#caps lock t

[morhath]

"translation state was cool but I wish there was less body horror and cannibalism" my citizen in the radch it is the presger translator book what did you expect

[neonraven28]

Do you think Logan and Hesh ever felt fear during the campaign? Ever felt lost?

Like, sure, throughout the campaign they've had multiple life threathening missions, but only after Elias' death was there truly an all or nothing mindset— where the smallest mistake could determine the outcome of everything.

When the Walker brothers decided that they'd die, just to take Rorke down... Did they feel they had nothing left to loose, so long as both were gone and so was Rorke?

Was that the reason they really gave it their all, pushing through their injuries? They were ready to die and they made sure that Rorke wouldn't survive no matter what (well, we know how that went...)

Just how much weight left their shoulders the moment they survived? The moment they sat on the beach, panting, watching bombs paint the sky?

And how fucking hard did reality sink in at the sight of Rorke, surviving just like them?

[cursed-demigods-on-crack]

Rereading son of Neptune and. I think it just went over my head as a kid but like. New Rome had like full grown adults. Adults old enough to have kids and grandkids. People over the she of eighteen.

WHY ARE THE CHILDREN THE ONES IN THE ARMY. WHO SIGNED OFF ON THAT.

[chaoticallyfuckingstressed]

scrolling through "couldtransitionsaveher" and saw ur suction cup man submission and WAIT SHES CANON ACE PANRO???

YEAH THERE WAS A PIEMATIONS TWEET FOR PRIDE MONTH AGES AGO THAT BROUGHT IT UP! HAD TO SEARCH A LIL TO FIND IT AGAIN BUT HERE:

[hybridreviews]

ANIME DISCOVERY - Time of the Season Winter 2023 Wrap-Up

I watched too much anime this season!

Welp, the start of 2023 is something. My Saturdays in anime have not changed since more shows have pop up and it’s an all-day anime thang like last season with some shows from the last season still continuing.   Outside of that….. well, my music side was pretty dry for the first month but slowly getting better as February and March comes and boy, stay tuned on Surreal Resolution for some more…

[morp]

I JUST WATCHED AN E.T. M.AGOLOR AMV(???)⁉️

[sluttywoozi]

(Boy)Friend Material | Part I of II | csc x f!reader

You'd think that, having matched with Seungcheol on a dating app, you would be, well, dating. You suppose you're lucky, but not that lucky.

Rating: sfw (this part) | WC: ~3k | Pairing: csc x f!reader | Genre: emotional fluff, friends/idiots to lovers

Warnings: suggestive thoughts, down bad reader, implied alcohol drinking, kissing

Matching with Seungcheol on Bumble was a fluke, or maybe a miracle, considering the fact that you re-downloaded the app on a whim and his profile was the first to come up. 

The second you saw him in that blue baseball cap and white tee, his jawline sharp and his bicep thick, you knew there was no point in trying to find anyone better. So you conferred with the group chat to crowdsource a good opening line, something about how his birthday should be a national holiday, and awaited his response with bated breath. 

He replied within minutes, saying that he’d always thought so but was intrigued as to why you did too, and you, ignoring your friends’ advice to play it cool, told him that he was obviously a gift to the masses to get them through these troubling times. He got bashful then, but apparently you didn’t come on too strong in a bad way, because the next thing you knew he was asking for your number and requesting to meet up for some coffee. 

That was four months ago, and though it never went further in a romantic sense, you know you’re lucky to have him as a friend. Unfortunately, the thoughts you have about Seungcheol aren’t the kind you’re supposed to have about a friend. 

You wish you could say you haven’t always wondered what those plush lips would feel like on yours, or if he’d be big enough to stretch you out, or whether he’d take you gently or pin you down and fuck you like he means it, but you’ve wanted Seungcheol ever since you first locked eyes with him, even if it was just through your phone screen.

It would be one thing if you only wanted to sleep with him, but it’s a million times worse because you want to love him too. You want to hold hands, and go on cute dates, and get him little gifts just to see his eyes light up. You want to fall asleep in his arms, and take care of him when he’s sick, and tell anyone who will listen that he’s your boyfriend. 

How could you want anything less when he looks like all of your dreams come to life? When he gazes at you with those big brown eyes, always listening so attentively, as if you’re the only one in his world that matters? When he takes care of you without thinking, like it’s just second nature?

Even at a house party like this, where there are plenty of girls eyeing him and more than a few of his bros wanting to talk to him, he’s by your side. The second your shoulders twitched in a shiver, his jacket was covering them. As soon as your cup was empty, he was accompanying you to the kitchen to refill it. And you know that when you give even a hint of wanting to leave, he’ll be guiding you to his car and taking you home, perfectly sober because he volunteered to be the designated driver tonight just so you could have fun and be safe. 

If only you could tell him to take you back to his place instead of yours. The problem is that he would, and he’d take your makeup off all gently, and give you a big t-shirt to sleep in, and tuck you into his bed before going to sleep on the couch, even though it hurts his back and his feet dangle off the edge. You know because that’s exactly what he did the time you managed to scrape together enough courage to ask if you could stay over after a night out. 

You can’t have a repeat of that, not when you woke up wishing you were his (after dreaming that he’d fucked you into his mattress). You barely kept yourself from begging him to make your dreams a reality that morning, especially when he greeted you with bedhead, a gravelly voice, and your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street. 

It took you weeks to get over it, to be able to look into his eyes without wanting to either confess your love or jump his bones. And still, almost two months later, you’re pushing down both of those desires. Holding your feelings back when you’re with him is a constant struggle, one that’s only made more difficult by his affectionate and protective nature. It’s becoming painful, knowing he likes you but not in the way that you like him, being so close to him but never as close as you want. 

Near Seungcheol is your favorite place to be, but you’re starting to think it’s not somewhere that’s good for you, which is distressing because at this point, he’s one of your best friends. You see him nearly every week for meals and little excursions, and you’d go for every day if you didn’t have to keep him from your other friends lest they give away your secret. You don’t know how you’d cope with not being around him, but you can only assume it wouldn’t be well when he’s so enmeshed in your life, even your landlord knows about him.

God, you cancel one maintenance call after Seungcheol fixes your leaky faucet and Jerry thinks every other repair request is bullshit…

You startle as Seungcheol leans in close to ask you something, though you’re too distracted by the weight of his hand on your waist to process his question. It’s warm even through the cotton of your shirt and the denim of his jacket, and he must think it’s too loud for you to hear him because he uses it to tug you closer as he asks again, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I think I’m just ready to go,” you respond weakly, forcing a smile that must look as fake as it feels. Knowing you’re not telling the truth about the first part, he frowns reproachfully at you and lets go of your waist to intertwine your fingers with his, pulling you behind him to the front door. There’s a chill in the air though it’s barely September, and he drops your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders, syncing his steps to yours and holding you tight.

It’s a short walk but the quiet tension makes it feel like eons have passed by the time you arrive at his sedan. He opens the passenger-side door for you and takes your bag so you can climb in unhindered, gently placing it at your feet before patting your knee and shutting you in. You watch as he jogs around the hood and gets in next to you, taking care not to slam his door. You wonder if it’s because the first (and only) time he did on a night like this, you thought he was upset with you for wanting to leave early. 

He was so sweet and concerned when you brought it up, instantly rejecting your offer to uber home so he could go back to the party as if he was offended you even asked, before telling you that there was no point in staying if he didn’t have you with him. That was just one of the many moments that have ruined you for anyone else. 

“What’s on your mind?” Seungcheol asks quietly, turning his body toward you and reaching for your hand. Unsure of what to say, you give it to him silently and fight back a shudder at the feeling of his warm, rough fingers against yours. 

You hate lying to Seungcheol, partially because you always want to be honest with him but mostly because you’re so bad at doing the opposite. He picks up on it immediately, and then he gets this sorrowful, wounded look on his face and goes all quiet, which makes you feel like you’re the worst person on the planet. 

How honest can you be, though?

You could leave out the part about wanting him to fuck your brains out and lead with the non-platonic feelings you hold for him. Or you could leave out the emotional side of things and simply share that you want to ride him into the sunset. Or you could tell him everything, bare your soul and your pussy, and hope for the best. But what if the worst happens? What if he tells you he could never want you like that, that you’re like a sister to him, that he doesn’t want to see you ever again because you’ve ruined this friendship? 

You don’t think you can risk it. 

Still, you’d like to avoid deceiving him and hurting his feelings in the process, so maybe you could just be vague instead. 

“A lot of things, but nothing I want to talk about right now,” you finally answer, avoiding his eyes and pushing down the voice in the back of your mind that screams you’re a coward.

His mouth scrunches to the side and his brows furrow, but after a minute of silence, he accepts it. 

