#blurbs ♡ ₊˚⊹

[mycameron]

‎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀࣪𓏲ּ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃

being your boyfriend is rafe's favourite thing.

he does everything for you. whether it was buying you lunch or driving 5 hours just to get you the purse that you really wanted.. he will do it, no matter what.

he likes having you rely on him, depend on him for everything. in fact, he loves it. maybe a little too much. he likes being needed, especially when it came to you. you don't even have to lift a finger, not like rafe would let you anyway. he buys you expensive gifts, takes you on cute dates, gets you flowers, drives you everywhere, he treats you like a queen.

you sat in front of your vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. rafe sat on the edge of your bed behind you. you were going to a party later tonight to celebrate one of your friend's birthday. running your fingers through your freshly curled hair, you sighed.

"rafe, do you think my hair looks good?", you had spent an hour doing it but it didn't turn out the way you wanted, as per usual.

he looked up from his phone, "of course baby, you could wear a trash bag and you'd still look beautiful."

he always knew what to say, didn't he?

staring at yourself in the mirror you stop worrying about your hair and focus on your outfit. it was supposed to be "casual" but in reality, everyone would be wearing clothes on the fancier side. you make your way to your closet and skim through the collection of dresses, all of which rafe bought you. you pick two out, the first one was a silky dark red dress and the second was a simpler black dress with an open back.

lifting them both up you ask, "which one would fit better for tonight?"

taking a moment to scan the dresses rafe lifts his finger and points to one, "the red dress. 'makes you look hot", he grins.

you walk over to place a kiss on his cheek and he puts his hands around your waist, pulling you in while planting kisses on your neck and making his way down your torso.

"rafe, we have to go soon and i still need to get dressed!" you try to pull away but he tightens his grip.

"tell them we're going to be late then", he says now gliding his hand up your thigh.

you pull out your phone and text your friend.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི my first fic/blurb (idk?) & def not proofread.. please give me feedback if any!!

[valeisaslut]

Reader asking Ellie to record them fucking, and Ellie ends up getting really into it (love your writing btw!! 💋💋)

say hi to the camera ─⭑.

⭒ word count: 3.6k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content warnings: film student top!ellie x sub!reader, oral sex (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), strap-on (r!receiving), pussy slapping, hair pulling, filming kink, AFAB!reader, cursing, pet names, rough sex, degradation + praise, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

࿐not part of the collide au (rip my absolute queens... this actually hurt my SOUL but hey sometimes we gotta go out of our comfort zone and get feral for... the craft)

you said it as a joke.

but it landed like a command.

it happens halfway through straddling her on the couch, your body already buzzing from the way she’s kissing you—slow and deep, like she’s trying to memorize your mouth. her palms are hot under your shirt, fingertips dragging slow up your ribs.

you lean back just enough to catch your breath, grin sharp as ever.

"you should record this next time."

her lips pause at your throat. she stays there, a little shocked, mouth barely grazing your skin, and then—voice low, amused:

"you want me to record you while i fuck you?"

you shrug, all fake casual, even though your pulse jumps.

"i mean… why not? could be hot."

ellie pulls back just enough to look at you. blinks once. and then she grins—all trouble. her hands drag down your sides, deliberate now, like she’s already directing the first shot.

"you want a sex tape, baby?"

your smile widens. "just for me. like, when you're gone late working on a project and i’m in bed missing you."

she groans. like, actual full-body groan. throws her head back against the couch, rubs a hand over her face like you’ve just ruined her life.

"jesus fucking christ. you’re evil."

you tilt your head. "you love it."

her gaze snaps back to you—darker now, her pupils blown wide, her lip caught between her teeth.

"i will story-board the fuck out of it. lighting. blocking. sound. i'll give you a score."

"you’re such a nerd."

“and you’re the one asking a film major to make a porno, so who’s the real nerd here?”

you laugh, leaning in to kiss her, grinding down on her lap.

“bet you’d narrate the whole thing like, ‘scene one—fucking my girlfriend. interior. night. single cam. practical lighting.’”

she chokes on a laugh, then groans, fingers digging into your hips. “shut the fuck up.”

“no, seriously—‘fade in: slut on couch. extreme close-up. one long take. raw as hell.’”

“i’m gonna ruin you,” she growls, and this time it’s not a joke—rough, all threat and promise.

you just smirk, mouth barely brushing hers.

“yeah, but make it auteur.”

she doesn’t bring it up again for a week. you think she���s forgotten, or maybe it was just talk—a shared fantasy that slipped between the couch cushions and the memory of her mouth on your neck.

but then it’s saturday night. you’re fresh from the shower, hair damp and clinging to your neck, skin still warm, still smelling like her soap. you’re wearing her old gray t-shirt—soft, stretched, worn in the best way—and nothing underneath.

ellie’s already in the bedroom. the lights are low, shadows moving slow across the walls. deftones plays from the speaker—just enough to feel in your ribs, not loud enough to distract.

when you step into the room, you freeze. she’s sprawled out on the bed in a black tank top and boxers, one knee bent, and a camera aimed straight at you.

not her phone. not some propped-up, shaky little attempt at homemade porn. a real camera—matte black, compact, handheld, with a flip-out screen angled toward her face and that unmistakable red recording light already glowing steady.

the kind of camera that says she’s thought about this. planned it. maybe even fantasized about how she’d frame you, light you, direct you. and now you’re here. standing in the doorway, already caught in the first shot.

“wait,” you say, blinking. “are you for real?”

she doesn’t even flinch. just looks up from behind it and grins, wide and wolfish.

“oh, i’m for real,” she says, voice warm and smug.

you snort, tugging the hem of your shirt down instinctively, "with a real fucking camera?"

"yeah, wanna see it in 4K" she responds, tilting it, lens still trained on you. "why? don’t get all shy on me now, babe. you're the one who said record it."

“yeah,” you arch a brow. “i just didn’t think i was dating a one-woman a24 production crew.”

“you’re not,” she says, adjusting the zoom. “you’re dating a visionary.”

you try not to laugh but fail.“you look like a lesbian scorsese.”

“and you look like the hottest thing i’ve ever filmed,” she says, voice thick, thumb adjusting the focus. “so maybe be nice to your director.”

you stay where you are for a second. let her film you standing still. let her zoom in the curve of your thighs, the way the shirt clings to your chest, the outline of your nipples through the fabric. the tension builds between frames, between your breaths.

“you’re actually committing to this?” you ask, voice softer now, a little breathless, as if the heat in the room just kicked up a notch.

“baby,” she says, adjusting the focus without even looking away, “i’ve been storyboarding this in my head since before we even spoke.”

her voice is calm, almost sweet—like it’s not the filthiest thing she’s ever admitted.

“freak,” you mutter, but you’re smiling, laughing again—breathier this time. your body already giving in. you step closer, hips loose, eyes locked on hers.

ellie lifts the camera a little higher, tracks the shift of your body as if she’s afraid to miss a second.

“show me,” she whispers, tone low but teasing. “come on, give me a show.”

and you give her one. you lift the hem of the shirt slowly. not for her—for the lens. you know exactly how this is going to look in playback. the glow of your skin in this light. the way your body starts to reveal itself, line by line.

you pull it over your head and let it drop to the floor, nipples stiffening in the cold air. your stomach tenses under her gaze, and you don’t try to hide the shine between your thighs.

she makes a noise—somewhere between a sigh and a curse—and the camera dips for half a second, like her hand twitched. you see her throat bob as she swallows.

you know that look. she’s not sure whether to keep filming or drop the thing entirely and fall to her knees.

and god, it turns you on even more.

"still rolling?" you ask, voice sugar-laced, cocky.

ellie nods once, "yeah. fucking hell, yeah."

you step closer, slower this time. not acting. not pretending. this isn’t performance—it’s instinct. it’s power. the way she’s looking at you, mouth parted, eyes glazed behind the viewfinder. you know she’s turned on before she’s even touched you.

“you better not cut the part where i called you a pervy little director,” you tease, all teeth.

ellie lowers the camera just enough to meet your eyes, flushed and slightly out of breath. hand still holding the lens like a lifeline.

“cut it?” she says. “i’m putting it in the trailer.”

you grin. shift your weight, your thighs brushing.

“turn around,” she says next, and it’s not a suggestion.

it’s gravel and gravity, all command. her voice has slipped into that other place—firm, sure, focused. all director mode.

you smirk but do what she says. slowly, hips swaying. your hands drag down your own waist as you pivot, and when your back is to her, you arch slightly—just enough. let her see the full curve of your ass, the slick glinting between your thighs.

behind you, there’s a sharp exhale.

"jesus christ," she mutters. then the soft mechanical buzz of her adjusting the zoom.

you don’t need to see her to know she’s locked in. her eyes drinking in every inch, the red light on the camera the only thing keeping her from touching you already.

you glance back lazily. “so, you gonna keep filming, or are you gonna fuck me?”

and that’s it.

the camera dips. her body snaps to attention like it’s muscle memory.

you’re pulled back towards the bed in one smooth movement—no hesitation. the backs of your knees hit the mattress and you drop, your body folding back on your elbows, legs parting without a hint of shame.

ellie stands over you, camera raised.

“holy shit,” she mutters.

she brings the camera lower, letting it drink you in, between your legs, over the slick. the way your chest rises and falls, nipples peaked, skin glowing.

“look at you,” she says. “you’re already dripping, just from being filmed.”

you shift, thighs tightening, and she catches the movement.

"such a fucking dirty girl," she mutters, one hand ghosting over your stomach.

she places the camera down on the nightstand, still rolling, still angled at your spread legs and heaving chest. her focus is so fucking precise it sends a wave of arousal through you all on its own.

and then ellie kneels between your legs like it’s her altar.

angel starts playing low in the background, slow and dark.

has she even prepped the soundtrack? you wonder for a second, half-laugh, half-moan.

(of course she did.)

she starts with your knee. presses her mouth there, slow and warm, a kiss that lingers just a second too long before she trails it upward. her hands follow—one curling firm around your thigh like she owns it, the other gliding up the center of your stomach, dragging heat in its wake.

she slips her palm higher, sliding between your ribs, under the soft weight of your breast.

her thumb brushes over your nipple and you gasp, chest lifting into her hand like you’ve forgotten how to do anything else but respond.

"you feel that?" she murmurs, voice low, like it’s just for you even though the camera’s still blinking red. "your heart’s beating so fucking fast."

you open your mouth to say something smart, something flirty, but then she’s kissing up your thigh again and the thought dies on your tongue.

she reaches your stomach, then your sternum, then your collarbone—and instead of diving down immediately, she pauses. tilts her head. looks at you.

and kisses you.

hot and deep, all tongue and teeth. one of those messy, all-consuming kisses that steals the breath right out of your lungs.

you moan into it—she swallows the sound greedily. her fingers are already moving again. one circling your nipple, the other caressing your side.

she pulls back just enough to speak, her lips grazing your cheek, then your jaw.

