
Origami Around
tumblr dot com
sheepfilms
todays bird
Jules of Nature
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
will byers stan first human second
NASA
Not today Justin
Three Goblin Art
almost home
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JBB: An Artblog!
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
taylor price

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Claire Keane

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

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One Nice Bug Per Day
seen from Brazil
seen from Ecuador
seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia

seen from Argentina
seen from Iraq
seen from Iraq

seen from Iraq

seen from United States
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@lost-in-1ife
DREW STARKEY for Dior fashion show
⊱༺༒︎༻⊰
simon "ghost" riley x price's secretary!reader
cw: smut, blowjob, under the desk, f!reader, facef*cking, public sex, office sex, the usual <3
mdni
wc:1k
“Think she’s busy. Try her cell?” Simon releases a shaky breath as he speaks, his fist tightening around your hair, jeans bunched around his ankles. He glares down at you, obediently knelt between his legs underneath his desk. The space fits you wholly, allowing you to hide completely while still giving his legs the space to jerk and jolt as you work his soul from his thick cock.
Your lips are swollen and red from the friction, spit dribbling down your chin, throat dilating whilst he buried himself deeper into your mouth. Tears pooled behind your waterline as you try to stifle the lewd sound of your gurgles and gags; a degenerate symphony of indecency only you and Simon had the nerve to produce at work.
“Damnit. I’ll try her again.” You hear Price sigh through the phone, his voice growing increasingly irritated. You look up at Simon, who’s now shaking his head at you, his eyes dark and unfocused.
“You do that, sir.” He replied flatly.
You giggle quietly, pushing your tongue against his frenulum. He jerks forward, the muscles in his thighs firming under your grip, his breath catching loudly in his throat.
“You alright, Simon?” You hear Price’s suspicion growing by the second. Simon keeps the phone to his ear, his knuckles going white with how hard he was gripping the poor thing. He looks at you directly, eyes stuck to yours as you bob your head up and down his thick length.
“Yeah…’m okay. Somethin’ I ate. Not sittin’ right.” He lets out a quiet, shaky breath, bearing his weight on the back of his chair and spreading his thighs. He releases your hair, raising his hand to his mouth, cupping it around his face as you continue.
“You sure you’re alright, Lt?” Price’s voice lowered on the other end. You don’t let up.
His length grew harder with every stroke of your lips, his leg bouncing restlessly, his eyes squeezing shut as you worked your mouth over the ridges and curvatures of the throbbing shaft. He glares at you from behind his trembling hand, a look that usually meant one thing and one thing only; Dead meat.
His eyes travel down your face, taking in the sight before him. You, perched on your knees, freshly manicured nails digging into the meat of his thighs, taking every inch of his thick, burdensome cock the only way it was ever intended; Sloppy, sleazy, and unable to render whether or not you could breathe properly.
He clears his throat before speaking again. “‘M fine, Price. Stomach’s in shambles.”
“Right then.” He takes a beat before continuing. “If you lay eyes on my secretary, send her straight to my office, understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Simon answers, his eyes never leaving your face as he clicks the phone off.
The man was like a father to him, and yet here he was, defiling his poor secretary’s soft, sweet mouth like he owned the damned thing. He knew it was wrong. You knew it was wrong. But you took his length so well within your hot mouth, your wet, experienced tongue extracting the last bits of self-respect from his reserves.
“You’re gonna get us in trouble, trouble.” You smirk at the nickname, your tongue now slowed to a gentle swirl around the puffed, pulsing tip. It touches your uvula, causing your throat to contract and tighten around him. With a simple thrust of his hips, he pushes himself deeper into your mouth, his thickness stretching your throat with every inch he’s able to fit inside.
You watched as his thighs shook ever so slightly, his hand now cupped around your cheek. He studies you intently, gaze traveling down your face, hair, shirt—anything he could get his eyes and hands on.
He takes your head in both hands, and steadies both feet on the ground. You brace yourself on his knees before he stands, now towering over you with complete and utter control over your mouth. He bends his knees, accommodating the height difference between you before he begins to plunge himself deeper.