“Okay, just… You know you can tell me anything, right?” He lowers his head to find your gaze, sincerity emanating so brightly from him, it burns. 

Anything but this.

“I know,” you whisper, attempting a smile to appease him, though the way he sighs defeatedly and looks away makes you feel like you’ve just made him worry more. 

Facing the wheel again, he turns the key in the ignition and carefully reverses just enough to pull forward out of his makeshift parking spot. The music coming through his speakers is soft and low, too quiet to really fill the silence sitting between you and him, silence that isn’t usually there. You don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything at all, your body thrumming with a nervous energy that you’re sure Seungcheol can feel. 

Glancing over, you find his hands tight on the steering wheel and his lip caught in between his teeth. You hate the idea that your anxiety has seeped into him, but he’s always seemed to think your happiness is his personal responsibility, so you suppose it makes sense. 

“Are you taking the long way?” You ask in confusion when you face forward again and watch the on ramp to the highway pass you by. 

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay… Just wanted a bit more time with you,” he murmurs with a melancholy tinge to his voice. 

“Of course that’s okay, I love being with you.” Shit, you wanted to make him feel better but you didn’t mean to sound so-

“Do you?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you never…” He looks over at you and shakes his head, taking a deep breath before continuing to speak. “I know we’re taking things slow but I feel like you’re always holding part of yourself back from me. You never touch me, I’m always the one touching you. I make the majority of our plans. All my friends know you but I don’t know any of your friends,” he sighs in frustration and pulls over into an empty parking lot, putting the car in park. “And now tonight you don’t feel like you can tell me what’s wrong… I just- If you want to break things off, please just say so.”

When he finishes, he gazes at you, dejection swimming in his eyes like you’re breaking his heart. 

In your mind, you repeat the words that stand out to you as if they’re new arrangements of letters with meanings you’ve never encountered before.

T a k i n g  t h i n g s  s l o w.

B r e a k  t h i n g s  o f f.

What  t h i n g s?

“Seungcheol… Please don’t get upset, but I think we might not be on the same page,” you say slowly. “What are we? Because I was under the impression we were-”

“Friends,” you finish just as he responds, like it should be obvious, “Together.”

“You think we’re just friends?! We met on a dating app,” he bursts in a barely contained explosion. 

“You’re so hot, and sure, we went on that one coffee date, but we never went on any others-” You scramble to explain your reasoning. 

“We’ve gone on at least three dates a month since we met! Did you think we were just hanging out?” 

“...Yes?” 

“I plan them, I dress nicely, I pick you up, I pay,” he lists off on his fingers, clearly growing heated. 

“Okay, so maybe those were dates! But we don’t kiss, or have sleepovers, or talk to each other about our feelings,” you attempt to defend yourself. 

“I was trying to follow your lead,” he grimaces regretfully and pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, could I have been kissing you this whole time?” 

“You could have been doing a lot more than kissing me,” you laugh to yourself, thinking about all the wishes and desires you’ve had since you first laid eyes on him. Then you see his face, and it doesn’t really feel funny anymore. 

He looks equal parts irate and amorous, that strong brow furrowed in displeasure though his gaze is greedy, like he’s had enough of you but at the same time, he could never get enough of you. 

“Alright, since I apparently need to lay it all out, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he turns to face you, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. You barely resist the urge to lean into it before realizing you don’t have to resist anything anymore when it comes to Seungcheol, your hand coming up to cover his and hold it to your face. 

His eyes soften at that, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as he says, “First, we’re going to talk about our feelings and get on the same page. Then, I’m taking you to your place to pack an overnight bag and to mine for a sleepover, and this time I’m not staying on that goddamn couch. It’ll take a while to make up for four months of not kissing you, but we can start with tonight. Does that all sound good to you?”

“Everything sounds great,” you breathe dreamily, already envisioning being on your back beneath him with those perfect cherry lips on yours. 

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he groans, his head falling sideways against the headrest. “We have to talk first.”

“Are you telling me or yourself?” You ask teasingly, giggling when he squeezes his eyes shut and swears under his breath. 

“Both,” he sighs out before saying nervously, “I’ll start, because I’m a good boyfriend.”

You have to swallow down the squeal that threatens to burst from you just at the thought of Seungcheol being your boyfriend. 

“I’ve been into you since I met you,” he begins. “You make me laugh, you make my heart race, and you make me want you, all the damn time. The past four months have been the best of my life. You’re smart and beautiful and special and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Hearing Seungcheol say these things sends a rush of pure joy through you, followed by a flood of affection. He’s all you’ve wanted for four months, and now you know he likes you. And wants to be with you. It’s almost too much for you to handle… Almost. 

“Seungcheol, as soon as I saw you on that god-forsaken app, I knew I could stop looking. You’re funny and kind and thoughtful and devastatingly good looking, and I liked you so much that I tried to be happy just being your friend, but I always wanted more. I think it’s because I was so blinded by my crush on you that I didn’t realize we were more. We are more. Hopefully, you’re okay being with me for a long time, because I don’t know if I’ll ever want to let you go.”

He gazes at you, his face soft and his eyes earnest, adoring. “That’s fine with me,” he murmurs, leaning in. “Can I kiss you?”

“I literally thought you’d never ask,” you whisper, inching forward and holding your breath until his lips finally meet yours. 

They feel supple, lush, just like you knew they would, and he kisses you with a gentleness you didn’t expect. After four months of waiting, you thought he’d be impatient, rough, but he’s moving like he has all the time in the world, like you’re something worth savoring. He pulls away reluctantly, but you’re not done yet, your chin tilting so you can press your lips to his again. 

He sighs against you and you glide your tongue over his bottom lip, gasping when he opens his mouth to lick into yours. His hand shifts to cup your neck, tilting your head so he can kiss you at a different angle, and that’s when the moan slips out. 

It’s quiet, but obvious in the silence of the car, and you pause self consciously for a second before he brushes his thumb over your jaw and moans back. The sound is so hot that you’re inches away from unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing over the center console into his lap, your mind already wrapped up in thoughts of feeling his thick, sturdy thighs under you. He doesn’t let you get that far, breaking away with a gasp and staring at you heatedly, as if he can hear your thoughts. 

“I want too much from you for our first time to be in my car,” he pants raggedly, fighting to catch his breath after you attempted to steal it from him. 

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” you acquiesce, watching as he shifts into drive and makes his way out of the parking lot. When he’s on the road again, he rests his palm on your thigh with a glance and a raise of his brow, as if to ask if his placement is okay. You just smile and intertwine your fingers with his, trying to shove down the giddiness bubbling up within you as you get closer and closer to your apartment.

AN: there was a natural separation between scenes so i decided to make this a two parter!! smutty part two will be posted sometime this weekend (hopefully)

please i am begging u to tell me ur thoughts and ur thots i am deep in seungcheol brainrot and i need to commiserate

edited to add: drop a comment to join the taglist!

[glossysoap]

thinking abt possessive sex with price <3 but to make it even better? you’re not even together yet.

18+ afab and fem reader, written with fat reader in mind but can be read size neutral, forced eye contact, overstimulation (from previous orgasm), possessive sex

Thinking about his hairy chest against your back, leaving you all warm and sweaty. He has one strong arm holding your stomach and the other hand grabbing your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he bottoms out inside you over and over.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he ruts into you over and over, cock plunging inside your soaked cunt. Your own cum and juices had mixed with his pre, creating a seal around your hole and trickling down to his thighs.

If you ever squeezed your eyes shut from the overwhelming pleasure, he would click his tongue in disapproval before giving your face a tug to put you back in your place.

“Eyes on me.” He would order in a husky tone, leaving no room for disobedience, accidental or otherwise. You’d let out a little yelp and your eyes would fly open, immediately locking with his eyes again. “That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

“Look at your Captain while he’s filling up your cunt.” Then he would smirk at how your pussy clenched around him at those words.

Thinking about his stormy blue eyes burning into your glossed over gaze, his expression betraying how much anger and hunger burned in his core.

Anger from witnessing some rank and file soldier flirting with you. And even if you weren’t really together, he couldn’t help but feel a fraction of the anger towards you for not rejecting the soldiers’ advances. You should know better. You should know that the only one who could really please you was your Captain. The only one that was allowed to feel the stretch of your cunt around his cock was your Captain.

His brows furrowed and his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring with every huff and groan.

“Mm, fuck!” He curses when he feels you squeezing around him so tight. practically milking him dry.

Not only were the whines and whimpers you were making so embarrassing, but the wet noises your cunt made with every thrust only made your cheeks burn even more.

You were so fucking wet, he always made you so fucking wet.

His cock was stretching you out and filling you up so fucking good, it made that coil in your stomach tighten. It was too much and not enough, all at the same time.

It didn’t help that he had already pulled out an earth shattering orgasm from you minutes prior.