"you're perfect" she says, kissing beneath your ear, down your throat, impossibly reverent.

your hips roll up involuntarily, and she smiles against your collarbone.

"getting impatient, baby?"

"ellie—fuck—"

she chuckles. not unsympathetic—just pleased. her mouth finds your nipple next, tongue dragging over it slow, flicking, then sucking it into the heat of her mouth. her other hand moves to your other breast, squeezes gently, then rougher, thumb teasing over the tip until you whine.

"god, these tits," she mumbles against your chest, "camera’s not even doing them justice."

your back arches when her palm lands flat on your stomach, sliding lower, past your hip, fingers teasing the edge of your thigh.

"ellie," you gasp again, helpless this time.

she lets your nipple go with a soft, wet pop. looks up at you from your chest, mouth slick, green eyes lit up with that impossible mix of her—tender and ravenous, as if she wants to worship you and devour you in the same breath.

she shifts downward, dragging her tongue along the slope of your breast, down your stomach, until she’s eye level with your pussy. you’re throbbing, already wrecked, thighs trembling just from the anticipation of her mouth.

she glances at the nightstand, double-checking the angle like it matters. then brings her fingers to your folds, spreading you open with both thumbs, totally entranced by the sight.

“say hi to the camera, baby,” she teases, looking up at you.

and then, without warning, her tongue drags a slow, devastating stripe from your entrance to your clit.

you moan—loud, raw, helpless, trying to lift your hips but her free hand is already there, pressing you down into the mattress.

"f-fuck!" you whimper, voice cracking.

"that's right," she murmurs, licking again. "let it hear every fuckin’ sound."

she starts working you in earnest now—tongue circling your clit in tight, practiced spirals, her mouth warm and greedy. she moans against you, like the taste of you is enough to drive her insane. you can feel every vibration down to your toes.

your hands are tangled in her hair, thighs wide open, whole body arching into her mouth. she slips one hand between your legs and slides a finger inside—curling just enough to make your spine seize.

"holy shit," you gasp. "oh my god—Ellie—"

"more," she whispers against your clit, sliding in a second finger "let it see how messy you get for it."

and then she reaches back—without stopping—grabs the camera from the nightstand with her free hand, flips the screen toward you, and holds it low between your bodies. the image blinks into view—a live, unfiltered shot: your pussy stretched around her fingers, your mouth agape and brows furrowed, your thighs shaking with every thrust.

“you seeing this, baby?” she mutters, eyes flicking between you and the viewfinder. “fuck, look at you.”

and god—you do. you watch yourself fall apart in real time, every wet sound, every twitch of your stomach from overstimulation, every pump of her fingers, every gasp on full display. like it’s art, like it’s proof.

and it’s probably the filthiest, most turned on you have ever felt in your life.

its holy and obscene at the same time—your body laid bare, her fingers deep inside you, your face twisted with pleasure, and all of it immortalized in perfect footage.

you can’t look away. neither can she.

"ellie—please—I’m gonna—"

"do it," she growls, "come f’me, come for the camera."

you come with a cry that splits the room, loud, shaking. your thighs squeeze around her hand and your back lifts off the mattress, body wrung out like a rag.

she doesn’t stop, just slows her pace, works you through it. you’re trembling when she finally pulls away, kisses your thigh, and sits back with the camera resting on her bent knee. she lifts it, points it at your face.

you’re flushed, sweaty. lying in a wrecked halo of your own making.

“so damn perfect like this” she mutters, voice a rasp. "you want more?"

you nod, chest heaving.

"words."

"yes," you whisper. then louder, like she needs to hear it. like the camera does, too. "yes. fuck, yes. please fuck me."

and she grins like the devil.

she tosses the camera onto the nightstand—still recording, angled just right, lens slightly askew—but it only makes it hotter, messy, real. something she’ll watch for hours with her hand down her boxers.

she doesn’t say anything as she crosses the room, opens the drawer, and pulls out the harness. it’s not slow or performative. it’s practiced, casual. she straps it over her black boxers with one hand, the other slicking lube over the thick purple silicone cock. it gleams in the low light, catching the flash of the camera’s red recording dot.

you’re already moving, your body shifting on instinct—onto your hands and knees, face buried in the sheets, ass high in the air like it’s muscle memory.

ellie looks at you and lets out a sound from deep in her throat. almost a laugh, mostly a groan.“stay just like that.”

she climbs behind you, smooth and silent. spreads your cheeks with both hands and groans when she sees how soaked you are.

"fuck, baby. you made a whole fuckin' mess back here."

"ellie—"

she leans down, kissing the small of your back, then bites your ass, playful and sharp. one hand grips your hip, the other slides between your legs—and she slaps your pussy once, just enough to make you jolt and whine. it’s wet, loud, dirty.

she groans at the sound. "jesus. dripping."

then she drags the head of the strap between your folds, slow and heavy.

"you ready for it?"

you nod frantically, pressing your face into the mattress.

“say it.”

“please fuck me. please, i want it. i need it so bad—”

she wanted to draw it out—make you beg, make you squirm—but she’s just as wrecked as you are, barely holding it together. so when she finally thrusts in, it’s with one deep, steady stroke that knocks the air straight out of your lungs.

you gasp, choking. “jesus christ!—”

“god, look at that,” she breathes, pulling back, watching the way you stretch and suck her back in with the next thrust. “you’re fuckin’ swallowing it.”

her hands find your hips. she sets a brutal rhythm, dragging you back onto her cock with every thrust, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls. the sound of your moans, the slap of her thighs against your ass, the headboard slamming the wall—it’s filthy.

she leans forward, chest pressed to your back, and wraps one hand around your breast, squeezing, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you whine. her other hand tangles in your hair and yanks your head back.

“you like getting fucked like this?” she hisses in your ear. “like a toy on display?”

“yes—fuck, yes—”

“touch yourself.”

you obey instantly. one hand between your legs, circling your clit in frantic, desperate little motions while she fucks you from behind like she’s trying to split you in two.

you notice that closer is softly but steadily playing, and the camera’s still rolling, capturing everything. the curve of your ass, the tremble in your thighs, the way your body jerks every time she bottoms out.

ellie groans like she feels it too—because she does. she’s grinding against the base of the strap, hungry and relentless, chasing the friction like she’s starved for it. the harness is soaked, her boxers nearly translucent with how wet she is, and every time she thrusts into you, the base rubs right against her clit.

“you gonna come like this?” she pants. “gonna soak my dick like a good little slut?”

“yes—yes—fuck, ellie, i’m gonna—”

“say it.”

“i’m your slut,” you cry out. “i'm your fucking slut—”

and right then, without missing a beat, she grabs the camera off the nightstand, angles it behind you. the lens catches the mess of your ass bouncing against her hips, the wet slap of skin on skin, the slick sound of your cunt stretching around the purple silicone.

and then she slaps your ass, hard. loud enough to echo through the room.

"fuck!" you yelp, back arching, legs shaking violently.

and you come like a landslide. body seizing, muscles locking, then breaking all at once as you scream into the mattress. it rolls through you in waves, loud and long, your thighs trembling, fingers still working yourself as you ride it out.

you feel it when she starts to lose it—her rhythm falters, hips stutter, breath hitching into short, high little gasps. her fingers dig into your waist and she presses forward, deeper, harder, her chest flush to your back like she’s trying to crawl inside you.

“fuck—fuck, baby—i’m—”

her voice cracks, and then she whines—high and helpless, the kind of sound you didn’t know she could make. desperate and slutty and fucking perfect. her whole body goes taut, then shudders, her thighs shaking as she ruts through it. she comes with her face buried in your shoulder, teeth clenched, breath shivering.

the base of the strap is slick and messy between you now, but she grinding against the harness like it’s not enough, never enough. she groans into your skin, broken and dazed, and you can feel her heart pounding against your back.

and when she pulls out, it’s slow and careful, hands suddenly tender where they'd just been rough. she leans forward and kisses your spine—once, then again—her breath hot and uneven against your skin.

“you okay?” she murmurs, palm sliding up your back in soft, grounding strokes.

you nod, barely able to form the word. “better than okay.”

she laughs, quiet and breathless, into your shoulder. a little dazed, wrecked herself.

she rolls you onto your back, her hand never leaving your skin, and collapses beside you. the room is humid with sex, thick with sweat, heat and the echo of everything that just happened. the air itself feels heavy, slow.

in her hand, the camera is still rolling. its red light blinks steadily, casting a faint glow over the two of you.

ellie flips the screen towards herself, then turns the lens on you—zooming in dramatically on your wrecked face.

“say hi, baby” she teases, still catching her breath.

you blink up at the lens, dazed. hair a disaster. lips kiss-bruised. eyes glassy like you’ve just returned from the dead.

“hi,” you mumble, grinning like a fool, “i just got fucked into the stratosphere.”

ellie then pans the camera to her own face—sweaty, flushed, hair sticking to her forehead—and raises both brows like she’s in a documentary.

“filmmaker. method actor. strap goat. i do it all.”

you burst out laughing, weakly swatting at her.

she grins, crooked and proud, turning the camera back to you. “and you just won best actress in a leading role, doll.”

“so, what’s the title?” you ask, giggling into the pillow.

ellie snorts—eyes gleaming like she just won an oscar and knocked someone out in the same damn night. she adjusts the angle, tilts the camera so you’re both in the frame: flushed, sweaty, radiant, completely ruined.

then, with the most serious voice she can manage, she deadpans to the lens—

“the slut and the lesbian scorsese.”

you wheeze. “shut the fuck up.”

“already submitted to sundance, actually.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“director’s cut drops next week.”

you try to slap her but miss—too sore, too high on her, too in love. she just laughs, smug and glowing, and zooms in one last time on your face.

“five stars,” she murmurs, “would absolutely fuck again.”

