Hamzah Is Literally My Husband

CHALLENGERS — suggestive, no smut, implied smut

frat rafe cameron and frat saxon ratliff x 𝒜ngel reader

The party is loud, music pounding through the walls, the air thick with alcohol, sweat, and something dangerous humming beneath it all. You’re not supposed to be here, not really. You’re the kind of person who shows up at these things with a friend, clutches a red cup full of something you won’t finish, and smiles politely at the chaos around you. You don’t belong in the thick of it. You never do.

And yet, here you are.

Standing by the makeshift beer pong table, watching Saxon Ratliff and Rafe Cameron destroy their opponents with a kind of reckless confidence that makes it look easy. Rafe is silent, his jaw locked, eyes razor-sharp as he lines up his shot, sinking another ball without so much as a smirk. Saxon, though, Saxon is eating this up, grinning as he flexes his fingers, talking shit with a voice that’s way too smooth for someone half a bottle deep.

They’re winning. Of course, they are.

Saxon catches your gaze mid-laugh, eyes flicking to you like he knew you were watching him before you even realized you were. His grin widens, and he raises the ball between his fingers, tilting his head in your direction.

“C’mere.”

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to, but because the way he’s looking at you, like he knows something you don’t, makes your stomach twist in ways it shouldn’t.

Still, you move closer, slow, your fingers tightening around your cup. Saxon’s already reaching for you by the time you do, fingers brushing against your wrist, warm and confident.

“Give it a kiss,” he murmurs. “For good luck.”

Your lips part, heat crawling up your neck. “That’s stupid.”

He smirks. “Yeah? Do it anyway.”

You should say no. You really should. But Saxon’s looking at you like he knows you won’t, like he’s already won this game, and somehow, that’s worse. So you do it. You lean in, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss against the ping-pong ball, and you swear he breathes a laugh when you do, quiet and full of something slow and smug.

And then, of course, he makes the shot.

The room erupts into chaos, drinks spilling, voices rising. Saxon basks in it, dragging a hand through his hair as he turns back to you, his grin full of something victorious. Rafe just shakes his head, exhaling sharply like he’s unimpressed, but the way his eyes flick to you as he takes a swig of his drink tells you otherwise.

And that should be it. That should be the end of it. But somehow, it isn’t.

Because now they’re both following you around the party, circling you like you’re something to be won. And maybe you are.

“You a freshman?” Saxon asks, leaning way too close, his breath warm against your temple.

“Sophomore,” you murmur.

Rafe hums, standing just behind you, the contrast between their energies almost dizzying. Where Saxon is all heat and teasing touches, fingers ghosting against your waist, your wrist, your shoulder, Rafe is steady, quiet, eyes dark as they flicker down to the way your breath catches.

“You look like you don’t belong here,” Rafe observes, and there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel small and exposed.

Your throat tightens. “I was invited.”

Saxon grins, tilting his head. “Yeah? By who?”

You glance away. That was probably the wrong thing to say.

Rafe’s hand brushes against the small of your back, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing something. “What’s your major?”

You swallow. “Film.”

Saxon laughs, deep and slow. “That makes sense.”

Your brows pull together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Saxon just smirks, but Rafe, Rafe leans in closer, his voice barely above a murmur. “Means you’re soft,” he says, his breath teasing the shell of your ear. “All sweet and careful.”

Saxon chuckles. “You one of those girls that reads romance novels and thinks she’s above all this?”

You open your mouth to argue, but it’s useless, they’re talking like you aren’t even here, like you’re something fragile between them, something to be studied and toyed with.

“Bet she’s never even done a keg stand,” Saxon teases.

Rafe smirks. “Bet she hasn’t even funneled a beer.”

Your face burns. “That’s not exactly—”

“You drink whiskey?” Saxon interrupts.

Your lips press together. “Not really.”

Rafe leans against the wall beside you, watching the way Saxon tips back his cup, throat bobbing as he swallows. “Not really,” Rafe repeats, shaking his head like that’s amusing.

Saxon grins, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s cute,” he says, and the worst part is, you can’t even tell if he’s mocking you.

Your stomach tightens. “I should go find my friends.”

Saxon tuts, fingers grazing the back of your neck like he’s barely holding himself back. “They can wait.”

Rafe smirks. “Yeah. We’re having fun.”

And the worst part?

They’re right.

The party only grows louder, the heat of bodies pressed together making the air feel suffocating. But somehow, with them, Saxon grinning, Rafe watching, their touches light but deliberate, it’s not the crowd that has your head spinning. It’s them.

You don’t know how it happens. Maybe it’s the way Saxon’s hand finds the small of your back as he leans in, murmuring something low and teasing in your ear. Maybe it’s the way Rafe lingers, his gaze burning into you like he’s unraveling you thread by thread.

Or maybe it’s the way they move, together, separate, effortless in their control.

You don’t know how it happens, but suddenly, you’re upstairs.

The music is muffled from here, the dim hallway a stark contrast to the chaos below. Saxon tugs you forward with an ease that should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not really. He kicks open a door, stepping inside like he owns the place, and Rafe follows, the door clicking shut behind him.

You should leave. You should say something. But Saxon’s already tilting his head at you, his grin lazy and amused.