“C-cap, fuck—,” You whimper brokenly, nails digging into his muscular arm as you clutched onto the one that’s holding your jaw. Your hips jolted and your legs twitched.

Your hips kept bucking and jolting, almost like you were trying to run away from the overstimulation, but he was having none of it.

“What? ‘S it too much? That tight cunt too sensitive?” He mocks, his voice all husky and full of gravel. All sweet and faux sympathy, as if he really planned on stopping any time soon.

Not a chance.

“Yeah, fuck! T-too much!” You whine, voice cracking as he just kept pounding your sore pussy without a care in the world. He didn’t hear a safe word.

He just smiled as he pressed his lips to your neck, his beard scratching against your skin. He could feel your pulse race under his mouth as he leaves wet open mouthed kisses along your jugular.

“This fuckin’ cunt is mine,” He all but growls into your ear, his gravely voice sending chills down your spine and straight to your core. “And so are you.”

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission.

[sapphicdancer]

ah ha i broke broke my backspace key, i think the most important key i have

[aiizaph]

HOLY FUCK I RE-DOWNLOADED A GAME ON MY IPAD AND NOW IT IS SHITTINF ITSELF AGRFARHAGFG

[leclercstars]

perfectly matched.

college!art donaldson x reader

Summary: You and Art swore to never speak of that drunken night again. But you found yourselves together at your college bar, tipsy, and almost unable to resist each other. Warnings: SMUT! 18! alcohol usage, drunk sex, cursing, biting, protected sex

It was one night.

One night, three months ago. Swept up in too many celebratory glasses of champagne. His messy blonde curls looked like a halo with your blurred vision. The traces of liquor on his upper lip seemed to be beckoning you in, begging you to find out if it was vodka or tequila. You left at the same time, he had offered to walk you home. Always a gentleman, always seemed to care about you. You both were stumbling, the drinks hitting the two of you all at once. You ended up outside your house, and then inside your house, up your stairs, in your bedroom. You’d seen his strong hands gripping the racket before but god they looked even better gripping your ass. Clothes thrown all over the room, not able to undress each other fast enough. His chiseled collarbones the perfect culprit for you to leave bite marks along. You woke up the next morning, head pounding, still naked. You felt him next to you, his tight abs pressed against your bare back, curls tickling the side of your neck. Fuck, how could you let that happen. He left in a haste, each of you promising to not discuss the events of the night prior ever again.

And now here you were. A few too many double vodka lemonades deep inside your shitty college bar. The whole team had decided to go out to celebrate the end of a stellar season and unfortunately, Art looked just as good as ever. His backwards Stanford cap and his loose Budweiser t-shirt made him look like some sort of shitty frat guy, which certainly wasn't unappealing to you since that tended to be your type. You tried to play it cool when he walked over to you. ���Having fun?” he smirked, sidling up on the barstool next to yours. He leaned back against the bar, looking so perfectly relaxed. How do people end up this sexy?

“Could be having more fun,” you said casually, sipping your drink. Wait. What the fuck. Why did you just say that. You knew you had drank quite a bit but jesus christ isn’t it supposed to be liquid courage not liquid “ruin this friendship?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Art, looking genuinely confused. God sometimes his innocence was almost a little annoying, made you want him even more half the time.

“Sorry, geez I should not have said that,” you were slurring, the alcohol and your emotions making it hard to think straight.

He leaned in closer to you. You could smell the tequila on his breath, knowing that was his liquor of choice from the last time this happened. “I think I can make this night a whole lot more fun,” Art growled. 

You had never heard his voice sound like that before. Low and lusting, you knew you were not going to be able to resist. You locked eyes with him, and you could just feel how needy you probably looked. The two of you got up and left without saying goodbye.

Art was gentle. He was caring, a shoulder to cry on. Someone you could turn to if you were having a bad day and needed a hug. That side of him was not so apparent behind your bedroom door. He pinned you against the wall, muscles rippling in your face as he sucked on your neck. Your moans were soft, hands pulling on his curls, earning equally soft groans from him. You were obsessed, this didn’t happen often and you knew you had to take in every moment. Every inch of him that you could feel, taste, touch, it was completely overtaking you. His boxers were sitting low on his hips, exposing his v-line. Your lacy bralette had been tossed aside, leaving your nipples free to be caressed by his rough hands. His mouth roamed from your neck down to your tits, taking one in his mouth as he gazed up at you. Fuck, your head rolled back against the wall. His eyes were shut, tongue flicking so expertly across your nipple. You never wanted this image of him, looking so intoxicated with your body, to leave your mind.

He stood back up, leaving no room between your now naked bodies. Suddenly his features softened, a nervousness painting itself across his face. He scratched the back of his head, a tell-tale sign that something was on his mind. “Do you want to like-” he was basically whispering, cheeks flushed. It was astonishing how all his confidence had suddenly evaporated. “Fuck?” you filled in the blank, leaning closer to his lips, teasing him with the thought. That hadn’t happened last time you were together. He was too drunk, and well,  he just couldn’t quite get it up. “Yeah, fuck yes please.” he groaned. You laid down on your bed as he walked to his wallet, pulling out that little gold wrapper. He climbed up on top of you, using his thumb to gently brush the hair away from your face. He looked ecstatic, the drunken-ness painting a stupid grin across his face and making you just feel insanely horny. He slid the condom on over his already throbbing cock, positioning it just outside your entrance.

He slid just the tip in first, making you wince. You needed to get used to how big he was, learn how to take him. His hips rocked gently as he gave you more each time, slowly starting to fill you up.

“God I needed this,” you moaned breathlessly. “Yeah baby?” he cooed, giving you more of him as he pressed his lips against your tits, leaving marks along your cleavage. “Making sure you don’t forget this in the morning,” he smirked, his confidence returning. “Then fuck me like I won’t forget it,” you clapped back, basically saying you wanted all of him.

“Oh yeah?” He thrusted inside you, making you cry out in ecstasy. No dick had ever felt this good before, and maybe it was because you were drunk, but you could just tell he was hitting it like he fucking meant it. Your hands clawed into his back, legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper inside. He was pounding into you now, the sound of your bodies echoing throughout the room. You watched as he slid in and out. “You like watching huh baby? Like seeing how good you are at taking me?” 

You grabbed his hair in response, pulling his head into your neck and making him groan and fuck you harder. His tip found your g-spot, and the feeling was unlike any other. Watching his muscles ripple with each thrust, so far inside you he was nearly in your stomach. You squirted all around his cock, leaving his abs glistening. He bit his lip and looked at you, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “God that is so hot.” he wasted no time getting back to the rhythm of things.

This sex was truly unlike anything else. Watching the man you saw as a teammate, so vulnerable above you. Completely naked, so far inside you. And you were taking him so well, the sexual chemistry between the two of you just completely undeniable. You made great hitting partners on the court, and that relationship suddenly didn’t feel so different from this one. The way you both knew exactly what the other wanted. The perfect balance of teasing and support. “Fuck, fuck.” Art’s moans were primal, and you could feel how close he was getting, watching his arms tense up. “I’m gonna cum too,” you said breathlessly.

“Look at me,” he grabbed your jaw, making you lock eyes.

It was like an explosion, overtaking every inch of skin on your body. You cried out, feeling his cock throb inside your pussy as you came simultaneously. You fit perfectly together, feeling each other up as you rode out your orgasms. His hand was wrapped around your arm, yours clawed into his back. He collapsed onto your chest, looking up at you in awe.

“You are unbelievable.”

dividers by : @.cafekitsune

[wikipedie]

I hate that I love Word of Honour so much but I still think of it as my ex's because she discovered it first and I feel like I'm not allowed to love it

[thelaisydazy]

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Locked Out Pt. 2

Johnny drags you inside the station, ignoring the confused looks he gets from the other men inside. He walks you over to the oldest of them, a man with a beard sporting a hat, and introduces you. 

“This is oor captain, Price,” Johnny says, his arm still over your shoulder. “Cap, bonnie ‘ere lost their keys doon th’ drain. Can we gi’ them a hand?”

“I’m sure Gary could get to them,” Price says, offering a warm smile and his hand to shake, which you do. “You rest here mux.” He turned to the couch where a man with dark, curly hair sat. “Kyle, keep our guest company, we’ll be back.” He pats Johnny on the shoulder and the two leave to find Gary and retrieve your keys. 

Kyle stands from the couch and walks over. He’s handsome, pretty you think. He definitely knows it too as he catches you staring, giving you a smile. “Hungry?” he asks.

---

Simon emerged from the showers, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his damp towel slung over his broad shoulders as his blond hair was still dripping wet. The station house was quiet. Johnny must still be out walking Riley. 

A quiet laugh broke that silence though. One that made his stony heart skip a beat. Simon made his way towards the common area, finding the one thing he never expected. You. 