⭒ perm taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <3): @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andiemiaswife @mayfldss @sewithinsouls @coastalwilliams @hotpinkskitties @ssijht @pleasejoel @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @2against3 @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @imunpunishable @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ omg… first fic NOT set in the collide au in literal MONTHS and it feels SO weird but soooo good to write something different omfg 😭 rockstar!ellie and popstar!reader yall still haunt me everyday. my favorite lesbians for the rest of the eternity. i’ve missed this kind of chaos. huge love and tysm to my gorg mootie who sent this amazing request before i even started collide—you live in my brain rent free forever bby!

i might play around with a few more fics + requests before launching the next big series i’ve been outlining (👀), so stay tuned babes. ily all dearly ♡

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on my perm taglist!

credits for divider: @cafekitsune <3 – images from pinterest - edited by me

[rafesangelita]

♡ when you’re so wet that rafe keeps slipping out..

warnings: making out, heavy petting, dry humping (not really, it’s pretty messy), finger sucking, cockwarming (?), unprotected sex, praise, teasing, rafe being super pussy drunk, belly bulge, size kink, biting, slight dacryphilia

“fuck, look at those hips..” rafe pulled away from your lips, a string of saliva still connecting you two as he dragged you up and down his lap, his large palms enveloping the soft globes of your ass. with shaky hands, you held onto his shoulders as you rocked on top of him, your panties drenched with your arousal. “need’ you, ray..” you whimpered, “please.” rafe pressed a trail of sloppy kisses across your collarbone, his tongue licking a stripe up the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut.

he navigated your body like it was the back of his hand, his skillful touch turning you into putty. rafe could feel your heat through his boxers, the soaked fabric making him groan as his hardened cock strained against the material. “i’ll give it you, baby, don’t worry,” he landed a harsh smack to your ass, ripping a yelp from your lips, “wet those fingers for me.” rafe could only imagine how slippery your cunt would feel swallowing him whole, your slick alone already making you glide easily on top of the layers separating you two from full penetration.

giggling softly, rafe watched as your hand disappeared underneath the waistband of your panties, his breath hitching once you held up your fingers, a pool of your sticky succulence glistening underneath the dim light. knowing that he was the one to make you like this made him twitch with need, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he brought your digits to his mouth. with a baited breath, you gasped softly when he took your juices on his tongue, the man in front of you moaning at the taste.

no matter how many times rafe found his head between your thighs, he could never get used to how intoxicating you were, all of his senses and primal instincts honing in on fucking you stupid. without wasting another second, rafe was quick to take himself out of his boxers, a hiss leaving his lips as his length smacked against your tummy. peeling back the lace material of your underwear, he slid them down your legs until he caught sight of the absolute mess between your thighs.

laying you down on your back, rafe brought your knees up to your chest, using one hand to press on your lower abdomen and the other to guide himself between your folds. he was so hard, he had to use his thumb to keep the tip of his cock down so he could enter your needy cunt. he marveled at the size difference, the head of his length stopping just below your belly button. “fuck, i’m gonna wreck you..” he trailed off, toying with your clit before slipping inside, filling you up inch by inch until you were crying out in both pleasure and pain.

with the hand that he had on your stomach, he guided your own over the budge in your tummy, your eyes widening slightly as he started thrusting into you at a steady pace. “you feel that? ‘feel the way my cock fills you up to the fucking brim?” your eyes rolled back at the same time you whined out a ‘f-fuck, yes!’ into your palm. your walls stretched deliciously around the the welcomed intrusion that was his length, your pussy clenching around him for all that he had. the sounds falling from your lips were nothing short of pornographic, the moans and choked sobs only pushing rafe closer to the edge.

he sped up until his skin was slapping against your own, your back arching off of the bed when he slipped out and stroked your clit with the underside of his cock. you shrieked at the sensation, your legs trembling in sensitivity. “too much..” you shook your head, bringing your legs down to wrap around his waist instead. rafe groaned, your slick dripping down his length as he tapped your glossy folds. “you’re so fucking wet, i’m slipping right out,” he grunted, “this is what i do to you, ‘pretty girl?” he leaned down, nipping the sensitive part of your neck.

he kept himself nestled inside of you for a few moments, letting you revel in being so utterly full. you gave him an approving hum, your nails digging into his skin as he bit you softly across your collarbone. starting up his thrusts again, he slipped out as soon as he picked up the pace, the action making him curse under his breath. your eyes watered in frustration, your bottom lip pulled tightly between your teeth. rafe saw your tears, the sight shooting straight to his cock. he loved seeing how delirious he made you, his chest filling up with pride as you looked up at him with that fucked-out gaze.

soon after he continued, your high was hitting you in intense waves, the coil in the pit of your stomach snapping in two as rafe watched your eyebrows knit together, the added mess between your thighs only making his hips stutter with his own climax painting your walls. “rafe!” you screamed in his ear, his thumb slipping between your lips for you to bite down on while he twitched and convulsed inside of you. a shiver ran down his back as he caged you tightly between his arms, his seed spilling out of you as you both went through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

once you were okay, rafe pressed a kiss to your lips, stroking the side of your face before rolling over to your side. “what’s your ring size?” he sighed, pulling you against his chest. you laughed softly, slightly confused at the words that left his mouth. “why?” rafe’s chest was rising and falling as he glanced down at you, meeting your eyes. “are you kidding me? i need to lock this pussy down. like tonight.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

spoiled kook reader is everything rafe wants: soft, naive, and effortlessly pretty, with that clueless, wide-eyed charm that makes him feel needed and in control. she’s not dumb, but she’s oblivious to danger, which fuels his overprotectiveness. rafe gets frustrated when she doesn’t take things seriously—like when she giggles at something he’s mad about or brushes off red flags because she’s too caught up in her own little world.

but at the same time, rafe loves it. he loves that she needs him to make decisions, loves that she’s so wrapped up in her pink-tinted bubble that she doesn’t see how crazy he is about her. she’s the kind of girl who pouts when she doesn’t get her way, who spends hours doing her hair just to lounge by the pool, who buys expensive things without thinking about the price. and rafe? he enables it. always tells her she doesn’t have to worry about anything—that’s his job.

the way he grips her jaw and forces her to listen when she gets too lost in her own head? the way he growls out, “pay attention when I’m talkin’ to you, princess,” because she’s too busy twirling her hair and admiring her manicure?

and can you imagine when rafe brings her around his friends? she’s completely out of place in their conversations, sitting pretty in his lap with her pink manicured fingers wrapped around a vodka cran, her lips glossy and slightly parted because she’s only half-listening. rafe is of course deep in conversation about something serious—money, business, or maybe even something dumb like the stock market or sports —and she just blinks up at him, twirling a strand of her perfectly curled hair.

“rafey, what does offshore mean?” she asks, tilting her head, genuinely clueless while the guys snicker.

kelce will mutter something like, “god, she’s adorable,” and topper will laugh and say, “you keep her around for the looks, huh, rafe?”

and rafe? he hates when they talk about her like that, like she’s just some dumb, pretty accessory. his grip on her thigh tightens, fingers digging into her soft skin as he glares at his friends. “shut the fuck up.”

but she doesn’t even realize what’s happening. she’s just giggling, clinking her nails against her drink. “ugh why are you squeezing so hard, rafey? gonna leave bruises,” she pouts, not even realizing that’s exactly what he wants.

and when another guy—maybe some no-name Kook douche—tries to flirt with her, assuming she’s too airheaded to notice? rafe will lose his shit. because sure, she may be ditzy, but she’s his.

“she is not interested,” rafe snaps before she can even process what’s happening, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

but instead of understanding, she just blinks up at him, wide-eyed and confused. “omg wait, was he flirting?”

rafe clenches his jaw, barely containing his frustration. because of course she didn’t. she’s far too sweet, too oblivious. and it drives him crazy.

and later, when they’re alone, he makes sure she knows who she belongs to. “you don’t even get it, do you?” he mutters, pressing her against the nearest surface. “y-you walk around lookin’ like that, talkin’ like that, and you don’t even realize what you do to me.”

and she just blinks up at him, chewing on her glossy bottom lip. “…like what?”

and rafe just groans, dragging a hand down his face. Because he loves her, but she’s gonna be the death of him.

[synvil]

“and for my husband,” // rafe cameron blurb

synopsis : you do the 'husband' trend on your boyfriend.

“that’ll be a large,”

as you dig into your wallet, pulling out some cash to pay for your drinks, rafe doesn’t even realize what comes out of your lips until it’s too late. “and my husband will take an expresso.”

the cashier doesn’t seem to care or even notice his widened eyes as she rings you up, while her coworker gets started on your drinks. “your total will be $10.49. are you paying cash or card?”

you hand a ten dollar bill and a one dollar bill and hold it out for her. “cash.” you reply, watching as she takes it from you and you can notice rafe is staring at you, with parted lips.

did you just say what he think he heard?

"that'll be a few minutes on the end."

"great, thank you." you share a smile before reaching for rafe's hand and dragging him over to the opposite end of the counter to wait. rafe has no other choice but to follow after, cheeks undoubtedly a tinge of pink. still holding your hand, he pulls you towards him, making you spin to him.

"so.. husband, huh?"

you purse your lips to hide your breaking smile as you peer up at him innocently. "hm? what's wrong?"

rafe chuckles in disbelief at your innocent act and coy attitude as his grin grows wider. "what was that all about just now? im your husband now?"

you simply shrug and turn away but the mischievous smile curling on your lips give you away. "well, eventually right? i have to practice at some point." as you're giggling, rafe just shakes his head with a small roll of his eyes but his smile softens.

and when he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, he hums. meanwhile his other hand lays in his pocket, his fingers wrapped around a small velvet box.

"well, that's the plan."

a/n : just fluff. i think doing tiktok trends on rafe would be so cute and funny haha. i might make a series lmao.

[littlelamy]

squirting w/ rafe??

lamy notes: 😮‍💨

his fingers are soaked, drenched, and he looks absolutely gone over it. half-lidded eyes, lips parted, hair messy from where you’ve been tugging at it, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to pace himself when all he really wants to do is ruin you.

"jesus, baby," he murmurs, dragging his fingers up through your slick, teasing over your clit in slow, torturous circles before slipping them back inside you, all the way to the knuckle. "you feel that? so wet for me."

you do. it's so much, so overwhelming, your skin hot and sticky, your thighs trembling where they spread open for him. he's been working you open for what feels like forever—coaxing, pushing, playing—and he knows exactly what he's doing. he can feel how close you are, how you're clenching around him, how you're already on the edge and trying so hard not to fall.

his smirk is pure sin. "ohh, that’s good, huh? getting all tight on me—fuck. you're gonna come again, aren't you?"

you can’t even answer, can barely breathe past the way your stomach is clenching, the way heat is building and building and—

"c'mon, pretty girl," he coaxes, curling his fingers inside you just right, rubbing that spot that makes your vision go white. "let me see it."

you feel it.

your back arches, a sharp little cry breaking past your lips as the pleasure overtakes you, as something deep inside you releases all at once, gushing down his wrist, slicking up his palm.

"oh, fuck," rafe chokes out, delighted, wrecked, watching it happen, watching you fall apart in a way neither of you were expecting. "oh my god."

then—he grins.

his free hand grips your thigh, holds you down as he pulls his fingers out, as he leans in, as he puts his face directly in front of the mess spilling out of you.

his mouth opens—his tongue—he's so shameless about it, lets the wetness splash against his skin, laughing when a stray drop lands on his cheek, tilting his head back like he's standing in the fucking rain.

"oh, baby," he groans, wiping his soaked face with the back of his hand, eyes blown, lips curved. "you just made my whole fucking night."

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry @lil-sparklqueen

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | pranking the parents

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐) : when you prank your boyfriend’s mom or sister, he plays along a little too well...will they take your side?

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 1208

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : im running out of pics to use for the banner omfg

ʚ・max verstappen

spending time with max and his sister, victoria, was always entertaining.

the three of you were lounging in the verstappen living room, a race playing faintly in the background while max scrolled through his phone, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

you stretched dramatically, looking over at him. “babe, can you grab me some water from the kitchen?”

max didn’t even glance up, completely deadpan as he muttered—

“do i look like your assistant?”

silence.

you barely had time to process what happened next.

victoria’s head snapped toward max so fast, you swore she almost gave herself whiplash.

her eyebrows shot up, pure disbelief etched across her face.