Simon starts with slow strokes, a salacious, foul groan emitting from his lips as he works his way deeper into your throat. He quickens his pace, satisfied with how much of himself he could shove inside your mouth without suffocating you to death. And still, just only half of him.
He pulls your hair back into a pathetic excuse for a ponytail, using his free hand to gently tuck unruly strands away from your face. An affectionate contrast to the aggravated, frantic ruts from his hips. You raise your arm, taking his balls within the palm of your hand. You give them a gentle squeeze, kneading them as he uses your mouth to his content.
“Fuck—’m close, sweetheart.” He grits. You respond by craning your neck, meeting his thrusts halfway. He falls over the edge, his orgasm thrumming against the walls of your throat. His knees shudder slightly, bending as though he struggled to hold himself in one piece. You feel hot ropes of his seed splash against your throat, his voice releasing a stream of deep grunts and whines into the silent air of his office. He stares down at you, watching intensely whilst he pulls you from his length. Your hair sat messily around your head, saliva coating your chin, and eyes glazed with pure carnal satisfaction.
Simon’s chest heaves sluggishly, his eyes stuck on the sight of you. You notice the appearance of his crow’s feet, a smile creeping to his eyes from under the balaclava.
⊱༺༒︎༻⊰
You clutch the files to your chest, inconspicuously slipping out of Simon’s office with him in tow. He grabs your wrist before you could walk away, lowering himself to say something in your ear.
“Fuck you later, love” He grits, a sleazy smack on your ass ringing through the quiet hallway. Heat flushes between your thighs, spreading to your face and ears. You turn to walk away, bottom lip clamped between your teeth as you make your way to the stairwell.
He watches you disappear into the flights of stairs, turning to walk the opposite way. He freezes.
Price, leaned casually against the doorway of his office, arms crossed tightly against his chest. His lunch threatened to exhibit itself on the carpeted hallway floor as he met eyes with the Captain.
“Still got the shits, mate?” At that point in time, he really did.
BRING ME THERE BRING ME THERE
He’s so boyfriend
𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝙼𝚢 𝙵𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙳!𝙻𝙵 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
Obvi siren!reader forgave rafe because they end up getting married 🥰🥰🥰 but how much did rafe grovel/yearn/beg for forgiveness??
little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - soulmates and shit
pairing: siren!reader x rafe. warnings: smut & toxic relationships.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Rafe finally realized the one person who saw through all his bullshit might leave for good.
He'd never given a fuck about a girl before you. He’d chased plenty, fucked around, let them hang off his arm. But even back when you were kids, and he acted like he despised every second of your attention—shoving you away, calling you every name in the book—he’d secretly eaten that shit up. He’d enjoyed it. Craved it.
He didn’t get a wink of sleep that same night, knowing he’d finally succeeded in killing whatever good thing had been growing between you. He kept seeing those tears you refused to let fall in front of him, how you’d shoved him off like he was something filthy after he’d been inside you.
That's what he did, right? Destroy the good shit before it could destroy him. He sat up fast, sweat sticking to his back. If you left for good... fuck. He wasn't letting that happen without a fight, even if it meant having to swallow his pride and spew the shit he'd been too chickenshit to admit before.
Whenever you post brothers best friend Rafe and kelces sister reader I feel like my whole week was made
warning: smut with little plot! one shot from this universe
The bass of whatever playlist the DJ was spinning thumped through the open doors of the massive beach house. String lights zigzagged lazily overhead across the familiar faces—people you’d known since you were kids, all back home for summer break.
Your sundress, a rich emerald that hugged your curves right, brushed against your thighs as you moved through the bodies, drawing eyes you could feel like fingertips on your skin.
You looked good.
No. You looked incredible.
The gold jewelry you chose to wear caught the party lights, and your confidence definitely didn't help with the stares.
The thing about confidence was that people loved it until it belonged to a girl they couldn't intimidate.
You wanted to have a fun night.
It was your and Rafe's first real night out as an official couple in your hometown.
Christmas break had been different—stolen hours tangled up in Rafe’s sheets, barely coming up for air.
