots slightly insane long enough to slap themselves and then go back to normal

Y’ALL KNOW ABOUT THE PRONOUN CORRECTION AIR HORNS? THAT’S THE ENTIRE APOLLO CABIN + LEO AND PERCY

Some ignorant prick about a transmasc camper: “Oh yeah she—“

Percy: *AIR HORN* “IT’S HE, BITCH”

Ignorant prick: “Okay Jesus I’m sorry”

A different ignorant prick: *makes some dumb joke about “always being able to tell” and receives at least seven different air horns from all the Apollo campers in the vicinity*

Leo’s been following this one really irritating chick around all day because she can’t figure out one of his sibling’s genders and blasting her in the face every time she fucks up their pronouns😭😭😭

anyways yeah I like to imagine there’s a demigod pride festival somewhere, maybe in New York

or no there’s demigods everywhere I bet they have parade floats all the time in lots of cities and the Mist conceals the “fireworks” which are actually just godly light shows

Apollo rocks up to camp in a rainbow crop top and a pink drink from Starbucks just to sing Born This Way in the middle of the day and then dip again

Aphrodite blessing random queer couples with finding perfect date setups “conveniently” in their paths

all the gods physically restraining Hera when she tries to go fuck with Jason while he’s on a date w Leo

Percy and Annabeth in matching shirts that say ✨BEST BI✨ with the Best Buy price tag logo in the middle

Nico got glitterbombed on June 1st the second he stepped out of his cabin by the entire Apollo cabin (and Jason) and is still finding sparkles in his hair a week later

Aphrodite kids are walking dictionaries of all the rainbow terms, somehow, and they also all know which days in June are for which awareness or pride or whatever flag

campers who transitioned over the school year and coming back to camp a different gender and their godly parent re-claims them as their true self

Percy “I can’t believe I used to think I was straight” Jackson educating some of the younger campers on bisexuality and how, no, you don’t always know right away

Annabeth “I had a crush on Thalia and Luke at the same time and it was horrible” Chase always reassuring the nervous kids that there’s nothing wrong with being queer (and that she’ll fight any homophobic family members they may have)

actually they kind of all do that

Some little kid: “Well……. I don’t wanna tell my stepdad, he might kick me out”

Percy, remembering that his dad kept Medusa’s head after it got sent to Olympus: “Give me your address, I have an idea”

Piper will verbally eviscerate anybody she catches being even remotely homophobic. I mean she will swipe phones out of her siblings’ hands to tell off some ignorant grandmother

Jason does NOT get into physical altercations outside of sparring and literal war, but the closest he ever got was after hearing someone call Nico a slur (Percy and Leo had to physically drag him away from the other guy)

William Solace has white cowboy boots. I Will Start Sobbing On The Spot

Percy and Jason wore matching skirts for the pride festival and it was great— these 6-foot-plus brick shithouses of heroes who have single-handedly won wars aggressively waving tiny pride flags at each other and dancing to IT GIRL on the quad

Cecil and Lou Ellen made these magic rainbow smoke bombs, crawled up on the roof of the Hermes cabin, and slingshotted them into the masses Just Because™️

(Will’s hair was blue and pink for weeks)

RAINBOW WAR PAINT FOR CAPTURE THE FLAG.

Clarisse fucking kicked someone into the lake because they made fun of one of her siblings’ dyed hair

Connor thought it would be funny to leave a mini pan flag on top of Mr. D’s Diet Coke stash, mostly as a harmless joke, but the next day he noticed Mr. D had tucked it into his horrible Hawaiian shirt pocket like a handkerchief😭

watching Love, Simon in the amphitheater for movie night and half the campers had to excuse themselves early for sobbing too hard

Malcolm and Annabeth reread Red White and Royal Blue every summer. They say they’re Henry and June, Connor is Alex, and Percy is Nora

(this is confirmed when the two of them start a foot fight in the dining pavilion with a Chipotle burrito)

Leo IMing Jo and Emmie to wish them a happy pride (and tell Georgina and Waystation I said hello)

Piper and Leo getting into a HEATED debate about whether Velma Dinkley is a lesbian or not

”YOU CANNOT LOOK AT HER OVERSIZED-SWEATER-OVER-MY-PROM-DRESS ASS AND TELL ME YOU THINK SHE’S TOTALLY STRAIGHT—“

”WHAT SHE AND SHAGGY HAD WAS REAL, BEAUTY QUEEN! HOT DOG WATER AIN’T GOT NOTHIN ON NORVILLE ROGERS—“

”LEO! HER NAME IS MARCIE! AND THEY ARE EACH OTHER’S W A L L P A P E R S .”

Jason, sitting in the middle of them, now deaf in both ears: Lupa give me strength

GUYS PLEASE SEND ME SPECIFIC SHIPS OR CHARACTERS TO WRITE PRIDE HC’S FOR I WOULD LOVE TO🙏🙏🙏🙏