Kyle was sitting with one arm on the couch behind you, the other on his leg. You hadn’t noticed Simon yet, too engrossed in Kyle’s story about the time Riley climbed into the open window of a cop car to get into a bag of treats the officer had hidden under his seat.

“So Riley was hanging halfway out this cop’s car, an’ Johnny’s trying to get him out before the cop gets back,” Kyle said. “Turns out, the cop had a bag of treats in the car. Found out when Simon called Riley over. Rascal had the bag hanging out his mouth.” 

The sound of your laugh makes Simon’s heart race and he finds himself jealous of the way your fingers gently scratched behind Riley’s ear as the dog’s head lays in your lap. 

Simon can’t help but stare. He’d always known how pretty you were, but seeing you here in the station.. He only wished he was the one you were sitting with. That he was the one making you laugh so easily. 

“Bonnie! We got yer keys!” Johnny calls, coming up behind Simon. 

Your head whips around, catching a glimpse of Simon as he turns on his heels and retreats deeper into the station. 

---

In his room, Simon’s heart pounds in his chest. He runs a large hand through his blond hair, his mind racing. All he’d wanted these past few months was to know you better, though he’d never been able to bring himself to speak more than a few words to you. Never had he thought he’d see you in the firehouse, much less cozied up on their couch. What were you even doing here? 

A knock on his door brought his answer. Simon quickly pulled on his privacy mask, some part of him hoping it was you. Instead he saw Johnny. 

“Aye, Si, did ye see we git a guest?” Johnny asked with that cheeky grin of his. Ah. That was it. Johnny brought you here. 

“I saw..” Simon said, keeping his voice measured despite his urge to to tear Johnny in half for getting up the nerve to talk to you before he could. 

“Ye never told me tha’ wee thing wis so cuit,” Johnny pressed. “S’already git Kyle wrapped ‘round their wee finger.”

Simon’s dark eyes sharpened. Johnny always knew just how to get under his thick skin. 

“Am sure they’d lek t’ see ye,” Johnny continued. “Looked a might fash when ye stormed off.”

“Didn’t ‘ave m’ mask,” Simon muttered. “Wasn’t expecting them..”

“Aye, ha t’ git Gary t’ rescue their keys,” Johnny explained. His blue eyes briefly looked Simon up and down. “Y’should say ‘ello. Am sure they’d lek t’ see ye.”

Johnny was dense but he wasn’t stupid. He knew Simon could get anyone he wanted, he had the looks to make just about anyone, including Johnny himself, melt. If only Simon had the confidence to actually talk to anyone. 

When Simon didn’t budge, Johnny decided to push further. “Aye wis think’n, LT,” he started. “I might ask ‘em oot fer coffee.” Johnny shrugged as he watched Simon tense. 

Simon shoved past Johnny, making his way to the common area again. Leaving Johnny grinning at his door.

---

“Coffee.”

Simon’s gruff voice startles you. You hadn’t seen him enter the room, much less hear him walk up behind where you were sitting on the couch. 

You blink those pretty eyes up at him. “What?”

“With me.” He doesn’t seem to be asking by his tone, but his eyes are almost pleading. 

“Uh.. sure,” you say, unable to keep the smile from your lips. 

The tension in Simon’s shoulders melted away. If he had a tail, it would be wagging.

[almostfoxglove]

SIT BACK, BABY

written for @joelmillerisapunk's #PPCUBodyWorshipChallenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Frankie Morales x f!Reader BODY PART: Thighs | WORD COUNT: 4.1k CW: Smut (m!oral), pwp, drinking (not during smut), sorta sub!Frankie.

SUMMARY: You've got a crush on your neighbor across the hall and finally get the chance to show him you care.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Your alarm clock reads 2:02 A.M. when you stir from a sweat-stained dream. 

Someone is breaking into your apartment.

Or sounds like they're trying to break in, at least. The awkward stabbing and metal scrape of disobedient picks and keys. A sudden fear cleaves through you, skull to stomach, and just like that you’re wide awake. Then you hear a familiar voice mutter, “Fucking please—”

And you sigh. You’re not in any danger.

Yellow light leaks into your apartment from the hall where you find your mountain of a neighbor slumped on his knees at your feet, one hand raised at the level of your lock, a silver key pinched between his forefinger and thumb.

He tilts his chin up, letting you glimpse beneath the brim of his navy ball cap the glassiness of his warm eyes, the flush of his cheeks. His lips part, bewildered or lost. The man looks hopelessly drunk. 

“Haanng on,” Frankie grins, squinting up at you. “You’re in my apartment?”

He drops his hand and his apartment key slips from his grasp onto the floor, unnoticed by him. You’ve lived across the hall from him for two years, steadfast in your belief that fucking anyone who lives in your building—or frankly, within a three block radius—is a hideous mistake. Has that made your hopeless crush on him any less… crushing?

Absolutely fucking not.

Now, seeing Frankie on his knees is doing something terrible to your brain. Giving it all sorts of ideas. You blame his jeans, the brawn of his thighs—how badly you’d like to sink your teeth into them surprises you.

“My apartment, actually,” you correct, lifting one finger to point over his shoulder, across the hall. Frankie turns and, sure enough, recognizes his apartment number gleaming on the door.

“Shit,” he says. You make a point of staring him dead in the eye even when you’d usually look away, just so you don’t look at his legs. The spread of his knees on the carpeted floor. 

Doe-eyed, Frankie blinks up at you—helpless as a pup—as need stirs in your stomach. The urge to hold him. To take care of him for a while.

“I’m a lil’ drunk,” he admits in a whisper, like it’s a secret, like you wouldn’t have known.

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You don’t say.”

He buries his face in his palms and groans quietly, embarrassed. “Hermosa,” he muffles, making your mouth go dry. When his hands drop, his gaze lands at your feet, rising slowly to your legs—he turns, you think, the color of a berry. Something that bursts red against your fingertips in summer.

“You’re not wearing pants,” Frankie says plainly, his eyebrows high on his head.

Shit.

You cross your arms over your chest as if that’ll hide your legs, bare beneath the t-shirt you sleep in. You can’t remember what underwear you have on, if it’s a cute pair or a laundry day pair, and pray quietly that he can’t glimpse them from where he’s sitting, though he probably can. What’s worse, though, is that you can tell Frankie’s not trying to peek. He’s looking you in the eye—respectful, it seems, even on the verge of a blackout.

“It’s the middle of the night,” you say, trying not to blush. “Y’woke me up.”

Poor, drunk Frankie’s face just folds. Devastated to have bothered you—he huffs softly, lets his eyes stutter closed, dark lashes shivering on his cheeks. It really isn’t fair, how cute he is like this. Grown, drunk men are idiots. Nuisances, at best. And yet here he is—this broad mass of a man, solid in his calm, easy way—managing to be both out of his mind and entirely endearing at the same time. It’s almost annoying, how not annoyed you are to be disturbed from a fit of slumber. You’re sort of glad.

“M’sorry,” Frankie mumbles, staring at the floor. He lifts one finger and with your breath held you watch it move slowly toward your foot until his fingertip meets your bare ankle. Softly, so softly. You hardly feel it, this small touch, his fragile apology. 

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. It’s like he knows you’ve had some stupid crush on him for two years.

“Come on,” you say, as you crouch down to retrieve his forgotten key, then his arm, warm and solid in your grasp. “Think you better get into bed.”

He giggles as he lurches to his feet, thankfully able to stand after you steady him and release the weight of his arm. Cheeks warm, you walk his key across the hall, unlock the door, and step aside for him to go in with a sweep of your hand.

“How embarrassed should I be tomorrow?” Frankie asks, coming to stand at your side to stare down the tunnel of darkness formed by his entryway.

You shrug. “Willing to bet you won’t remember this in the morning,” you say, smirk nagging at your lips as you nudge his key back into his hand.

At the contact, he turns, face shadowed by his hat and curls licking playfully beneath the brim, and though you expect him to laugh or smile there’s not a drop of humor in his expression—he looks, you think, disappointed. Like maybe he doesn’t want to forget. Squinting, you tilt your head in the direction of his apartment, but Frankie doesn’t move. He blinks drowsily at you, bottom lip pouting again.

This is probably the most you’ve ever spoken in one go.

The closest you’ve ever stood.

“Pope’s never gonna le’me live this down,” he mumbles.

You huff a short chuckle under your breath and set one hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, to urge him inside—clearly the man’s never going to go in on his own. 

“That one of your broad shouldered friends?” you tease.

Frankie only budges a step closer to the doorway, frowning as he rolls his shoulders, standing up a little straighter as if to make a point. “Yes,” he grumbles.

“Don’t worry, honey,” you tease, then drop your hand from his back. “You’re very broad, too.”