Tonight, you were out in the open, and the stares were starting to irk you. You lifted your chin, sipping from your cup as you scanned the deck.
A cluster of girls near the pool railing kept glancing your way, whispering behind manicured hands. You were confident—you always had been, which came from knowing exactly who the fuck you were and the power you held.
Still, the pissy knot burned in your stomach.
Rafe Cameron couldn’t possibly be with someone who looks like you? You pushed the irritating thought down.
You wandered inside, the party pulsing with that end-of-semester energy everyone was chasing. Kelce spotted you first from across the living room, raising his beer with a big grin and a knowing nod toward the back, still watching out for you.
You smiled back, slowly walking through people who called your name, offering quick hugs and small talk that felt surface-level tonight. Your steps were getting looser, the alcohol warming your veins.
There he was.
Rafe stood near the back, leaning against the worn leather couch.
The white button-down you'd chosen for him earlier rolled up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms. He was mid-conversation with a couple of the guys from the old hockey crew back home, and the second his blue eyes locked on you across the room the smirk melted into heart eyes.
Pure, unguarded heart eyes that made you crazy with how much you adored this man.
Last year at this exact party, you two had bickered like cats and dogs in the kitchen, him towering over you, pretending to be stern and telling you to slow down on the drinks. It had you snapping back with a sharp “fuck off, Rafe” before storming off to dance on the deck. He’d been in your life since scraped knees and backyard forts, the annoying guy who always seemed to show up right when you needed (or didn’t need) him.
And now here you were.
You tried to be smooth about it, but the tipsiness got you good. Your heel caught on an ornate rug, and you stumbled forward with a breathless giggle, landing right in his lap.
Rafe’s arms were there instantly, wrapping around your waist in second nature. His focus was all on you, drinking you in, fixing a curl from your face with a tenderness that felt oddly intimate for the middle of a party.
You melted more into him, warmth spreading as you stole a sweet kiss, tasting beer and the familiar comfort of home.
"Hi."
Rafe’s chuckle rumbled against your back as he held you closer, one large hand splaying across your lower back.
“Hi, baby,” he murmured. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to come find me,” he confessed against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive spot below it.
His fingers rested on your thigh where your dress had ridden up, the touch innocent enough for public eyes. Your heart fluttered wildly even as the tipsy haze made everything about him feel sexier, if that was possible.
Your fingers played with the collar of his shirt, freshly done nails grazing the skin at the base of his throat.
His hand on your thigh tightened, the calluses from years of playing hockey rough against your smooth skin.
“Careful, princess,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, meant only for you.
You sighed, the sound airy due to his thumb stroking patterns under the hem of your dress.
His free hand slid up your back, possessive but gentle.
“Missed you too much in there,” you whispered back, glossy lips grazing his jaw. The faint stubble scraped deliciously against your mouth.
Rafe’s smirk returned. "You look insane in this dress."
Your nails dragged down his throat again, feeling him swallow hard under your touch.
“Behave,” you teased, even as you moved in his lap, feeling the way his body reacted.
“Yeah?” His grin turned wicked, that dimple you loved showing up.
Before you could reply, your brother popped up at the edge of the group, holding up two fresh drinks with a dramatic eye-roll.
“Y’all are disgusting.”
Rafe flipped him off without looking, but you giggled and took one of the cups, sipping to hide your smile.
The conversation picked up around you. Rafe’s chest vibrated against your back as he laughed at something Topper said, his arm staying locked around your waist, needing the constant contact. You stayed right where you were, one of your legs draped lazily over his thigh, the emerald dress pooled silkily around you.
You weren’t shy by any means, but tonight you didn't necessarily feel like jumping into the fray. The cocktail in your hand was cold and perfectly sweet, something fruity that Kelce had grabbed for you, and sipping it while resting against Rafe’s warm body was the best possible way to spend the night.
Topper leaned against the arm of the couch, gesturing wildly with his beer. “Nah, man, you should’ve seen the last game against State. Rafe almost took that defenseman’s head off—same old shit from high school. Coach had to bench him for two minutes to cool him down.”