“max, what the hell? be nice.”

max, still committed to the bit, shrugged. “what? she can walk.”

victoria’s expression darkened.

and before max could react, a pillow came flying across the room, smacking him directly in the face.

you gasped, quickly covering your mouth to hold back laughter.

max blinked, stunned, the pillow still resting in his lap. “did you just—”

victoria crossed her arms, unimpressed. “go help her before i make you regret it.”

max groaned, dragging himself off the couch like it was the biggest inconvenience of his life. “fine. but i want it on record that i was forced.”

you smirked as he trudged toward the kitchen, victoria shaking her head in pure disappointment.

“you put up with that?” she asked, exasperated.

you grinned. “eh, he’s useful sometimes.”

from the kitchen, max’s voice rang out. “i heard that.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

family dinners with the hamiltons were always a warm affair, good food, laughter, and anthony hamilton’s unmatched ability to tell stories that had everyone hooked.

you nudged lewis gently. “babe, can you grab me a drink from the fridge?”

without missing a beat, he shrugged lazily, not even looking up from his plate.

“you have legs, don't you?”

the table fell silent.

lewis barely registered the shift in energy before his dad, anthony hamilton himself, slowly turned to him.

“lewis carl davidson hamilton.”

lewis froze mid-bite. oh, no.

anthony placed his fork down with a deliberate slowness that made the whole moment so much worse.

“what did you just say to y/n? ‘she has legs?’ well, so do you, be a gentleman!”

your hand was clamped over your mouth, trying so hard not to laugh.

lewis, already feeling the heat, looked around for an escape route. “dad, it’s a joke—”

anthony didn’t let him finish.

“no, what’s a joke is me raising a son who forgets his manners.”

at that moment, lewis knew he had lost.

sighing dramatically, he pushed back his chair, already getting up. “alright, alright, i’m going!”

anthony nodded approvingly, taking a sip of his drink. “that’s more like it.”

as lewis disappeared into the kitchen, you exchanged a knowing glance with his dad, who simply smirked.

“give him a hard time, yeah?” anthony murmured, and you grinned.

“oh, always.”

ʚ・george russell

you reached for the sugar but stopped just short, looking at george. “babe, can you pass me the sugar?”

george barely glanced up from his tea, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

“what, are your hands broken?”

silence.

dramatic, suffocating, judgmental silence.

then—a sharp gasp.

“george william russell!”

george physically flinched.

his mother had set her teacup down with force, staring at him like he had just committed high treason against the british monarchy.

he looked between you and his mum, instantly regretting everything.

“mum, it’s not that serious,” he tried, hands slightly raised in defense.

alison placed a hand over her chest, shaking her head in pure disappointment.

“it is very serious. where did i go wrong with you?”

you were seconds away from losing it, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

finally, you cracked, giggling as you waved your hands in surrender.

“it’s a prank!” you admitted, barely able to get the words out.

george sighed in relief, running a hand through his hair. “bloody hell, you nearly got me disowned.”

alison, however, was unfazed, lifting her tea to her lips as she shook her head.

“y/n, you could do so much better.”

george nearly spilled his tea.

“mu—are you serious?!”

you grinned, winking at alison.

“maybe.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

reyes sainz effortlessly kept everyone in check without even raising her voice.

which is exactly why you knew this prank would be perfect.

the family was gathered around the table, laughter and conversation flowing easily as you reached for your glass.

you turned to carlos, your voice sweet. “cariño, can you grab me a napkin?”

carlos, not even looking up from his plate, shrugged.

“get it yourself.”

silence.

instant. deafening. silence.

you felt the temperature drop by ten degrees as carlos’ mother, reyes, slowly set down her fork.

then, in the calmest, most dangerous voice, she said—

“perdón?” (excuse me?)

carlos finally looked up, suddenly very aware that the entire table was staring at him.

you could feel the panic radiating off him as he quickly backtracked, already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

reyes’ gaze remained sharp, assessing.

then, with the slightest tilt of her head, she said—

“carlos, go get it before i do something you’ll regret.”

carlos shot up so fast, his chair nearly tipped over as he rushed to the napkin holder.

you lost it, laughter spilling out as the entire table erupted in amusement.

reyes simply shook her head, taking a sip of her wine. “you two are ridiculous, but, y/n, if he ever speaks to you like that again, you tell me.”

carlos, returning defeated, dropped the napkin in front of you with a glare.

you grinned, leaning in. “what's it like getting scolded by your mother, amor?”

ʚ・charles leclerc

spending time with charles and his brothers, arthur and lorenzo, was always entertaining.

three leclerc men in one room meant a mix of teasing, bickering, and an unspoken rule that charles could never win an argument.

which is why you knew this prank would be gold.

“oh, charles, can you grab my sunglasses from the car?”

charles, casually sipping his espresso, waved a hand dismissively.

“that's far, get it yourself”

silence.

dead. serious. silence.

arthur whipped his head around so fast, you thought he might get whiplash.

“charles. that’s not how you talk to your girlfriend.”

lorenzo, who had been calmly eating his meal, set his fork down with purpose.

“apologize. immediately.”

charles’ expression shifted from smug to terrified in under two seconds.

his green eyes darted between his brothers, realization dawning that he was outnumbered, outgunned, and completely screwed.

“guys, relax, it’s not that—”

arthur leaned forward, voice dead serious. “no. apologize.”

you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh, but the way charles was visibly sweating was making it so much harder.

finally, you cracked, bursting into laughter.

arthur and lorenzo turned to you, confused, as you giggled uncontrollably.

“it’s a prank,” you admitted, wiping away a tear.

arthur sat back, sighing dramatically. “i was about to throw my fork at you, charles.”

lorenzo took another sip of his drink, completely unfazed. “the threat still stands.”

charles muttered something under his breath as he begrudgingly got up to fetch your sunglasses.

you smirked, watching him walk away. “i love this family.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[faiszt]

Hi I was wondering if we could get another Bob Reynolds headcanon x reader thing maybe like a size kink cuz the actor is 6'0 and muscular. Please and thank you 🙏🏼

SIZE KINK ╱ with BOB ⠀◟ ୨ minors do not interact !♥︎ blurb & smut content⠀⠀⠀⠀────⠀⠀⠀⠀headcanon based

꒰ tw:⠀contains some characteristics of bodies that may be specific, which may not fit the description of all body types. if you’re sensitive to this, please, do not read! thank u. !♡ ꒱

he licked his lips silently as you compared your hand to his, laughing and chattering about how big his hand was compared to yours—which, honestly, was quite little—and how cute it looked when bob was such a big man. “your hand must be the size of my head!” you said, still laughing as you held his hand between your two smaller ones.

some time ago, this wouldn’t have affected him, but now, at this moment, it was completely different. bob had been paying a certain amount of attention to your size, to how small you were compared to him, not just your hands, but your whole self. especially when he cuddled with you and you almost disappeared in his arms, that was... something he had never paid attention to, but it was getting to him.

“i’m way too big for you, aren’t i, little thing?” he grumbled hoarsely, his eyes darting from the way your hands played with his to your face lying on his chest. lying on top of him, you still looked smaller and by god’s sake, it wasn’t healthy what this was doing to his mind.

little thing. he gave you that nickname and used it constantly, even around the others, which always got a few laughs and made him tease you a little more. “i should start calling you big boy.” the new nickname made him let out a low groan, making you laugh when you realized that you had found a way to tease him the same way he did to you.

“don’t give me that big boy thing...” he almost pouted for a moment before tossing you a little to the side and making you lie on your back on the mattress, climbing over you. “you’re the little thing here and only you.” bob couldn’t help but notice the way he could keep you immobile beneath him so easily, just one hand of his would be enough to hold both your wrists and you wouldn’t even complain about it.

“well, do you intend to do anything about it or...?”

damn teasing. you should’ve known better than to say that to him—not when he hadn’t touched anyone like he really wanted to in so long. touch-starved, you could tell by the way he was forcing himself inside you. there you are, legs wrapped around his hips and nails scratching the skin in his back beneath the hoodie, the worst part was that you were enjoying this more than you thought you really would.

bob couldn’t control himself, he needed this. the way you said he wouldn’t fit and he still forced himself inside your sweet pussy, so tight around his cock to the point where he was whimpering as much as you were. “qui-quiet...” he nibbled on your shoulder between thrusts, one hand snaking over your mouth just to make sure you wouldn’t moan too loudly at any moment.

but, he could still hear your mumbling against his palm and it only caused to make him harder, burying his face in the crook of your neck, sucking on your skin as he tried to keep himself quiet. the marks you would have in your neck tomorrow weren’t a concern now, but rather getting every inch of him inside you.

maybe, you were right in calling him a big boy. he might be big, but he was still a boy, acting all dominant, but losing it the second his cock felt too big for your little pussy. you were squeezing him so tightly that he could barely form a coherent sentence, just moaning and panting against your skin, licking and sucking it in his failed attempts to not be loud.

“f-fuck, you feel so... so... good,” he whispered, drawn out and muffled, against your ear, taking his hand away from your mouth, still thrusting into you hard. “i wanna come for you... inside you... please...” bob was just a completely mess, like you. the hand that was previously on your mouth moving down to find the hem of his hoodie, which he held up a little higher.

his intention was to feel you and also make you feel every single inch of him in those last moments, he wanted to sink into you every day, every hour, but he could settle for just a few days a week. he was making it worth it, stretching you open around his huge cock, making you delirious with it and making himself delirious with the sensation.

your orgasm came seconds before his and he caught a glimpse of the satisfaction on your face, it was enough to intensify his pleasure, leaving him limp above you as his thick jets filled you and left him in a limbo of momentary drowsiness. he knew he shouldn’t have gone so deep with it and he felt a little bad, he was afraid of hurting you.

“i’m sorry, little thing, did i hurt you?” he whispered softly like a lullaby, looking a little worried that he had done more than he should’ve. bob pulled out of you slowly, stroking your thigh, his eyes fixed on yours for any signs. “are you okay? did i do too much?”

you were a little tired and out of breath, still dealing with the aftermath of what had just happened, but you noticed the clear concern on his face and the gentle touch on your thigh, as if he was still trying to apologize for something he didn’t even need to. “it’s okay... i liked it, no need to apologize,” your words made him let out a relieved sigh before pressing a peck against your lips, keeping his face close to yours. “did you like it?”

“yeah.” he didn’t even think before answering, he just smirked silly, his hand on your thigh squeezing some of the skin. “i wanna do it again... and again...” then, he pressed another peck against your lips. “actually, can we do it again? like... now.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.��don’t use my work without my consent.