“I feel bad I woke you up,” Frankie says softly.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, and you feel it again—that impulse to hold him, make it better. Rub his shoulders or something, just to help him relax.

“It is,” Frankie mumbles sorrily.

“Did you mean to wake me up?”

He sighs. “No.”

“Were you trying to break in, or did you get mixed up?”

“Got mixed up,” he admits quietly.

You catch his gaze and offer him a small smile. “Then I forgive you,” you say. “No harm done, seriously. You’re not the worst person to find at my door.”

This seems to settle him, at least a little, because with one final, frowning huff Frankie surrenders his guilt and nods. “Okay,” he murmurs, and time stands briefly still as he moves toward you—leaning in to graze his lips against your cheek, his stubble brushing your skin. 

You stand, statued by your surprise, unable even to breathe.

“G’night, nena.”

“Goodnight,” you choke out, grateful that in his state he doesn’t seem to register your shock or the tremble in your voice. If he weren’t drunk, you’re pretty sure that would’ve snapped you. You’d have told him right now and right here that you’ll take care of him, help him unwind a little—that you’ve wanted to touch him for two years and it hasn’t gotten any easier, orbiting him without the guts to swing yourself closer to his gravity.

But he is drunk. Three quarters out of his mind, if you had to guess, based on the clumsy muddle of his footsteps as he at last sways into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. Leaving you breathless in the hallway, alone.

In the morning, you wake to a band of sunlight searing through your curtains. You’ve slept through your alarm all the way till ten, and lift your phone to find a text waiting on your lock screen, sent two hours ago.

Think I owe you an apology, neighbor.

Groggy, you frown at the string of digits you don’t recognize until the night comes back to you, piece by piece. Your heart stutters as you sit up in bed, letting your bedsheets pool in your lap as you type out a reply.

How did you get my number?

Also, you got up at 8am?? Are you even alive?

You get a reply only minutes later, while you’re brushing your teeth.

Told the building manager that I was getting your mail and wanted to return it. Little scary how few questions they asked.

You scoff, only to have your phone ding again immediately.

Sure hope I’m alive. I have a very thoughtful neighbor to thank for getting me home safe.

You spit into the sink, then rinse your mouth, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

Thoughtful, huh?

Pretty, too. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned that yet.

Still feel bad about last night. Let me make it up to you.

No more than six hours later, you’re pulled from whatever TV show’s been rotting your brain all afternoon by a steady knock on your front door. Your skin twinkles with nerves.

You’re fully clothed this time—showered too, thankfully—and when you open the door Frankie isn’t on his knees. He’s standing, curls squashed beneath his hat, t-shirt stretched across his chest, in black athletic shorts baring him below the knee, as he holds up two plastic bags that fill the hallway with a smell you know all too well: takeout from the Chinese place you love down the road. When your eyes round at the sight, Frankie grins, letting you glimpse the dimple that winks from his cheek. 

You see, too, his exhaustion. The navy shadows bruised beneath his glassy eyes. He may be alive, but it’s painfully obvious that he must, beneath that smile, be suffering a brutal hangover. And he’s bringing you food—too generous a gesture, you think, for such a small crime.

“Hoped you might like this place,” he says.

“You really didn’t have to—” you start to say, but Frankie shakes his head before squeezing past you in the doorway to come inside.

“Only fair,” he insists, and you shut the door while he toes out of his shoes, thoughtful enough not to drag dirt into your apartment as he breezes into your kitchen like he’s done this a hundred times before. Opening the bags, cracking each container, fishing through drawers until he finds your cutlery. Domestic and entirely alien: this man you’ve known for two years who’s never entered your space, making himself at home. Trying to serve you.

Dumbstruck, you watch him, unsure what to say and the longer you do, the more the ache of him seems to radiate. You swear you see him wince when a drawer slams too hard, when he looks up accidentally into the ceiling light. With one hand, you reach out and turn the dimmer switch to soften the lights over his head, and Frankie looks up from the styrofoam containers to catch your eye. 

The grin drops from his face. “Shit—is this too much? It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Frankie wipes his hands on his thighs as he rounds the kitchen island to stand before you, dark lashes batting worriedly over his freckled cheeks as he lowers his head to meet your eye. “If you want, I can just leave you with the food. Don't wanna be here if you don't want me to be.”

A soft scoff leaves your lips, the first breath of disbelief disguised as laughter. “Frankie,” you breathe, and his chest puffs at the way you say his name. “You look like you feel like shit. Your head must be killing you. And you brought me food.”

His jaw ticks, and you wonder if he’s been looking for an excuse to talk to you, too.

“No more fussing over me,” you say, lifting your hands slowly to rest on his shoulders. 

Frankie flinches but doesn’t pull away, his warm eyes flickering between yours like he’s trying to unpuzzle you. 

“Let me help,” you say.

“Hermosa,” he murmurs, sounding winded. Desperate. He shakes his head.

With a soft grin you slip your hands down his arms—firm and hot beneath your palms—to guide him toward your couch, warmed by a box of sunlight cast through the windows. Frankie sits with a gentle sigh, biceps tensing beneath your grasp, not yet sure what to make of you. You give his arms a light squeeze, flash him a grin you hope might ease his nerves, and sink to the carpet between his knees.

Frankie’s eyes go black.

The air simmers, woozy as the space above molten tarmac in the dead of summer. It’s a kind of spell, you think. His sharpened breath. Your hands slipping easily over his bare knees. And it’s obvious: the riot of guilt surging behind his lust-blown eyes, his instinct to politely turn you down as you rub his joints softly with your thumbs.

“Don’t have to,” you tell him, careful to hold his eye so he’ll see you mean them. “But I’d like to, if you want. Could take care of you for a while.”

Frankie lets out a ragged breath, and his eyes slam shut before he drops his head on the back of your couch. “Shit—are you—shit.” He grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, groans quietly, and from the floor you watch the way his whole body shudders as he struggles for air.

“That a yes or a no, let’s eat Chinese food?” you ask softly, hands frozen on his knees until he answers. “Either is good.”

“Shit—yes, that’s a yes,” Frankie pants, still hiding behind his hands with his head tipped back.

You lift one hand from his knee to reach for him, curling your fingertips around his forearm, pulling it away from his eyes. “Mírame,” you say, and it’s possible Frankie comes undone right then and there—chest deflating, arms slumping limp into his lap, head lolling to look down at you in disbelief.

Lips parted, his tongue slips across his bottom lip, sending a thrill through your body and a sudden stutter to your heart. But this isn’t about you; it’s about him, so you squeeze your thighs together as Frankie shifts his hips on the couch and nods shakily.

Oh, this is dangerous. How he already looks ready to fall apart beneath your hands. You might never get enough of it.

Testing the waters, you slide your hands slowly up his thighs just far enough to brush your fingertips to the hem of his shorts, the roped muscles in his legs tensing beneath your caress. “If you want me to stop, just say, okay?”

Frankie shakes his head, licks his lip again, and your eyes follow the glide of his tongue. “Not gonna want you to stop,” he breathes, as his cheek dimples with the flash of a sheepish grin.

You hum softly, shuffle closer to the couch, encouraging him to spread his legs wider with a press of your hands. “Just sit back, baby,” you murmur.

So he does. Frankie grunts as you patiently knead the mesa of his thighs—the hills of muscle bound tight beneath golden skin, so hot to the touch—and lower your lips to lay a kiss on his knee, glancing up through your lashes to gauge his reaction.

He rewards you with a needy groan that goes straight to your cunt.

You smile against his skin, let your hands wander, thumbs digging into his thighs as you work loose their knotted web. Humming, your hands slipping beneath the black curtain of his shorts to stray higher as you work, you slide the flat of your tongue up his inner thigh and Frankie’s whole body trembles.

“Fuck—nena, shit,” he pants, just before one hand bolts out to cover the crown of your head, stilling your movements. 

You take your mouth off him and look up, basking in the abyss of his dark eyes and the red of his neck. “Want me to stop?” you ask.

Immediately, Frankie’s head shakes nonono as he gathers your hair in his fist, holding it back from your face. “Que cosa mas linda. So fuckin’ pretty.”

It’s easy, but you knew it would be, watching his body twitch and melt beneath your ministrations, the caress of your attentive hands. The wet suckle of your lips and tongue rising towards his hips. Slowly, you unwind him. Let him dissolve into your couch, always with some sweet nothing on his lips that could ruin you if you let it—mierda, feels so—so fucking good, perfect hands, holy shit, tan suave.

The taste of his skin is a balm in itself, heady, a little sweat-kissed, addictive. With his shorts shoved high on his hips, you latch at the supple flesh of his inner thigh and suck, drawing a tortured whimper from Frankie as he shivers, his chest rising faster with every breath.