Rafe snorted, the sound right by your ear. You tilted your head slightly, admiring how his blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned.
“He was talking shit the whole game. Someone had to shut him up.”
Kelce barked out a laugh from his spot across the low coffee table, kicking his feet up. “Yeah, and of course you’re still doing it at uni too. Some of us are trying to actually graduate, bro.”
A couple of the other guys from the old hockey crew, locals who’d gotten into different schools or were working their family businesses before committing to a major—chimed in, confiding in stories about who was doing what back home.
You mapped a circle on Rafe’s collarbone, listening but mostly watching him.
The way his mouth moved when he talked, that dimple flashing one more time when he roasted Topper for bombing his econ final. Every so often, his hand would give your thigh a quick squeeze, a reminder that even while he was in the middle of the conversation, his focus was you.
He glanced down at you mid-sentence, catching you staring. His expression softened instantly.
“You good, baby?”
You nodded, taking another slow sip of your cocktail, the ice clinking softly.
“Mhm. Just like listening to you.”
He pressed a peck to your temple before jumping back into the conversation, something about summer plans and who was throwing the next bonfire on the beach.
You settled deeper into his lap, perfectly happy to stay quiet and warm and a little buzzed.
It was then that you spotted a familiar group of girls across the room. You’d been in the same classes as most of them. They’d always made a point of “forgetting” to include you in their group chats, their beach days, their weekend plans. Whispering behind your back about how you thought you were better than everyone just because your family had the biggest house.
All that fake-nice bullshit while secretly seething that you were prettier, richer, and never had to chase validation the way they did.
They’d been extra vicious about the fact that you were black. The “token” comments behind your back, they’d suddenly go quiet when you walked into a room, while they whispered about how you didn’t “fit” their vibe.
All that insecure, mean-girl racism wrapped up in pretty sundresses.
Madison’s eyes met yours across the room as she nudged the girl beside her, lips moving fast in that familiar, ugly way.
You scoffed under your breath, rolling your eyes hard enough that your whole face screamed irritation.
Rafe’s hand stilled on your thigh immediately, his muscles tensing. He turned his head, locking onto your expression, reading you in that way only he could.
“What’s wrong?” His arm hauled you closer against his chest, trying to shield you from whatever had soured your mood.
You let out an annoyed breath, staring daggers toward the kitchen doorway before forcing your attention back to him. Your fingers stayed locked to the collar of his shirt, grounding yourself with the warmth of his skin.
"Nothing."
Rafe’s jaw flexed, eyes narrowing as he followed your earlier glare across the room. You saw the exact moment he spotted them.
"Want me to get someone to kick them out?"
When Rafe locked in like that, those girls evaporated from your mind completely. Truth to be told, you loved this side of him. He’d burn the entire party down if you said the word.
You turned fully into him, forgetting the rest of the room, and you couldn’t stop the adoring smile spreading across your lips.
“No. It's okay, I promise."
Rafe’s eyes stayed locked on yours, his hand didn’t loosen on your thigh. If anything, his grip tenfolded.
“You sure?” He reiterated, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he glanced once more toward Madison’s group before coming right back to you. “One word and they’re gone."
You patted his cheek, the irritation from earlier completely gone, replaced by that fluttery feeling only Rafe could give you.
He pulled back to look at you properly, brows slightly furrowed.
His free hand came up to stroke your cheek as he studied you. The party noise, the guys laughing and talking hockey stats around you, felt miles away. All you could focus on was Rafe’s pretty face inches from yours, and how intensely he was looking at you.
“Really. I promise."
He exhaled through his nose, the tension in his body easing, but he didn't look fully convinced.
"We can leave whenever you want. Say the word, and we’re out. I only came tonight for you anyway.”
“I’m good right here for now,” you told him honestly, sipping the last of your cocktail before setting the cup aside. "I’ll keep that offer in mind.”
Rafe hummed approvingly as he pulled you flush against his chest, "Okay. Love you."
The guys around you immediately started groaning.
"Here we go," Kelce muttered.
Topper pointed his beer at Rafe. "Every conversation somehow turns into you talking about her."