[cherrygirlfriend]

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ GAMER BOY >⩊<

pairing: nerd!rafe x perv!reader

summary: rafe is gaming and isn’t giving you attention so you decide to take it.

warnings / tags: smut, cockwarming, unprotected PIV, sub!rafe tries to be dominant but reader puts a stop to it, choking, dirty talk, mildly degrading language, edging. MDNI! WC: 2k

author's note: hi gamers!! if you're curious about what my gaming setup looks like, you can kinda see it on the picture i put above!! anyway... freakrina came out again. oops!

PERVERT MASTERLIST ★ RAFE MASTERLIST

you laid on your stomach, your glossy lips in a slight pout as your long nails trailed the edge of the page of the most recent issue of vogue, occasionally glancing to your boyfriend, rafe's glasses lit up by his dual monitors and his light-up keyboard, headset over his ears.

"josh, what the hell?!" your boyfriend groaned, "you're supposed to be support, just because you're playing as moira doesn't mean you can just ignore healing us." you bring one of your hands to his hairy arm, pawing at it like a puppy. "hm?" rafe moved his headset partially from his ear. "what is it babe?" he glances at you, "shut the fuck up, caleb, it's my girl." rafe groans, pressing mute and turning to you, "yeah?"

"attention..." you look up at him with puppy-dog eye, pursing your lips as adorably as possible, pawing at his arm again, an adorable smile taking over his pink lips. rafe moved his hand to cup your chin, bringing your face closer to his, your lips meeting his in a brief, gentle kiss that left some of your gloss onto his lips. he tugged a few loose strands of hair behind your ear and pressed a quick kiss on your forehead, before letting go of your chin and pulling away, causing you to let out a whine that made him let out a breath of a chuckle, "i'll play one more round and then i'm all yours, 'kay?" he asked and you rolled your eyes, letting out an exasperated "fiiine."

rafe turned back to his game, unmuting and putting headset back on properly, rolling his eyes at comments his friends were surely throwing at him and scoffing out a, "yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you're just mad cause no one would touch your gremlin asses even if they got paid.

you never really got boy logic. there you were, in his bed, wearing nothing but a short, sheer lingerie dress, and all he cared about was playing a stupid shooting game with a bunch of guys? what kind of a man would ignore their hot, clearly willing girlfriend for a bunch of guys??? no. this just wouldn't do.

you sat up, rolling your shoulders and stretching, before you stood up, walking on tiptoes on his plush carpet, until you were right behind rafe's gaming chair, bringing your hands onto his shoulders. rafe looked up briefly, a small smile on his face, until he turned back to the game.

you slid onto rafe's lap without difficulty; the boy staring up at you with wide eyes, "ray, fucking move!" you heard through rafe's headset, "yeah, fucking do something"

"shut the fuck up or i'm gonna cut all of your balls off in succession with one machete." you said into the microphone with a smile on your face, the sound of your boyfriend bursting into laughter echoing into the microphone. "got it?"

"yeah, got it..." you heard through rafe's headset, your boyfriend grinning slightly, "alright, baby, i'm gonna play now. behave." he squeezed your side, and you simply nodded, the boy oblivious to your plan.

rafe got started on his game, and you repositioned yourself slightly in his lap, making sure to press against his crotch as you did. he let out a low breath, clearing his throat slightly. you giggled quietly, continuing to wiggle slightly on his lap.

"what are you doing?" he asked quietly, and you simply looked at him with your eyes wide in feigned innocence, "i'm not doing anything." you purred, able to feel rafe starting to harden underneath you. your hands went to the waistband of his sweats, trying to tug them down, and even though rafe mumbled "not right now..." he still lifted his hips off the chair and let you tug the fabric down, a visible bulge in his briefs.

"ray, the fuck's going on?" you heard through his headset, making you grin, getting up off his lap, covering rafe's monitors. you bent down slightly, slipping your panties off. "n-nothing, hold on." rafe mumbled into the mic before muting it. you positioned your entrance over the head of his cock, both of you letting out a slight groan the moment you allowed yourself to sink down on him. you rotated slightly in his lap, so rafe could see his monitors.

you lifted his headset for a moment, a devious, enticing smile on your face as you spoke in a sultry tone, "if you win, i'll fuck you. but if you don't..." you got off his cock, making him whine as you brought your mouth to his ear, "i won't let you touch me for a month. are we clear?"

"we-we're clear..." rafe mumbled, and you smiled with feigned kindness as you positioned his erection at your entrance once again, smirking back at him and placing the headset back on his ear. "good." you moaned as you sunk down on him, rafe's eyes pressing closed and letting out a long, ragged breath. "now focus." you turn back to face the monitors, and turn the mic back on.

after taking a deep breath, rafe cleared his throat and turned back to the monitors, "alright, let's go, boys." he said gruffly, "just drop it, it was nothing, man."

as the game went on, occasionally, you wiggled yourself on his cock, making rafe let out a sharp breath before trying his best to focus back onto the game. rafe occasionally spoke into his mic, only for you to lift your hips slightly or clench your walls around his cock in a way that made his voice strained and slightly high-pitched, making your lips twist into a mischievous grin.

momentarily, rafe let go of his keyboard to bring his hand to your bare thigh, landing a smack on it that echoed around the room. "behave." he muttered, only for you to face him, lifting your hips up off him and slamming back down, making your boyfriend let out a groan he tried to muffle. you grabbed his jaw and forced him to look up at you "do not tell me what to do." you said, in a sharp tone that made his eyes widen. "focus."

he took in another deep breath before focusing back on the game, his cock twitching desperately as he was buried inside your warm walls. the screen flickered in various colors as he kept shooting his opponents, each clench of your walls making him nearly miss, but eventually, 'victory!' appeared in bold, yellow text.

"alright, guys, i'm gonna go now." rafe mumbled into his headset, closing the game along with the discord call before his friends could say a thing. he took in a sharp breath as you got off him. "get on the bed." you said, and rafe nearly tripped onto wires as he scampered off his chair and onto the bed, making you grin.

you climbed onto rafe's bed, crawling over to him with your head cocked to the side. his cock was soaked with your arousal, the sensitive tip of his cock an angry red. you bent down so you could lick a stripe on the vein on the underside of rafe's cock, twitching with sensitivity as he let out a shaky breath.

"you know..." you looked up at him with pursed lips, "i don't think it's fair that i need to compete for your attention with a game." you tsked, pushing your tits together using your forearms, the swell of your breasts showing through the sheer fabric of your lingerie dress.

"i-it wasn't..." rafe stammered out as you moved to straddle his lap, taking the base of his cock into your hand and bringing it to your entrance, but not sinking down on him, "and then you tried to tell me what to do." you shook your head, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders, "that's not how we do things, rafe." "i'm... i'm sorry..."

"are you sorry? are you really sorry?" you asked, and you could see his adam's apple bob with the force of his swallow, "ye-yes... it... it won't happen again..."

"it better not." you said in a soft, sickly-sweet tone as you started to lower yourself down on him, making him whine, "or you're never, ever going to get to feel me around you... again." you slammed down on him, making rafe let out a groan, his eyes squeezing shut, "look at me. you got it?"

"i-i got it..." he breathed out, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. you smiled sweetly at him as you lifted your hips up slightly and sank down on him once again. your manicured finger trailed down his sharp jawline, "what a good boy."

you started riding rafe, holding onto his shoulders as you moved yourself on his cock, his hips thrusting into you automatically. heavy breaths, the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs and the squelch of his cock inside your arousal-slick cunt filled the room.

"feels... feels so good..." rafe choked out, making you chuckle as you continued moving, picking up your pace, "yeah? yeah, that feels good to you?" you tutted, sliding your hand up to his neck. when you squeezed slightly, you could feel his cock twitching inside of you, causing you to clench around him, making him arch into you.

"this feels good? hm?" you moaned as you put some more pressure onto his throat, your boyfriend nodding fervently at you. "aww, you're such a little freak..." you brushed a strand of hair behind rafe's ear as you slammed your hips down on him, bringing your lips close to his ear, "who knew that my innocent little boyfriend was such a dirty pervert?" you whispered, his hips thrusting up into you.

"c-can't- can't take it..." rafe whined, making you squeeze slightly harder, your sweet voice turning steely, "you're gonna take it. you're gonna take what i give you. rafe, look at me." you said sharply, and he looked to you with a pouty expression, "if you come before i tell you to, you're not touching me for a month. understood?"

"ungggh-" rafe pressed his eyes closed before nodding, "u-understood.." "good boy." you purred, eased up your grip on his throat slightly and took hold of his wrist, slightly easing up your pace but still continuing to move, bringing rafe's hand between your legs, "touch me." you whisper, rafe beginning to draw small, lazy circles on your clit, "faster."

after a bit more coaxing, rafe's fingers found just the right pace, your head starting to feel hazy, the pressure in your lower stomach getting more and more intense, and you begun to pick up the pace of your hips once again as you rode him, small whines leaving rafe.

"p-please..." rafe whimpered almost painfully, "please, just let me come..." you rolled your hips, "it's okay, baby." you mumbled against his temple and replaced his finger on your clit with your own, rolling the sensitive, throbbing bud, "you can come..."

and almost as if you'd flipped a switch inside of him, rafe let out a noise that was between a moan and a groan of your name as you felt spurts of warm cum spill from the head of his cock, the stimulation you were giving yourself making you gasp as moments later, you followed him, clenching around his still-twitching cock as you came undone.

both of you stilled, the room quiet except for the heavy breaths you were both letting out, before you pulled away slightly, brushing a strand of rafe's sweat-slick hair behind his ear. "you did great..." you said breathily.

"yeah?" he asked with half-lidded eyes and a hopeful smile.

"yeah."

TAGLIST: @raahosh @purpleplumpudding @rafesheaven @nemesyaaa @esotericcangel @mattyskies @dollyfiles @bakugouswaif @littlelamy @izumis-salty-penis @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @cameronsbabydoll @fratbrochrisgf

[cams-cult]

—ᜊ⋱—chris making you dry hump his thigh while you tell him about your day —ᜊ⋱—

#dryhumpingsupremacy

“thaaaats it—just like that baby, cmon’ “ he praises as he looks at the distressed look on your overworked face. work had kicked your ass today and you wanted nothing more then for chris to help you forget, but he had other plans.

your hips grind softly against his thigh as you coo softly, “my coworker heather…she..” you whine as he presses your hips further down on his thigh, giving you more pressure. “mhm—tell me about her” he instructs as he caresses your hair. “what’d she do to my baby, hm?” he pouts, gripping your hips.

your hips grind on him harder, faster, picking up the pace as you try your hardest to utter sentences from your mouth. “she was so mean, chris!” you whine as you squeeze your eyes closed, your hips grinding on chris harder. “tell me about it baby—y’can do it” he urges, kissing your neck softly, your pussy drenched. “chris—can’t…” you frown as your grinds become more sloppier the more he kisses your neck. “why can’t you, hm? goin’ dumb on my thigh are we?” he chuckles lowly, moving his head up from your neck to gaze into your lust drunk eyes.

your underwear was completely soaked through, making a wet spot on chris’s jeans, amusing him greatly. “is my girl close? hm?” he coos, bouncing his thigh slightly making your sensitive cunt practically come undone from that alone. “mhm..” you look at him, eyes wide and naive. “yeah?” he tilts his head to the side, his mouth slightly agape as he reaches his hand down to rub slow circles around your clit. “yeah…so close” you bite your lip as you grind your hips against his finger, hiding your head in his neck as you let out soft whimpers and pleas.