“Shit—por favor, please,” he begs, as the hand in your hair gently scratches your scalp. It’s so gentle you almost believe he doesn’t know he’s doing it—that touching you like this, so tenderly, so ruinously, is to Frankie instinct alone.

“So sweet to me,” you murmur against his thigh, licking the pink mark you’ve left on his skin. “So strong, so warm. Just wanna take care of you, Frankie. Wanna make you feel good.”

“Hermosa,” he groans, desperate now, his cock twitching beneath the black of his shorts.

The square of sunlight glows over you both, warming you just as much as his body. Beyond the cracked window you can hear the chirp of birds finding their way to each other, the squeal of distant traffic, the churn of wind through the alley. All of it—all that raucous city noise that used to keep you up all night—feels tranquil now. A serene soundtrack whispering below the rasps of Frankie’s pleasure.

“Wanted to for a long time,” you tell him, before latching again at the top of his other thigh, marking satin skin with a matching brand. “Wanted to touch you so bad.”

He’s gasping now, lungs desperate for air like he’s been running, and his other hand grabs hold of your shoulder to pull you closer. “Would’a—” he wheezes, and lets his head drop back against the couch again like it’s too much to look right at you. “Would’ve let you if I’d—fuck—if I’d known.”

You hum against his leg, reach both hands high enough to dig your thumbs in the crevice of his hips, and Frankie jolts, hissing a strangled fuck before settling again, more liquid than before.

Higher, your mouth climbs, desperate for more of him. Electric with the feeling of his need, the way his hands keep you near to him—thumb sweet on your shoulder, fingertips drawing little circles on your scalp. It’s possible you’ve never liked pleasuring someone so much, and you’ve liked it before. But Frankie responds to your every movement and breath, every change in pressure or place, strung taut as a bow that’s fighting not to snap.

With a final glance up at Frankie, his head hung back to unveil the gold of his throat, the stubble scattered along his jaw, you nuzzle your nose gently against his crotch and feel his cock throb, hitting your cheek.

“Baby,” he whines, hand tightening in your hair.

“I’ve got you,” you coo, and draw your own out of his shorts to hook into the waistband. “Gonna take you out now, is that okay?”

“Fuck—yes—fucking yes it’s okay,” he begs, and the light sting of his hand pulling your hair tighter paints a smile on your face. 

Slowly, you peel down his shorts and find no boxers beneath them, only the heavy length of him which bobs up against his t-shirt, thick and swollen and aching. “No underwear? Frankie,” you tease, and he chuckles hoarsely as you cast his shorts aside.

“Laundry day,” he wheezes, and you click your tongue before scooting forward until your chest presses against the cushions, framed by his legs.

He’s beautiful like this, destroyed but in the good way—dragged out of his head for a while by your dutiful hands, your thumbs digging into the meat of his thighs. His cock leaking and twitching every time the warmth of your breath fans over his soft skin.

With one hand, you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, and the whimper that leaves Frankie’s lips in reply might be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. You wet your tongue along his length, tasting the earth of him before wrapping your lips around his tip, trading off between suckling and licking.

The hand in your hair locks up suddenly, not moving your head but clamping down hard. You moan softly and he twitches on your tongue. Grows harder, somehow, when a moment ago you’d have thought it impossible.

“Ay,” he croaks. “Fuck—your fucking mouth, baby.”

Perhaps this is what emboldens you, makes you sloppy—just as needy as him. Drool slicking to his length as you bob, drinking in his every moan and babble. Your fist pumping what you can’t take, jaw aching around his girth. Frankie might come apart at the molecules, you think. Evanesce cell by cell, held in the heat of your mouth as you swallow around his length, forcing the head of his cock to the back of your throat.

When you gag, eyes watering, heart a hummingbird in your chest, he makes a desperate whine and his hand tenses on your shoulder. 

You’d stay here the rest of the night, if he’d let you, but he doesn’t.

Frankie thighs twitch, breaths coming faster now, shorter. Close. 

“Necesito sentirte,” he says as he squeezes your shoulder again. “Please—shit, gonna come if you don’t stop—fuck, nena, please let me feel you. Wanna feel you so fucking bad. Wanted you—fuckfuck—wanted you the day you moved in.”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you see his hat has tumbled off, leaving the crown of his head a mess of flattened down curls broken up by the occasional stray, and something about how he looks in this moment, fuckedout and gone and desperate, makes you want to stay right where you are. 

Still, you hollow your cheeks as you ease off him with a wet pop, one hand pumping his thick cock while the other rubs his muscled thigh. You shake your head, bottom lip bitten. “Next time,” you promise, with a smirk rich on your lips. Then you’re on him again, throat open and accepting as he teeters on the edge of falling apart. 

“Mmmph, shit—nena, so good, oh my god,” Frankie gasps, hands back in your hair to hold it out of your way. “Gonna make me—fuck, where do I—where do you—”

He doesn’t get the rest out; the moment you slip your hand beneath his balls and sink your lips to the base of his heavy length, taking him to the hilt, Frankie comes with a sudden cry. Warmth pumps down your aching throat as he pants, fingers tangled in your hair, and you swallow it all hungrily while you moan.

He whimpers when you lift off his spent cock to look up at him with a satisfied grin. If you thought he looked ruined before, you were wrong. This is what he looks like when you’ve wrecked him. 

“Come here,” he croaks, then with a grunt Frankie yanks you off the floor and onto his lap to envelope you in his arms. You settle on his thighs, try not to swoon at his strength, and when he kisses you it isn’t at all what you’re expecting—there’s no roar, no taking, not a drop of desperation left in him at all. No, Frankie kisses you wholly, gently, all lithe tongue and sweetness and gratitude, and the longer it goes on the more you both smile, struggling to kiss around laughter and teeth.

When he pulls back, his pupils are still blown but warm too, so warm. His face and beard gilded with late afternoon light. He strokes a thumb across your cheek, then bumps his nose against yours, and you sink against his chest to chase his mouth. Before you can, Frankie's arms lock around your waist; he throws you down onto the couch, pinning you beneath him with a smug little smile.

“This time I get to taste you, hermosa,” he promises, then seals it with a kiss.

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[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Frat Prez - Rafe Cameron Blurb

+18 Minor DNI

Frat!Rafe x Girlfriend!Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

📖 “We scrapin’?” Wrestling with bf rafe couldn’t possibly turn into more *cue the 🌽hub theme*

🪄 warnings: Play fighting, roughish sex, unprotected p in v, spanking, choking, swearing, pet names

✨ “Where are you goin’? Huh?” Rafe shouts, giving you just enough room to flee. You crawl away, only for Rafe to grab for you, pulling you back as well as your shorts off your body. He smacks your bare ass, holding you in place as he yanks his sweatpants down. ✨

1k

Reader’s POV:

“RAFE STOP. JESUS,” you shout, pushing him off as he smiles at you wickedly.

“What? Thought you liked when I played with your tiddies,” he asks as he wraps his arms around your waist, squeezing you tightly, only to let his hands creep higher, doing it again. You throw back your elbow, jabbing him in his stomach, his abs making your act of aggression laughable.

“I’m trying to study, Rafe. C’mon,” you whine as he wraps you up a little tighter in his arms?”

”At a frat house?” He asks through a teasing laugh. “Lookin’ this fine?”

“Leave me alone, or l’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Woah… Wait, doll. We scrappin’?” He chuckles through a gravelly laugh. “You’re gonna kick my ass?” He asks as he points to himself, with a taunting smile.

“Yeah… And, l’d win too,” you sass, knowing there’s no way he’s gonna let this go, playing into his game. You stand up from your chair chest-to-chest with Rafe, looking up at him. “So, are you gonna do anything, Cameron? Or, are you just gonna stand there like a bitch-” He cuts you off, lifting you over his shoulder, walking with you up the stairs as you put up a fight.

“What’s up your ass today, princess?” He chuckles before reaching up, cracking your skin with the palm of his large hand, leaving behind a sharp sting. “Not me. Not yet at least,” he snickers.

”You wouldn’t get it, Rafe. You don’t give a shit about school,” you sigh.

“Well, that’s just not true. You’re talkin’ to the Frat Prez, pretty. ‘Course I care.” He kicks his bedroom door shut, slamming the lock with a smirk before flicking his backward cap to the side.

“I said school, Rafe. Not the frat.” You mumble as he lays down on his fluffy area rug, beckoning you to straddle his lap. You sit on top of him, resting your hands on the chest of his crisp white t-shirt.

“Kick my ass, baby doll. I’ll even give you a headstart.”

“How are you already hard?” You tease as you circle your hips on his rock-hard bulge through his gray sweats.

“I got hard when you elbowed me,” he answers with a boyish smile, making you roll your eyes as a blush creeps across your cheeks. “So, are you gonna do anything, ma, or are you just gonna sit there like a bi-” You cut off his words with a decent slap to the cheek, making his mouth fall open in disgust.