"Look at her."
Half the time, Rafe wasn't trying to be romantic; he simply said whatever came into his head.
"Oh my God," Kelce groaned louder.
Your face warmed at the fact they'd somehow listened to your private conversation, "Shut up."
Your boyfriend was completely serious. "Am I wrong?" he asked.
Your brother looked physically exhausted, and you almost felt bad for him.
Irish twins meant there had never been a single day of peace between the two of you. The poor guy had spent a lifetime dealing with you, another seventeen putting up with Rafe, and now he had to deal with both of you, together.
"You know what's crazy?" Kelce announced suddenly. “Nobody ever talks about the trauma I've endured."
Topper immediately nodded. "Go on."
"Thank you."
Rafe's shoulders were shaking with laughter beneath you. You twisted around immediately.
"Don't laugh."
His chin dropped briefly toward his chest as he tried—and failed—to get himself together.
Kelce, however, looked like he was reaching his breaking point. His eyes bounced between you and Rafe, then to Rafe's arm around your waist, and to the fact that you were sitting in his lap.
Then back to Rafe.
"This is actually ruining my night."
Rafe grinned. "You knew this was coming."
"No."
"Yes, you did."
Kelce dropped his head into his hands. "See?" He looked around desperately for support. "This is exactly what I'm talking about."
You were practically folded against Rafe's chest at this point, covering your face, cheeks hurting from cheesing.
"This is why siblings shouldn't date friends."
"That's not how that works," somebody pointed out.
"You know what I mean. I miss when she hated boys."
You snorted. "You mean when I was eleven?"
Rafe’s chest shook under you, his arm banded around your waist with zero plans of letting go anytime soon.
The longer the conversation went on with hockey stories, summer plans, endless roasting between the boys, the more the alcohol loosened something needy your chest.
You’d barely seen Rafe all day.
Between him helping his dad with boat stuff this morning and you running errands with your mom, the hours apart had felt stupidly long. Now all you wanted was to keep him to yourself. No more sharing him with the boys.
The cocktail had done its job too well. Your body felt blurry and sweet, soothing where it pressed against his. You traced your finger along the open collar of his shirt again, feeling his pulse kick under your touch.
“Rafe,” you called quietly against his neck, a little whiny in that way you only got when you were clingy.
He turned his head immediately. “Yeah?”
"Come with me to get another drink.”
He didn’t hesitate. Rafe gave your thigh one last squeeze before helping you stand, his hands lingering to steady you.
“Where you going?” Topper asked, smirking because he knew exactly what was happening.
“Kitchen,” Rafe answered flatly, lacing his fingers through yours. “We’ll be back.”
Kelce groaned. “Don’t be gross in there."
You flipped him off over your shoulder with a giggle, letting Rafe pull you through the crowd.
He guided you easily through the bodies, thumb stroking the back of your hand as you admired his rock-solid back muscles. The music seemed to get louder as you slipped into the hallway, but the second you crossed into the big open kitchen, the noise dulled enough for you to sigh contentedly.
There were only a few people refilling cups near the island, the bass thrumming through the walls.
Rafe didn’t head straight for the drinks. Instead, he turned and backed you against the marble counter, caging you in with his arms on either side of you.
“You okay?” he asked, scanning your face. “You got quiet back there.”
You nodded, sliding your hands up his chest until your arms were curled around his neck, your high heels helping with the height difference.
"Don’t wanna share you with the guys anymore.”
Rafe’s expression melted as he ducked his head, pressing a lingering peck to your lips. His forehead resting against yours.
“Yeah?” His voice had dropped that gravelly octave that always got to you. “You feeling needy tonight, princess?”
"Maybe." You teased, casting a smoky look.
His hands slid down your body, gripping you possessively as he kissed you again, tasting the sweet cocktail on your tongue. One of his hands drifted cheekily, palming your ass through the emerald dress.
“Been dying to get my hands on your properly since you walked in," He breathed against your mouth. “Drink slow. I want you buzzing, not wasted. I’m taking my time with you.”
Last year, he was barking at you not to drink too much; tonight, he was telling you exactly how he planned to ruin you later.