“cum f’me, sweetheart—you deserve it” he says as you finally let go, your body trembling as you continue to grind on his fingers, euphoria crashing over your entire body. “chris—sso good..” you whimper as he slows down his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm. “y’did so good, mama” he praises as he kisses you on your open mouth, pulling away soon after.

“let’s go get ourselves clean, baby…” he smiles as he stands up, never letting you go as he cradles you in his arms, taking you to the bathroom.

a/n: bring back dry humping pls🙏

tags: @starrii-sturns @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @hjvi @chrepsi @chrisstomach @izzylovesmatt @mattssslutbby @chrisslut04 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnsxbitvh @grace-sturnz @divinesturn @sturniolo-szn2 @riasturns @whore4chris @jensturnss @riggysworld @h3arts4nat @sophand4n4 @lvrsturniolo @trustinsturniolos @chrxsprettygirl @mialovesyouchris @fictionalboysstuff @iloveduckssm

[babydollybun]

milk & gunpowder ♡

pairing: leader!rafe cameron x soft!survivor!reader

warnings: dead dove do not eat. dubcon/noncon, captivity, forced domesticity, breeding kink, ddlg undertones, age gap, psychological manipulation, obsession, violence, implied past SA (not by rafe), trauma response, infantilization, soft!bambi-coded reader, predator/prey dynamic, twisted “marriage,” ownership, pet names ("wife," "baby," "sweet girl"), survival horror themes, smut, misogyny, 1950s housewife fantasy meets post-apocalyptic nightmare, extreme possessiveness, sadism masked as love, gunplay, grooming tones. reader is of age. no actual zombies mentioned, but heavily twd/last of us–inspired setting. rafe is unhinged. you have been warned.

you didn’t mean to find his outpost.

the world had crumbled around you, leaving only dust and echoing gunshots in the distance. the air tasted of burnt metal and decay. you’d been running for days—no direction, no hope, just desperation pushing you forward with a few cans of food, a knife you barely knew how to use, and the clothes on your back.

when you stumbled into the camp—cold, starving, alone—you hadn’t expected much. you thought it was another group of survivors, a few weeks into hiding, holed up in some building like the others. you never imagined it would be his camp.

they caught you quickly—too quickly—hands grabbing at you, pulling your arms back in ways that made your head spin, shouting orders you didn’t understand. you saw them—men, dirty, powerful, armed with guns and knives. a few women watched from the shadows—some seemingly content, others hollow-eyed. but they all stared as if you didn’t belong, as if you weren’t meant to be there.

and then, he appeared.

rafe cameron.

you’d seen men like him before—leaders, tyrants, kings. the ones who took what they wanted and didn’t care about the bodies left behind. but rafe was different. he wasn’t just a man. he was a force.

he looked you over, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, his boots scraping against the dirt. his grin was dark, like he was savoring some private joke, and you hated him instantly for it. you opened your mouth to protest, to say you were fine—just lost, just needed help—but his finger pressed against your lips before you could speak.

“shh,” he whispered, his voice smooth yet unyielding, like velvet over steel. “you’re gonna be okay, sweet thing.”

you weren’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t matter. because from that moment, you were his.

—

the first night was the worst.

they threw you into a small room—nothing but a dark corner with a mattress on the floor and cracked, cold walls. you hadn’t seen a window in hours, and the door locked behind you. you could hear the men outside, shouting and laughing, but you were trapped.

your hands shook as you tried to sit on the mattress, the air thick and suffocating.

then, rafe came in.

he didn’t knock. didn’t ask. he just pushed open the door and walked in like he owned the place—and, for all you knew, he did.

his eyes swept over you, curled up, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to make yourself small.

“you scared, baby?” he asked, voice low and teasing, like he didn’t care about the answer.

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

he chuckled, stepping closer. “don’t worry, princess. you’ll get used to this. i’ll take care of you.”

he moved closer, his hand trailing along your cheek, fingers soft but controlling. you flinched, but he didn’t stop.

“i’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, his thumb brushing your lip. “well … not in a way you won’t like.”

you wanted to scream, to run, but there was nowhere to go. you were in his world now.

“you’ll see,” he whispered. “i’ll make sure you don’t have to fight anymore.”

the last thing you heard before he left was his chuckle.

“sweet girl. you’re gonna be just fine.”

—

one: you don’t open the door.

two: you don’t talk to the men.

three: you don’t touch yourself unless he tells you to.

four: you smile when he says to.

five: you sleep in his bed, under him, next to his gun.

and if you break any of them, he doesn’t yell. he just gets quiet. and somehow, that’s worse.

—

he brings you a dress—yellow, soft cotton with tiny white flowers. looks like something from a photo album—1950s, backyard picnic, lemonade stand smile. you stare at it like it might bite you.

“go on,” he says, tossing it at the bed. “put it on for me.”

you don’t move. your hands stay clenched in your lap.

he sighs, slow and theatrical, like you’re the one being difficult.

“baby,” he says, “don’t make me ask twice.”

you flinch. your body obeys, even if your mind doesn’t. you pick it up with trembling fingers, and he watches the whole time. sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, gun on his thigh. his eyes follow every movement, lazy and hungry.

you turn your back when you undress. it doesn’t help. you still feel his gaze, heavy as chains.

“that’s my good girl,” he murmurs when you face him again, the dress hanging loose over your frame. “you look like a little wife already.”

you don’t answer. your throat’s too dry.

—

he makes you clean. not for the camp. not even for survival. just for him.

he walks you to a kitchen space carved from some old cafeteria. it’s spotless, but that doesn’t matter. he hands you a rag and a bottle of water and says, “wipe every inch. get on your knees if you have to.”

he sits back in a chair while you work, boots kicked up, gun in hand. always the gun.

“this is what you were made for,” he says, voice smooth. “soft hands. soft mouth. soft little brain.”

your hands shake—not from fear, not exactly. it’s the humiliation. the way he watches you like a predator admiring a caged thing.

he gets up once—to tug the back of your dress higher, just to see your panties when you scrub the floor.

“you’re already learning,” he praises, petting your hair like you’re a dog. “my perfect little housewife.”

that night, he doesn’t leave.

you’re curled on the far side of the mattress, trying not to cry. you’re tired. hungry. you miss the sound of wind in the trees, the smell of grass. you miss your mom’s perfume and the way sunlight used to hit your bedroom carpet.

he gets in behind you. his body is all heat and gun oil, and you hate that you’ve learned to recognize it.

his arm snakes around your waist, pulls you back into him.

“you did good today,” he mumbles against your neck. “think i’ll keep you forever.”

you try to disappear, but his grip tightens.

“baby,” he warns. “don’t wriggle. just let me hold you.”

you freeze. like prey. like a bunny in a trap.

“that’s it,” he breathes. “good girl. my girl.”

—

there’s a collar on the dresser. pastel pink. velvet. a little bell that jingles when you move.

you don’t touch it. don’t ask. but he sees how your eyes catch on it when you brush your hair in the mirror like he told you to.

he smirks, slow and sharp.

“baby’s curious,” he drawls. “wanna ask what it’s for?”

you don’t speak. not until he stands behind you, warm breath on your neck, fingers toying with the hem of your dress.

“i like when you look at it,” he murmurs. “you know why? ‘cause it means you’re starting to get it.”

you swallow hard.

“get what?”

he grins. “that you’re mine.”

—

the ring comes next. not a real one. not gold or silver. just a piece of wire, twisted around your finger, bent until it fits.

“every wife needs a ring,” he says. “and you are my wife, right?”

you shake your head, but he tilts it with a finger under your chin.

“wrong answer, sweet girl.”

he kisses you. not soft. not sweet. his mouth is hot, invasive, tasting of blood and smoke and everything you’ve tried to forget.

your hands stay limp at your sides. you don’t kiss back. but you don’t pull away either.

“good girl,” he whispers, breath thick against your lips. “you’ll learn.”

—

dinner’s quiet that night. he makes you sit in his lap while he eats, hand resting just above your thigh.

he feeds you little bites, like you’re helpless. like you’re his doll.

“open up,” he coos, fork held to your lips. “c’mon, be good for daddy.”

you hesitate. he clicks the safety off his gun. doesn’t point it but just lays it on the table.

you open your mouth.

he hums, pleased. wipes the corner of your lips with his thumb.

“knew you’d be a natural.”

later, he presses you down into the mattress. doesn’t fuck you—not yet. he says he’s saving that. says you’re not ready.

but he gets close. mouth on your throat. hips pressed to your ass.

you cry, quietly.

he shushes you, nuzzling into your hair like it’s something tender.

“don’t cry, baby. it’s just love.”

he whispers into your ear before you fall asleep, voice sticky and low.

“gonna knock you up soon,” he promises. “make this little house a home.”

your heart pounds.

he wraps an arm tight around your waist.

“you’ll be so pretty, all round and full. fuckin’ glowing f’me.”

he says it like it’s heaven. like you should thank him for it.

“daddy’s gonna take such good care of you.”

—

it’s not a church. it’s a warehouse.

the windows are broken. light spills through in stripes. the floor’s littered with flower petals—torn from somewhere, or someone—and in the center, there’s an altar made of crates and bullets.

you wear white. not really a dress. just some scrap of fabric he liked on you. torn lace, too tight across your chest. he braided your hair. made you sit still while he did it, fingers surprisingly gentle.

“can’t marry a mess,” he said. “you gotta look like something pure. something worth owning.”

you don’t speak. you haven’t all day.

he wears black. his fatigues. his boots. the same belt he uses to punish you.

there’s blood on his shirt. but you don’t ask whose. you never do.

he holds a gun in one hand. a ring in the other. it’s made from a bullet casing, polished, engraved with your initials. you know he did it himself.

he stands in front of you. tall. smirking. terrifying.

“on your knees,” he says.

you obey.

he presses the barrel to your chin. you flinch, but you don’t cry.

he’s taught you better than that.

“say it,” he whispers.

you swallow. your voice shakes.

“i … i do.”

he hums, pleased.

“gonna be a good wife for me, baby?”

you nod.

“gonna keep the house clean, keep my bed warm, keep your mouth shut unless i say otherwise?”

“…yes.”

he grins. kneels in front of you. pushes the ring onto your finger.

“then we’re married,” he says. “officially.”

you don’t get a kiss.

you get a collar. snapped around your neck with one hand. the other still holding the gun.

—

he doesn’t wait.

he takes you right there. on the altar. in front of god and nobody.

his gun stays pressed to your belly the whole time.

“don’t move,” he warns. “don’t breathe unless i let you.”

you’re shaking. trembling. ruined.

he kisses your tears.