“That hurt,” he spits.

“And, your spanks feel great,” you retort, delivering another slap, causing him to gasp playfully.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, kid,” he taunts. Reaching around, smacking your ass rougher than ever, making you scream. Your hands bind around his thick throat, squeezing tightly, making him return a crooked smile.

He quickly rolls you to your back, your hands still firmly wrapped. The veins in his neck protruded, that same smile still slicked on his lips. He grabs your wrists, pinning them against the carpet with a bruising grip.

Rafe releases his hold, sitting on top of you, giving you his full weight as you wriggle and protest. “Damn, baby. You’re kind of a pussy,” he rasps as he moves his hands up your body slowly, landing on your neck, taking his turn choking you.

You release a choked moan as he starts to grind himself into you, nudging your clit with each roll of his hips. His hands trail back down your body, rising slightly on his knees as he plays with the band of your shorts.

“Where are you goin’? Huh?” Rafe shouts, giving you just enough room to flee. You crawl away, only for Rafe to grab for you, pulling you back as well as your shorts off your body. He smacks your bare ass, holding you in place as he yanks his sweatpants down.

“Rafe!” You squeal, fighting away from him with minimal effort this time, hoping for this outcome all along.

“What?” He snickers. “I won. Just claiming my prize.” He groans as he clutches his hard cock in his fist, running the tip through your soaked folds.

“Prizes? Don’t remember talkin’ about that – RAFE!” You scream as he slams his long, thick dick deep.“

“Well you’re gettin’ this cock, baby. Maybe you’re the winner. Hmm?” He snickers at his own stupid joke as he throws his hips into you rapidly.

“Too much, Rafe,” you whimper.

“You tappin’ out, princess?” He grunts. “We just got started. We gotta toughen you up a lil bit.” Rafe throws you to your back, quickly ripping off his shirt. Your eyes follow the indentations of his abs to his deep v-lines, so distracted by his body that you gasp again when he ruts himself in again. “Fuck. You’re so tight, y/n,” he moans, lowly.

You can feel him stretching you out; a sharp pressure between your thighs. He continues pounding you into the floor, breasts bouncing with each thrust. He lifts your t-shirt exposing your tits before giving one a slap.

“Ouch, Rafe!”

“Please-” he chuckles as he sees the want in your eyes.

Rafe moves his hands under your neck, propping your head up so you can see. “Bet my lil slut wants to watch. Don’tcha?” He teases, but he’s right. You watch as your soaked cunt swallows up his dick, hitting the right spot each time. “Fuck, y/n. Look at you taking me so well,” he burns, his slick bangs and forehead pressed against yours.

“Can’t take me in a fight but you can take my cock like a champ,” he bullies, running his tongue along his plump bottom lip.

A familiar heat builds inside you. You close your walls around him, gripping him harder. Rafe’s brows knit tight.

“Mmm… I love when you do that,” he moans. His lips crash into yours, messy kisses as the two of you fight for air.

“You know if you cum before me, Rafe, I win,” you pant against his lips, feeling him smile along yours.

“And, when has that ever happened, sweetheart?” He breathes as his fingers meet your clit making your thighs tremble uncontrollably.

“You’re gonna cum. Aren’t you?” He groans. “I can tell.”

“M’not”

“You’re not?” He teases as he moves his fingers quicker.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you moan, arching your back as your orgasm washes over your body. Rafe pushes even deeper, flooding you with his climax. His fingers dig into your hips, mucles clenching as he fucks out the last bit of his pleasure and yours.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “I won.”

[sommerbueckers]

HEAR ME OUTTTT what about reader’s being insanely smart and a “good girl” while P being a campus player and party-girl so once they get to know each other at one party because reader was dragged there by her friends and after that P won’t leave her alone and eventually catch feelings 🤭🤭🤭 (you can add smut if u wantttt)

𝐏𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐧

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✰ ❝𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐧, 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐩, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐧❞

✰ 𝐰𝐜 :: 𝟐.𝟗𝐤

✰ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

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IT WAS BY FAR the wildest party you had ever been to. Granted, you didn't have much to compare it to, but you were sure this was no regular college party. You had been clinging to the corner all night, the same drink that had been handed to you when you first got here remained full as you carried it around.

Your friends had left your side hours ago and you hadn't seen them since, the only sign that they were still here were the locations of their phones on Life360. If it hadn't been for their promise to take turns helping you study for the next few days, you wouldn't have even agreed to come out tonight. But you had never been one to turn down study help.

You weaved your way through the crowd of people, cringing as their sweaty bodies brushed against yours. At last, you reached the kitchen, letting out a sigh of relief when you found it to be mildly empty. You set your drink down behind you on the counter and pulled out your phone in an attempt to distract yourself. Due to it being the only thing standing between you and an unwanted encounter with a drunken college student, most of its battery had already been drained.

"Nice shirt," a voice came from in front of you.

Standing at the island pouring herself a drink was Paige Bueckers, clad in black cargos and a black crop top.

"Thanks," you smiled kindly, glancing down at your t-shirt. It was a science joke, distance raptor over time raptor equaled velociraptor. It was your only clean shirt.

Paige nodded, smirking to herself and holding back her laughter. It was then that it clicked for you, she wasn't complimenting your shirt out of the kindness of her heart. There was no kindness in her heart, if she even had one. Her reputation on campus, the one that didn't have to do with her being a monster on the court, had never sat right with you. The way she treated girls was nothing short of disgusting.

"You were being sarcastic..." you nodded in embarrassed realization, pressing your lips into a thin line.

Paige shook her head, "No, no it..." she trailed off, twisting on the cap to the bottle of vodka and turning to you, "it's an interesting shirt for a party that's all."

You nodded again, "It was the only clean one I had, I don't usually wear stuff like this."

"Hm," she hummed to herself, "what's your name?"

"Chloe."

Paige took a step toward you, but it was only to get out of the way of the guys that were clawing at the bottle of vodka behind her, not because she found you intriguing.

"I'm Paige," she said.

"I know." Everyone knows.

She raised her eyebrows, face feigning surprise. "You know huh?" she leaned against the counter on the other side of the corner. "How do you know?"

"If you think i'm gonna sit here and boost your ego, you can think again," you sassed, your brows heavenward.

Her eye creased as she laughed, "Alright, alright, I quit."

As the conversation shifted to a more awkward silence, Paige shifted uncomfortably, trying to find common ground. You adjusting your shirt, looked down at your hands, suddenly aware of the vast differences between your worlds. The room seemed to shrink around you, the hum of the party fading into the background. Paige cleared her throat, feeling the weight of the silence.

Paige watched you with a curious intensity as she took a sip of her drink, the party’s noise swirling around you. "You here with your boyfriend or...?" she asked, her eyes locked on yours.

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and flattery coloring your cheeks. "My boyfriend?" you snorted, a laugh escaping your lips despite the awkwardness. The thought of Paige assuming you were attractive enough to have a boyfriend was flattering, but then a nagging suspicion crept in that maybe the blonde was being sarcastic again. Your cheeks reddened as you said, "Very funny."

Paige’s expression remained unreadable, her gaze steady. "I take that as a no?" Her voice was clear and sincere, devoid of any trace of amusement. It was evident she genuinely wanted to know.

You shifted in your place suddenly self-conscious. "Yeah, no boyfriend," you admitted, the weight of the conversation shifting from lighthearted to more personal. "Just me."

Paige’s soft eyes faltered slightly, giving way to a hint of something else. "Got it," she said, taking another sip of her drink. "So, who're you here with then?"

"Couple friends of mine, this is more their scene than mine," you turned slightly to grab your red solo cup off the counter and take a sip. You cringed at the taste.

"I figured, shirt gave you away," Paige smirked.

"Don't underestimate me, I can throw down when I need to," you pointed at her, a large smile plastered on your face.

"Oh yeah? I'll have to see that."

The two of you broke out into a fit of laughter, Paige's drink sloshing around in her cup and spilling out onto the floor. This made you laugh a little harder, covering your mouth.

"But seriously," she spoke when you both had finally calmed down, "you gotta show me the party animal in you."

"Mhm, next party I gotchu."

You knew there wouldn't be a next time, but it seemd like the right thing to say at the moment. For all you knew, Paige wouldn't even remember this conversation tomorrow.

"Why wait?" Paige's eyes lit up with a challenge. She glanced around the room and spotted a group of people gathered around a table set up for beer pong. "Let's do it now. You and me, beer pong."

You felt yourself unable to protest as she pulled you toward the table. You had never played in a real life game before, your only experience being GamePigeon's cup pong. You weren't sure how well you'd fare. But there was something about the moment, about Paige's soothing voice and reassuring smile, that made you want to go along with it.