Maybe it was the four cocktails sloshing around in your system, or maybe it was simply the intoxicating thrill of making Rafe react to you so easily.
“Taking your time, huh? That a threat or a promise, Cameron?”
Rafe’s grin was pure sin.
“Both. You know I keep my promises, baby.”
You bit your lip, feeling like a schoolgirl with her first crush, except this was Rafe, the boy who used to pull your pigtails. You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt, the alcohol making everything feel sparkly and perfect.
The taste of beer on his tongue entwined with the sweet cocktail on yours, and the groan he let out when you nipped his bottom lip went straight through you. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss until your back arched against the marble counter.
You lost track of time, only feeling the faint scrape of his stubble against your chin. Rafe kissed you like the party didn’t exist, and when he pulled back to breathe, he dove right back in, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw.
“Rafe…” you sighed blissfully between kisses.
You were chuckling into the kisses like an idiot, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it. When you finally broke apart for air, you were both breathing hard.
You reached up to swipe your thumb across his lips. “You’ve got my lip gloss all over you.”
Rafe’s mouth was shiny with the pink tint, smeared across his bottom lip and the corner of his mouth. It looked ridiculous.
“Let ‘em see. I want everyone to know exactly what I’ve been doing in here.”
You wiped at his mouth again, only for him to catch your wrist and kiss your thumb instead.
“Rafe,” you whined through another giggle, thrilled.
“Baby, this is a trophy.” He nuzzled into your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin that made your knees weak. “Wear it all night if I have to. I love when you mark me up.”
Your arms stayed looped around his neck, his hands splayed possessively on your lower back, neither of you making any move to put space between you.
He rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing, lips hovering so close that every word felt like a kiss. All you could focus on was the warmth of his breath mingling with yours and the way his blue eyes stayed locked on you.
“Hmm,” His lips grazed yours with every syllable, “tell me about your day. I know we were texting, but I still wanna hear it from you.”
You smiled, manicured fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck as you spoke.
“It was okay. Mom made me help pick out new cushions for the patio at the Lake House—she argued with me for twenty minutes about teal versus navy. I won, obviously.”
Rafe chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. He tilted his head to brush a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then stayed there, lips moving against yours as he talked.
“Course you did. What else?”
You chased his lips for a quick smoosh before answering. “Stopped by that little boutique on Main Street, too. Tried on a couple things…"
Rafe paused mid-kiss, you felt the exact moment he put two and two together—his breath hitched, and those eyes darkened instantly.
“That boutique,” His voice dropped lower, “The one that’s basically all lingerie?”
Your expression turned mischievous as you nodded. Busted.
You could see the images flashing through his head. You didn't bother denying, fingers trailing down the front of his shirt.
Rafe groaned quietly, “You went lingerie shopping and didn’t send me pictures?”
"I wanted it to be a surprise,” you teased, voice all innocent even as you looked at him from under your lashes.
“You trying to make me drag you somewhere right now? ‘Cause I will. I don’t give a shit about the party.”
“Tell me you’ll be patient,” You asked of him, even though you were just as impatient, if not more.
“I’ve been patient all fucking day. I don’t even get a color? A strap? Nothing?”
You dragged your nails down the side of his neck.
The way his breath stuttered was addictive.
“Maybe I’ll tell you one thing.”
He let out a frustrated sound that made need pool low in your belly.
“One thing,” he bargained, lips grazing yours but not quite kissing. “C’mon, princess. Don’t do me like this.”
You tilted your head, pretending to think, letting your fingers toy with the top button of his shirt.
“Fine. One set was black. Lace. Very… delicate.”
“Black lace,” he echoed.
Rafe's hand slid lower, kneading your ass again, pulling you against the growing bulge in his pants.
"There's also this emerald green."
The black lace set had made your tits look incredible, full, pushed up, the delicate straps framing them like a gift ready to be unwrapped at any given moment. The deep emerald green one had been even better, though; it made your skin glow, the high-cut bottoms accentuating the toned lines you’d been working on all summer.
That color looked so fucking good on you. Which was why you were wearing it.