“shh,” he murmurs. “it’s supposed to hurt the first time, baby. that means it’s working.”

you sob. he smiles.

“gonna fill you up,” he breathes. “make you a mama. make you mine for real.”

you whimper.

he pushes deeper. harder. your thighs burn. your lungs ache. the gun digs into your stomach like a promise.

“say thank you,” he growls.

you don’t want to. but the barrel clicks.

“…thank you.”

he groans. finishes with a low growl in your ear.

“that’s my wife.”

after, he holds you. rocks you gently in his lap, your dress bunched around your waist.

you’re bleeding. shaking. silent.

he kisses your temple.

“you’ll understand soon,” he whispers. “this world’s broken. but i fixed us. i fixed you.”

you close your eyes.

the ring is heavy. the collar is tight. the gun’s still warm beside you.

you’re married. you’re his. and there’s no way out.

[valeisaslut]

Ellie fucking you with her gun…👅👅👅

loaded worship ₊ ⊹

𖥠 word count: 1.9k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

𖥠 content warnings: top!ellie x sub!reader, porn w no plot, gunplay (r!receiving, consensual, unloaded, treated as a kink object), oral fixation (licking/sucking gun), AFAB!reader, cursing, pet names, spit kink, mild choking, degradation + praise, overstimulation, power dynamics, brat taming, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

it starts, like it always does, with you mouthing off.

ellie’s at the edge of the bed, legs spread, perched in a chair that’s more throne than furniture. the window’s cracked open behind her. the clouds blur into the moonlight.

she’s cleaning her gun again—not for protection, not for purpose, but for the meditative rhythm of it. something ancient in her hands, like a priest with a chalice.

and you—bratty, barely clothed in a paper-thin tank and those sleep shorts she loathes and loves at the same time— are sprawled across the sheets, soft skin glowing under the bedside lamp.

“gonna spend more time with that thing than me tonight?”

your voice is honey-laced venom. flirtatious, syrupy, barbed. she hears the dare in it. she always does.

ellie doesn’t answer right away. she slides the barrel back into place. presses the magazine in, safety flicks on with a soft click. there’s a smile on her lips that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. the kind that says she’s deciding whether to be sweet. or cruel.

“you jealous, baby?”

that voice. low and warm and mocking, but still so tender it hurts.

“maybe.” you stretch, belly tight, spine arching in a way that’s downright pornographic. “it’s prettier than me.”

her head lifts. one eyebrow raises. her gaze cuts you in half.

“nothing’s prettier than you.”

you roll your eyes.

and that’s it. the eye-roll, the little sigh, the careless way you flop onto your back like you’re bored. like she doesn’t have her trigger finger twitching. like she doesn’t wake up every morning already wet just from the thought of shutting you up.

she sets the gun down.

softly.

like it's not the most dangerous thing in the room.

“come here.”

there’s a change in the air. you feel it like a shift in pressure. her voice is velvet-wrapped steel—low, calm, lethal. not angry, but simmering. inevitable.

“ellie,” you murmur, but you’re already moving.

“no,” she says again. “come. here.”

she’s spread out in that chair like she owns even the air you're breathing. tattooed arm draped over her thigh. pupils blown wide. the slow smirk of someone who’s been waiting all day for an excuse.

“you got a lot to say tonight,” she murmurs when you get close. “real mouthy for someone who couldn’t stop begging ten minutes ago.”

“wasn’t begging,” you whisper, breathless. fake confident.

she tilts her head. hums low in her throat.

“nah. you were whining.”

her hand curls around your wrist and tugs you into her lap. you’re not even sure how you end up there — her fingers are hot against your skin, her thigh spreads you open instinctively. she kisses you once, deep and slow, like she’s claiming her prize. then she leans back.

“take your clothes off.”

you blink.

her voice is soft, but the command in it cuts like glass.

“why?”

she smiles.

and picks the gun back up.

“ellie—”

“relax.” her voice is velvet now, coaxing, almost sweet. “you trust me?”

you nod. instantly.

“you like being a brat, huh?” she murmurs. “you like pushing me.”

your heart’s in your throat. “maybe.”

“you want me to show you who you fucking belong to?”

a shaky breath. a nod.

and when you comply, you do it slow. ceremoniously. like you’re undressing for god — or something much, much worse. your fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, peeling them down your thighs with shaky grace. your breath hitches at the chill in the room, the way it grazes over your freshly bare skin. you kick them aside, standing exposed from the waist down — but ellie’s still watching. still waiting.

your hands reach for the hem of your tank. soft cotton, now clinging with sweat. you pull it up, slow enough to feel her eyes follow the motion. over your ribs, your chest, your shoulders. when it finally leaves your body, you’re stripped to nothing — and that’s when it hits.

you feel it.

the weight of her stare. like a spotlight. like heat crawling over every inch of you. ellie’s not just looking, she’s devouring. the kind of look that makes you feel like prey, like art, like her favorite sin all at once. it makes your skin burn. your pulse skip. your thighs press together on instinct, already aching.

she doesn’t speak.

she just spins the gun in her hand with the ease of long practice—as if she was born with it, the ritual of cleaning and handling the only thing that steadies her. it twirls in her palm once, twice, catching the light as it flips , and then lands barrel-down in her open hand. her thumb brushes the safety. her fingers curl around the grip.

she’s still watching you.

you’re completely bare. she’s fully clothed. legs spread, eyes dark. the contrast makes you feel tiny. and impossibly turned on.

"you look like a dream,” she murmurs, her gaze pinning you in place like a knife to the throat. there’s a smirk playing on her lips — cocky, slow-burning — but her eyes are pure fire.

she spins the gun in her hand again and lets the barrel rest on her open palm.

“spit.”

“ellie—”

“spit on it.”

she doesn’t blink. and you —shaking now, lips parted— obey.

saliva hits the black metal, slick and hot. it glides down the barrel in the most obsene, wicked way imaginable.

ellie groans, quiet. pleased.

“fuck. good girl.”

she uses her thumb to smear it in. sensual, fucking indulgent.

“turn around.”

and you do. breath hitched. you straddle her lap with your back to her chest, thighs spread wide, cunt wet and aching. every inch of you is electric.

she nudges the barrel between your legs. just a tease. the steel is cold and slippery now, coated in spit and tension.

“still think she’s prettier than you?”

“n-no.”

“you gonna behave now?”

“i’ll try.”

she laughs against your neck.

“cute. too bad i don’t want ‘try.’ i want a 'yes'.”

and then she presses the barrel inside you.

your body jolts like it’s been shocked, the cold metal punching the breath from your lungs. it’s an unnatural stretch, one you've never felt before — not wide, but so precise. so smooth. it doesn’t flex. it doesn’t give. it fills you with the weight of power, the absolute certainty that you are being claimed, not fucked. your muscles clench instinctively, helplessly. the coolness burns as it warms inside you, the safety ridge dragging ever-so-slightly against your entrance, sending jolts up your spine.

ellie’s eyes are locked on your face, watching the transformation. the way your expression flickers from shock to lust to devotion.

she pushes in deeper, not rough, just deliberate. your thighs quiver around her lap. your cunt is already dripping, coating the slick metal in heat and want.

“jesus,” you gasp, nearly choking on it.

ellie grins, her voice a dark ribbon in your ear.

“nah, baby. not him.”

she begins to move. slow, sinful thrusts. the steel slides in and out, obscene and perfect. your slick is making it glide now, every drag sending aftershocks through your belly. it’s mechanical and intimate all at once. humiliating and holy. you’re spread wide on her lap, completely open, held still by her arm wrapped tight around your waist.

“this what you wanted?” she whispers. “you like being used like this?”

you moan. “yes—”

“like my little toy? like a wet fuckin’ hole?”

“yes—yes—”

your hips are rocking now, chasing it. chasing her.

“needy thing,” she breathes. “so fucking desperate. you gonna come like this? on my gun?”

“please, ellie—please—”

she lets out a groan. fucks it into you a little deeper. her free hand wraps around your throat, pulling you upright against her chest. your head falls back and your breath breaks.

“you hear yourself?” she murmurs. “you gonna remember this next time you wanna mouth off.”

she fucks you harder, a little rough now. precise. measured. like she knows every angle of your body, built it with her calloused hands just to use it like this.

you’re shaking.

“say it,” she growls.

“i’m yours,” you sob.

“again.”

“i’m yours—i’m yours—”

and then it hits you — a high so sharp it feels like lightning cracking down your spine. your body spasms. thighs clamp, back arches, a broken sob escaping your lips as you shatter. it’s not just release — it’s surrender. full-body, soul-deep, trembling surrender. you’re crying, and you don’t even realize it. your voice breaks open in a moan that borders on a whimper, like the pleasure was too much for you to carry.

ellie doesn’t stop. she fucks you through it — slow, possessive thrusts, making you feel every inch of the steel inside you, every twitch of your cunt around it, every aftershock that ripples through your core. her mouth is hot on your neck, mouthing filth against your skin like prayers.

“that’s it, baby,” she breathes. “that’s my girl. coming on my fucking gun like you were made for it.”

your body slumps against her, boneless. still twitching. still clenching around nothing when she finally eases the barrel out of you. the drag is slow —so slow— and the loss leaves you whimpering, your cunt fluttering around emptiness, dripping with slick and spit and the remnants of your orgasm.

ellie looks down at you like she’s just unearthed a masterpiece.

“fuck,” she mutters, reverent. “look at this mess.”

your thighs are soaked. your stomach rising and falling like you’ve run for your life. your cheeks are damp, lips parted, eyes barely focused.

she slides the gun slowly along your stomach, your chest, your neck, painting your release on your skin like a signature. deliberate, crude, worshipful.

then she leans in and presses a kiss to your neck — soft, warm, tender in the aftermath.

“mine,” she murmurs.

you nod, dazed. dizzy. your body’s humming. you don’t think you could move if you tried.

and then —slow as a ritual— she lifts the gun to her mouth.

you watch, hypnotized, as her tongue parts her lips. she licks a long, filthy stripe up the length of the barrel, tasting your slick like it’s a holy thing, worshipping the altar of your body even after she’s already made you come undone. her eyes flutter shut for half a second, lashes trembling. she hums low in her throat, a sound that vibrates through your chest like a second orgasm blooming.

and then she parts her lips wider — and takes the barrel into her mouth.

your breath catches. your knees almost give out.

she doesn’t break eye contact. not once.

it slides past her tongue, slow and obscene. her lips wrap around the metal like it’s your cunt she’s sucking. she moans around it, and it’s not just a show—it’s real, messy, shameless want. her spit mixes with your slick, glistening at the corners of her mouth. the sight is nothing short of devastating. your stomach twists.

her free hand slides between your legs, presses two fingers inside you without warning.

you cry out, overstimulated, needy.

“shit.” she says around the barrel, pulling it out with a soft wet pop. “sweetest fucking thing in the world.”

she sets it aside like it’s holy. it’s much more sacred now that it’s been inside you.

then she grips your chin. firm but gentle. tilts your face back so your eyes meet hers — pupils blown, lashes damp, lips trembling.