The table was lined with red cups filled with beer, set up in a triangle formation on each end. A couple of people cheered as you both approached, ready for a new game. Paige grabbed a ping pong ball and handed it to you with a smirk. "You first. Show me what you've got."

You took a deep breath and focused, aiming for the cup at the center of the triangle. The ball arced through the air, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down. It landed with a satisfying plop into the cup. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Paige gave you a playful shove. "Not bad for a wallflower, let's see if you can keep up."

Paige grabbed a ball and took her shot, her aim precise. The ball bounced off the rim of a cup and landed in another, earning her a round of applause. She turned to you with a triumphant grin. "Your turn."

The game continued, the two of you trading shots and banter. The tense attitude you had started with faded away with each laugh, each missed shot, each triumphant score. At some point, Paige leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear. "You're doin' so good," she whispered, her voice low and teasing. "Maybe you really can throw down."

You smiled, feeling prideful and relieved at the same time. For once, it felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. The game continued, but the outcome didn't really matter. What mattered was the moment—the laughter, the soft brushing of Paige's arm against your waist, how she would compliment you every time she felt you were doing good.

When the game was over, the guys on the other side insisted on playing another round, thirsty to redeem themselves. The overwhelming feeling of not wanting to disappoint the blonde washed over you, this must've been how all the other girls had felt when the time came to get down and dirty with her. There was something about her that made you crave her approval.

HALFWAY THROUGH THE SECOND round you had started to notice the alcohol taking effect. The precision of your aim quickly plummeted, and before you knew it, you were launching balls straight at the wall. When it was over, you threw your hands in celebration even though you had lost. Paige doubled over in laughter, grabbing her stomach when it began to hurt.

You drunkenly stumbled out of the dining room, knocking into a few people, the contents of their drinks spilling onto your shirt. Paige was at your side in an instant, her arm slithering around your waist to keep you upright. It was clearly time for you to be heading home, you were significantly more drunk than Paige despite having roughly around the same amount of alcohol consumption -- if not less.

"C'mon lightweight," she snickered, "let's get you outta here."

Paige didn't know where you lived, but that wasn't something she had thought about until she reached the front lawn of the house. She stood there, stumped and unsure of where to go from there. She looked down at you, noticing the way you were leaning your head against her chest, and she made the split second decision to take you back to her place.

PAIGE WAS TAKING REMARKABLE care of you. Upon arriving back at her apartment, she had given you a cold glass of water, t-shirt of hers to wear, and even helped you wash your face. You were now laid up in her bed, staring up at the ceiling with a dazed look in your eye. Paige reappeared from the bathroom ruffling her wet hair with a towel. She had changed into a pair of basketball shorts and an old shirt, now making her way over to you.

"Hi," you giggled, feet coming up to rest on her chest as you wiggled in your place.

"Hi," she smiled softly, tilting her head at the unexpected contact. She wrapped her hand around your ankle, but didn't move your leg. "You tired?" she asked.

"No," you bit your lip, gradually moving your foot down her body. The alcohol was giving you a new sense of confidence, one that you seemed to be using to your advantage. You reached the waistband of Paige's shorts, anticipating her act of putting a stop to your antics. She did, her grip tightening on your foot.

"You're wasted," she shook her head, smiling brightly.

You mirrored her smile, stretching your arms out above your head. "Hmm," you hummed in satisfaction, "I fear...you're not wrong."

Paige's eyes trailed down to your underwear, cheeky styled gray panties with lime green lacing around the edges. Slowly but surely, her fingers made their way up your leg, softly grazing over your shin...and your knee...before reaching the soft skin of your thigh.

You felt a shiver run through you at her touch, the sensation heightened by the alcohol. Paige's gaze was steady, her touch light but purposeful. The contrast between her casual demeanor and the tenderness of her touch was striking, and you found yourself caught between exhaustion and a growing sense of desire.

Paige shifted her position, her fingers now tracing patterns on your thigh. "You know if you're gonna be stayin' here, I want you to be comfortable..."

"Yeah," you agreed in a whisper.

She moved your leg aside, climbing on top of you with her arms on either side of your head.

"I want you to feel welcome and cared for. So you just tell me what to do, and i'll do that for you."

Your arms wrapped around her neck, not fully understanding how the two of you had gotten here, but also not complaining either.

The truth was, Paige had wanted to kiss you all night. Ever since she had caught sight of you standing alone in the kitchen wearing a dinosaur science t-shirt, eyes glued to your phone as you carried around an untouched cup of...whatever.

When she had approached you, her initial intention had been to tease you, to break the ice with a comment that would get a reaction out of you. But as the night went on, she found herself drawn to you more than she had predicted. The more you laughed and interacted, the more she felt a magnetic pull. Each time your eyes met, she saw a spark of something genuine and kind in you that was hard to ignore.

She didn't just want this to be another hookup that got swept away in the morning wind, she wanted to know every part of you.

She crashed her lips into yours. The kiss was fiery and urgent, filled with the passion that had been building all night. It was as if time had stopped, and for those precious seconds, nothing else mattered. Paige’s hand pulled your shirt up, inching closer to your chest. She pulled away, resting up on her knees as she straddled you.

She grabbed hold of your wrists, pinning them above your head before reconnecting your lips. She kissed you harder this time, fingers clawing at your side and making you squirm beneath her. Her lips traveled down your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses up until she reached the collar of her shirt. Although you had just put it on, you put up no fight as Paige took it back off.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of your bare body, nipples hard and presented to her like two pieces of candy. She swirled her tongue around one before taking it into her mouth, kneading the other with her hand. Soft moans fell from your lips, and it was all the motivation Paige needed as she moved to your other nipple.

Your back arched off of the bed, chasing the feeling of Paige's mouth around your sensitive bud.

She moved her attention lower, fingers ghosting over your clit. You shuddered, a response Paige took pride in. She ran her fingers up and down, the light gray of your panties darkening as they soaked in your slick.

"Stop teasing me..." you pleaded, staring down at her.

"Hmm but look how wet you are..." she murmured, "I think you like it."

She pressed her thumb to your clit, rubbing in maddeningly slow circles. You could feel the arousal seeping out of you, had it not been for the fabric of your underwear, you were sure it would've made a mess on her sheets.

"How 'bout we take these off..."

"Yes," you nodded eagerly.

Hooking her fingertips on the edge of your panties, she pulled them down your legs and dropped them to the floor.

She spread your lips apart, licking her lips at the way your pussy shined in front of her like a lost treasure. She licked her lips, blowing softly onto it. The cold air was a stark contrast to the heat you were feeling, and a whimper slipped past your lips and filled the room. It was like music to the blonde's ears.

She pressed a kiss to your core, her lips covered in your juices as she parted them to kitten-lick your cunt.

"Need more," you begged.

"What do you want Chloe?"

"Want your fingers."

She ghosted over the entrance of your hole, taunting you as she slipped the tip of her fingers in and took them back out.

"Stop..."

She laughed, finally giving in. She inserted two fingers inside of you, reveling in the way you immediately clenched around her. It was humbling that Paige could feel how wet you were, but hearing it was enough to make you want to sink into a hole and never come out.

You could already feel your release building inside of you, and Paige's fingers curled around inside of you to bring you closer. She swirled her tongue around your clip, flattening it out as she intensified the movements of her fingers.

"Paige," you called out, voice weak.

"Hmm," she hummed against your pussy, your back arched further.

"Ah, Paige!" you said more firmly, hand moving to tangle in her hair. You moved your hips against her, "Gonna come."

It was then that the pleasure ceased. Paige had taken her fingers out of you, removed her tongue from your swollen clit. She was unbuttoning her cargos, hastily pulling them down along with her boxers. You leaned up on your elbows, frowning at her.

She tossed her bottoms to the side, her shirt and bra soon went soon after. She roughly spread your legs wider, climbing on top of you and lining up her pussy with yours. The second they made contact, your head fell back onto the bed.

She held your thigh up to her chest, her hips moving powerfully with yours.

"Fuck," she groaned, her darkened gaze locking onto yours.

"Just like that, just like that," you mumbled, "gonna make me come so hard."

The bed creaked and cracked, the headboard faintly banging against the wall behind it. Your hands grabbed onto your tits, pulling at your nipples as Paige watched hungrily.

Your body shook as you came, your yells filling the room and clouding Paige's mind. She didn't stop, she still had to come. She continued to move against your overstimulated core, your hand coming up to grab her bicep.

"Shit!" you moaned, your brows knitted together. Your whines and whimpers kept her going until she finally came, her movements slowing before they came to a stop.

Her weary body collapsed onto yours, face buried in your neck as you both came down from your highs. She panted in your ear, the sound almost enough to make you want another round.

"Fuck that was good..." you finally said through a laugh.

Paige laughed as well, lifting her head to place a soft kiss on your lips, "I know."

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