Rafe’s head dropped to your shoulder with a defeated groan, he mouthed at your collarbone.
“Poor baby,” you cooed, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging to make him lift his head. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted, looking every bit like a man who’d sell his soul for more details.
It was hard not to goat and savor the power.
“Emerald set has garters,” You let him knows, the words dragging out slowly. “And the black one is see-through in all the right places. Might’ve taken a little video in the mirror. For myself, obviously.”
It took you everything not to text him the video earlier.
“A video,” he repeated hoarsely.
You cut him off with a deep kiss, swallowing the rest of his desperate ramble.
He melted into it immediately, tongue sliding against yours, one big hand cupping the back of your neck. When you pulled back, his lips chased yours, eyes still closed.
“You’re so cute when you’re desperate,” you murmured, thumb stroking his bottom lip again. “All worked up over some lace.”
“I’m not,” he grumbled, even as his hips rolled subtly against yours. Rafe made a broken sound and buried his face in your neck again, kissing and biting. “I’m gonna ruin that fucking green set later. Then the black one. Then whatever else you bought.”
You shivered at the promise, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
He pulled away, looking down at you, eyes wild and adoring. “You’re really gonna make me wait?”
You nodded, tapping his nose playfully. “Mhm."
You should've dialed it down on the teasing.
Two hours later, your head was spinning from the way Rafe hauled you over the Range Over console, shoving your dress up around your waist, your upper body pushed down, cheek pressing into the seat.
Your ass was up, knees spread awkwardly in the cramped space, and you barely had time to gasp before you heard the dangerous snarl in his throat.
HE'S AN EATER! ─ r.c.
warnings ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა : oral ( f rec. ) , bluecollar!rafe ( dada mannn )
you loved to watch bluecollar!rafe eat . . .
yes, i know that sounds weird, because why would you like watching your husband eat? but here's the thing about him, he always ate like the food was gonna run away from him.
you noticed—well, it was hard not to—on your first date. he was quite literally scarfing down the plate within milliseconds of the food being served.
and no, you were not taking your food home because once you placed your fork down, you practically read his mind. "you want the rest?" you didn't mind, simply because you found his big appetite endearing.
to be honest, you found it hot too . . .
like just imagine rafe being exhausted after being out in the summer heat from sunrise to sunset. his skin was slightly flushed from sunburn, probably in an airy white tee and shorts.
but then he begins eating like he's been starved, despite the plethora of food you packed in his huge lunchbox before he left.
large, rugged hands gripping the spoon handle like a vice, completely dwarfing the utensil. both elbows are planted on the table as he hunches over his plate. he doesn't let any exaggerated sounds escape as he inhales his meal like a vacuum cleaner.
so just having this beefy man at your dinner table had you wondering one thing: if he eats like that, imagine how he eats cat. & boy did he eat it well . . .
everything was wet. your pussy, inner thighs, rafe’s face, and even the sheets below you. yet that only spurred your husband on because he could and would make you wetter.
“rafey, m’sensitve now,” you’d mewl, digging your head deeper into your pillow.
when rafe was between your thighs, he was a man of few words, only grunting or letting out raspy moans to your taste. continuing to slurp down your pussy juices like his day starved him from being saturated in your slick.
he’d suckle on your clit in a way that had your thighs tensing around his head and your toes pointing into the air. sometimes he’d even have his teeth lightly graze your nub when you’d get too rowdy. “let me eat,” he murmured, circling your dripping entrance before dipping his tongue into your heat to receive more of that sugary sap you flooded his mouth with.
and when he felt your velvety insides get warmer, he immediately tilted his head and flattened his tongue against your pussy, ready for your cunt to splatter that sticky cream of yours onto his taste buds.
& cream you did. once you felt that muffled “cum for me,” vibrate against your throbbing pussy, your thighs trembled around his head. your cunny pulsing rhythmically around his tongue, because of course, he wasn’t moving until he licked up every drop you gave him.
when rafe finally let up, you’d watch him wipe his mouth on the back of his arm, mirroring his actions from dinner . . .
so yeah, having a husband with a big appetite meant he had an even bigger appetite when it came to you :3
xo, blissedbunni
I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF
This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.