“get on the bed. gonna fuck you for real now.”

⭒ perm taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <3): @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andiemiaswife @mayfldss @sewithinsouls @coastalwilliams @hotpinkskitties @ssijht @pleasejoel @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @2against3 @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @imunpunishable @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ PURE. FILTH. IM SHOKED WITH MYSELF. THE PARTS OF A GUN TAB IS STARING AT ME. AND JUDGING. huge HUGE HUGE love and tysm to my gorg mootie who sent this amazing request before i even started collide—you live in my brain rent free forever bby!

i might play around with a few more fics + requests before launching the next big series i’ve been outlining (👀), so stay tuned babes. ily all dearly ♡

credits for divider: @kodaswrld <3 – images from pinterest - edited by me

[rafesangelita]

i feel like rafe has a major housewife kink

warnings: mentions of traditional stuff (just for the sake of the kink, please don’t stone me ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১), rafe is kinda misogynistic, fingering, slight dacryphilia, unprotected sex, rough sex, headlock, reader is too fucked out to think about anything else, degradation, slapping, dirty talk, hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, baby tapping threats

“i can’t— oh my, god. rafe!” your eyes fluttered shut for what felt like the hundredth time already, your thighs trembling as both pleasure and pain wracked through your body. rafe had no regard, nor did he care about this being your fourth orgasm as he rubbed your clit into overstimulation like his life depended on it. “yes, you fucking can,” he grunted, forcing your thighs open as they threatened to shut around his hand, “m’gonna keep you cumming until i see tears running down those cheeks.” you cried out at his words, your back arching into his chest at the overwhelming sensation.

rafe hadn’t even fucked you yet, and you were already on the verge of tapping out. flipping you over, rafe snaked an arm underneath your tummy before pulling you up, wasting no time in pressing your face into his pillows. stroking the small of your back, rafe groaned at the sight. he could see the body glitter on your skin, the little specs glinting underneath the dim lighting of his room. “fuck, i wish you would just let me have you already.. i’d make sure to slut you out every single day.” you whimpered when he delivered a harsh smack to the globe of your ass. “you just don’t know,” his aching tip prodded at your entrance, “i’d make sure you’d never have to lift a finger ever again.”

wrapping your hair around his fist, rafe slid into you without warning, drawing a shriek to leave your lips. “you shouldn’t be working in that fucking club,” he said through gritted teeth, “you should be here with me, letting me take care of you. i’ll come home and you’ll be waiting for me with a hot plate,” leaning down, rafe yanked your head back so his mouth was next to your ear, “you’ll keep this place spotless and i’ll buy you whatever the fuck you want,” just then, he wrapped a bicep around your neck, your chin tucked between the crease of his elbow and his forearm, “fuck you however you want.”

rafe’s words were punctuated by his thrusts, your acrylics scratching at his skin as you held onto him for dear life. “just picture that; me using you for all that you’re good for.” maybe it was because everyone who knew you, especially your girlfriends at the club, knew you wouldn’t be settling down anytime soon, or at all for that matter, but the idea of locking you away in tanneyhill and never going anywhere without you hanging off of his arm, making you fully reliant on him, financially and emotionally, it turned him on beyond words could describe. “you don’t even know what i’m saying,” he laughed, “you’re too cock drunk to understand.”

you whimpered pathetically, tears running down your face as he planted a slap to your cheek. “gonna fill up this cunt and trap you, maybe then you’ll understand what i’m saying when i put my baby inside of you.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

younger!ditzy reader x drew starkey … she does a day in the life with them on tiktok ? well techinally it’s supposed to be her day in life / grwm but he’ll pop in !

the tiktok starts with a blurry shot of your pink ceiling and a very chipper voice.

“okayyy good morning!! i’m gonna do a lil day in my life with my boyfriend but he’s still asleep so shhh—”

cut to: you tiptoeing past drew’s very bare back, tangled in your floral comforter. you zoom in on his ear. “look how cute.”

he groans off-camera. “babe, please.”

“okay sorry sorry!!”

next clip: you in your mirror, glitter rollers in your hair, a heart-shaped brush in your hand.

“i have like three outfit options,” you say. “but drew hates the cowboy boots with this mini skirt so i might wear it just to annoy him.”

cue drew’s voice from the hallway: “i heard that.”

there’s a clip of you doing your makeup—glossy lips, rhinestone clips, cream blush dotted on your cheeks like strawberries. drew walks by shirtless in the background, coffee in hand.

“you’re so hot,” you whisper.

he raises an eyebrow. “me?”

“no, me.”

“ah. yeah, accurate.”

you try to do a haul—“so this is my purse, i got it because it looks like a bunny—” but then drew literally picks you up mid-sentence and tosses you over his shoulder.

you’re screaming-laughing, and the caption reads:

me trying to be a girlboss vs my overgrown boyfriend

there’s a jump cut to you guys at the farmers market. you’re holding an iced matcha and trying to talk about the strawberries you bought, but drew’s feeding you one while you talk and it turns into a whole thing.

“stoppp, i’m filming,” you giggle.

“nah. open.”

“ugh you’re obsessed with me.”

“mhm.”

final clip: you in bed, makeup off, wearing his hoodie. you look into the camera and whisper,

“okay i think he’s finally asleep. i had so much fun today. should we do his day in the life next?”

drew mumbles behind you: “no.”

“he said yes!!!”

“no i didn’t—”

“okay love you bye!!!”

caption: ✨day in my life with my big hot bf✨ #ditzygf #boyfriendsoftiktok #grwm

[synvil]

color in the lines // tattooed! rafe cameron

synopsis : rafe cameron finally lets you color in his tattoos.

“no way. why the fuck would I want that?”

that was pretty much along the lines of what rafe would respond with every time you asked to color in his tattoos.

every time he was shirtless, your eyes would trail over the inked sleeve of his to the covered backside and then to the marks on his collarbone area. nearly every time rafe was relaxing next to you, shirtless, you’d ask the same thing.

“please? lemme just do it one time, and it’ll wash off anyways!”

“no.”

it would be such a definitive answer, you were starting to lose hope and pretty much gave up.

that is, until one day.

rafe would come home, as per usual, when he notices you aren’t in the living room, waiting for him like always. “baby?”

he knows you’re home, you would’ve leave without texting him, so maybe you were asleep.

thus, he makes his way through the house until he sees the door to the bedroom shut and he opens it gently. “babe, you asleep?” only to be faced with your teary eyes and bundled up form. worry and confusion laces his eyes and he drops the plastic bag he was holding and rushes over. “sweetheart, what’s wrong? why are you crying?”

you sniffle and hug the pillow to your chest tightly and shake your head. “i don’t know.”

“huh?” he wasn’t sure if he heard you right. but you only cover your face with the plush pillow and frown. “i don’t know.. I’ve just been in this mood all day..”

rafe is pretty flabbergasted, absolutely appalled that you don’t even know what’s wrong and he sighs, at least feeling relief you weren’t hurt or anything. “what do you want to do?”

“nothing.. nothing makes me feel better.”

rafe rolls his eyes lightly as he stands, already knowing the right answer before he exhales softly and turns around. “i know that’s not true..” he mutters before he returns the discarded bag by the door and bends to pick it up. “good thing i stopped by the store.”

his hands reach inside and pulls out the box he had bought before walking over to you, seeing your saddened but curious eyes following him. “what’s that..?”

rafe holds out the box and you quietly reach for it, your brows furrowing when you see it’s washable markers.

“markers?”

but instead of verbally answering, rafe slides off his shirt, tossing it aside before sitting on the floor beside the bed and turning around so his tattooed back faces you.

“come on, have at it. just this once.”

your eyes light up as you try to contain the smile building on your lips. “really? you serious?”

rafe glances back, his eyes meeting yours as he smiled softly, despite his playful eye roll. “i’m only giving you one chance, baby.”

and when you squeal, sitting up and pulling out your first color, he chuckles and turns to face forward again.

“just make sure to color in the lines.”

a/n : more rafe fluff. i’m kinda running out of ideas whilst having a ton so if anyone has any ideas or suggestions, im open to writing blurbs!! :>

[littlelamy]

Could you do like a post smut……maybe with a sweet shy type of reader and rafe. He has been really rough for once (which she liked) but when she gets up from the bed to walk, she falls in pain to the floor cus she’s super sore and rafe feels really really bad and he so sweet with her :(

author's note: really hope you enjoy this one, and thank you for the request! 💗🌟

your thighs still trembled from where they’d been pinned earlier, red fingerprints a stark memory of his grasp. each step was an ache you hadn’t anticipated, sharp and sudden, your knees betraying you as they buckled. the floor was cool against your skin when you crumpled, a small gasp escaping your lips. the soreness was a strange, searing aftertaste of the way he’d pushed every inch of himself into you like you were a conquest to be claimed.

“shit—baby?” rafe’s voice was still rough, a leftover rasp from the filthy words he’d growled into your ear hours ago. but now, it carried a softness, his bare feet skidding across the floor as he reached you, hands hovering like he didn’t know if touching would make it worse.

you tried to laugh, but it came out more like a whimper, your face half-buried in the carpet. “i… i think you broke me.”

the guilt hit him square in the chest, his brows pulling tight as he crouched beside you. “fuck, sweetheart, i didn’t mean—i mean, you liked it, didn’t you? god, i thought—” he cut himself off, arms gently wrapping around your waist to lift you, careful not to jostle. “jesus, you’re shaking.”

you didn’t resist when he cradled you against his chest, his warmth a balm to the ache. his lips brushed your temple, the gesture so tender it almost erased the memory of how brutally he’d taken you earlier. “tell me where it hurts,” he murmured, voice dipping low, full of remorse.

“everywhere,” you admitted, hiding your flushed face against his neck. “but in a good way.” still, there was a faint wobble to your voice, and he heard it.

he carried you to the bed, laying you down as if you were something fragile. his fingertips skimmed over the marks he’d left, his throat tightening at the vivid shades blooming on your skin. “damn it, i didn’t mean to…” he trailed off, shaking his head, then knelt beside you. “you’re too sweet for this. for me. what was i thinking?”

you caught his wrist, forcing him to meet your gaze. “i asked for it, rafe,” you said, voice firm despite the exhaustion clinging to your bones. “i liked it. all of it.”

but he wasn’t convinced, his jaw tight as his thumb swept along your cheek. “and now you’re on the floor, baby. fuck, i’m the worst.”

“you’re not,” you whispered, and when his lips hovered over yours, you leaned into him, soft and reassuring. “but i wouldn’t say no to you pampering me a little.”

his laugh was shaky, full of self-reproach, but he nodded, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “you’re getting the works,” he promised, already moving to fetch water and painkillers, blankets to tuck you in tight. “massage, bath, anything you need.”

when he returned, his touch was reverent, his hands steady as they traced circles into your sore thighs, his apologies whispered like prayers against your skin.

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