Reblogging because it’s a damn potato and I want to encourage people to assume potatoes are magical.
MAGIC POTATO GO!🥔
here we go again
reblogging the golden potato
hoping it will work
that my life will get a perk
Always reblog the potato.
Rebloged.
here goes nothing
Giving Simon Riley the silent treatment during sex (18+)
You are drunk and pissed all because Simon decided it was time to leave the bar. He threw you over his shoulder, patted your ass, told you that you have had way too much to drink and walked out like nothing was unusual about the scene. On the way home, you sat angled towards the window, giving him the silent treatment, and every time he tried to touch your thigh you dramatically pushed his hand away and huffed in annoyance.
Such a brat.
Simon knows exactly how to take care of his bratty lady, which is why the second the two of you walk into your shared apartment, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the bedroom.
What he doesn’t see is the sly smile spreading across your face when you think of the best way to fuck with him.
You’re face down, cheek smooshed against the pillow, ass up, pussy bare to him behind you, and ready to get on with your evil plan. His hands find your hips, and he nudges his cock at your entrance. Your folds are soaking, glistening under the soft glow of your bedside lamp, and the second his tip pushes through your entrance, you’re biting your bottom lip and shoving your face even further into the pillow.
This will be harder than you thought.
drunkenly ranting to a frat guy about how much ex!rafe sucked, only to realize halfway through the conversation that the stranger listening to every word is rafe himself.
“you sound familiar,” she laughs, words slurring slightly as she leans against the sticky kitchen counter. the frat house is loud, bass shaking through the floorboards, but his voice cuts through it anyway.
“do i?” he asks.
“mhm.” she squints at him, pointing lazily. “you’ve got the same voice as my ex boyfriend. which is unfortunate for you because he was literally the worst person alive.”
he chokes on his drink a little. “damn. harsh.”
“no, you don’t get it.” she grabs his arm like she’s telling him a secret. “rafe thought he was so charming. all backwards hats and stupid smirks. god, i hated him.”
“sounds like a dick.”
“exactly!” she says, delighted he understands. “wait—” her eyes narrow again. “you even laugh like him. that’s freaking me out.”
“maybe everyone in fraternities is the same guy.”
drew starkey in paris via brooke_starkey
You Wanted Me Breaking In… 𝓓𝓲𝓭𝓷’𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾?
son’s bsf frat!rafe x baddie!reader
❕spoilers❕c/w: pet names, pathetic rafe, dom reader, blowjob, age gap, teasing, unprotected sex, name calling, degradation, sneaking around, multiple orgasms (premature) + first time together
4.1K words
a/n: this can be read without Part 1 + Part 2. All you need to know is that Rafe broke into your house after you left for a date with another man. While he was waiting for you to get back, security caught him and tied him to a chair after he insisted to the officer that he was your son’s best friend. After shamelessly teasing him all tied up, you cut him loose and tell him “goodnight”… but there’s no chance he’s leaving.
“Fuck,” he breathes, half a laugh, half disbelief, as his eyes drag over you.
The slow rise and fall of your body beneath him. The way your lips part just slightly when you breathe. His gaze dips lower, dragging over every inch of you.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, soft and disbelieving that this moment’s finally his.
Your hands come up, resting against his chest, and he sucks in a breath at the contact, muscles tightening under your palms.
“Touching me,” he mutters, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth as he leans down, brushing his lips against yours. “Feels too damn good to have your hands on me. You know that?”
He kisses you slowly, savoring it, like he’s been thinking about this exact moment since he first saw you, smiling into it when he feels your back arch off the mattress, breasts pressing into his strong chest.
“You were playin’ too hard to get,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low and taunting. “I know you want me. You love fuckin’ with me.” His words vibrate against your lips, the hunger in them going straight through you. “You always do this shit—act like you don’t want me when I know you do.”
Your hands wrap around him, nails sliding down his back, dragging just enough to make his breath hitch. Biting his lip, shamelessly looking over his shoulder, praying for a mark.