“C’mere, pretty.”

You swallow. Your feet move before you can think, drawn into the gravity of him.

Saxon’s fingers ghost over your hip, the heat of his touch barely there but still enough to make you shiver. Rafe is behind you now, solid and unyielding, his presence alone making your pulse stutter.

Saxon tips his head, his gaze flickering over your face. “You nervous?”

“No,” you whisper, though the way your breath catches betrays you.

Rafe chuckles, low and knowing. “Liar.”

His hand finds your waist, steady, grounding, and then Saxon’s fingers are brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up. You barely have a second to think before his lips are on yours.

Soft at first, slow, like he’s savoring it. But then he deepens it, his fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you closer, swallowing the quiet sound that escapes you.

And then he’s gone.

Your eyes flutter open, dazed, breath uneven. Saxon smirks, running his tongue over his bottom lip like he can still taste you.

“Pretty,” he murmurs.

Your stomach tightens.

And then, Rafe.

He doesn’t hesitate. His hand tilts your chin up just enough before his lips are on yours, rougher, more demanding, like he’s proving something. You whimper against him, and he makes a sound low in his throat, his other hand finding your hip, gripping just enough to make you ache.

When he pulls back, his breath fans against your cheek, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Baby,” he murmurs.

You shudder.

Saxon chuckles, his fingers tracing the bare skin of your arm. “Think she likes that.”

Rafe smirks. “Think she does too.”

And then, Saxon’s mouth finds your neck.

Warm and slow, teasing kisses against the sensitive skin, his breath hot as he hums against you. Your head tips back before you can stop it, lips parting as your hands find his shoulders.

Rafe watches. And then he’s there too, his lips tracing the other side of your neck, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers skimming the curve of your waist.

You should stop this. You should pull away.

But you don’t.

Because when Saxon grins against your skin and murmurs, “You’re so damn pretty,” and Rafe drags his lips up to your ear, whispering, “You like this, don’t you, baby?”

You can’t bring yourself to deny it.

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Me and Cody Rhodes (way more than slight)

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Omg thank you sm the new episode left me queezy ima pretend I didn’t watch ts

LOCHLAN SMUT PLEASEEE everything im seeing is so fluffy but we all saw the way he kisses so um 👀

PINKY PROMISE

lochlan ratliff and reader smut

The boat sways gently beneath you, the ocean stretching endlessly into the dark. Everything feels too much, the soft hum of waves, the distant laughter below deck, the warmth of your skin against the cool night air. You’ve never done drugs before, and now you’re out of your mind, your senses cranked up to a hundred. You can feel everything. The way the wind grazes your arms, the rough texture of the boat’s carpet beneath you, the erratic thudding of your own heart.

Lochlan sits across from you, legs crossed, his fingertips trailing absentmindedly over the floor. His pupils are blown, his lips parted like he’s trying to catch his breath even though he hasn’t been running. You’re hugging your knees to your chest, trying to steady yourself, but you can’t. You’re both too aware, and it’s making you jittery.

It’s not like everyone else. They’d crashed a while ago, scattered below deck, passed out in a tangle of limbs and abandoned drinks. But you and Lochlan? You’re still here. Stuck in this hyper-aware, touch-starved limbo.

You try to distract yourself, rambling about the game earlier, how ridiculous it was, how terrifying it felt in the moment. Lochlan listens, a lazy smirk on his face, nodding along as you giggle.

“You practically made out with Saxon,” you tease, nudging his knee with your foot.

He groans, rolling his eyes, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’re bringing it up. “That was barely making out.”

You laugh harder than you should, breathless and lightheaded. It feels like you can’t stop. It’s like everything is funny right now.

Lochlan chuckles too, but then his laughter fades, his smile lingering but different now. A little tense. A little hesitant.

You’re still giggling to yourself when he finally speaks.

“Saxon kissed you.”

Your breath catches slightly.

“He was practically trying to eat you,” he adds, and his voice is teasing, but there’s something else beneath it. Something unreadable.

Your stomach twists.

“Yeah,” you mumble, pressing your cheek against your knee. “It was… weird.”

He watches you carefully.

You exhale, licking your lips. “Like, it was rough.” You frown slightly, trying to piece together the right words. “Like I had to force myself to like it.”

Lochlan’s fingers flex slightly on the carpet. His knee bounces once before stopping.

Then he says, “I could do a better job than that.”

Your head snaps toward him, eyes wide, before you burst into laughter. You’re convinced he’s joking.

But he doesn’t laugh.

He just looks at you, waiting.

Your smile falters slightly, your heart hammering against your ribs. You try to play it off, voice wobbly as you tease, “You don’t have any experience.”

He smirks a little. “I wouldn’t try to swallow you.”

That warmth in your stomach spreads, creeping up your neck. The boat sways gently, and suddenly, you feel weightless.

“Can I try?” he asks, voice softer this time.

You don’t say yes.

You don’t say no, either.

And he doesn’t know what that means, so he just leans in.

Your breath stutters, but you don’t move away.

At first, it’s just a peck, soft and fleeting. He pulls back, grinning like this is the funniest thing in the world, but you’re not laughing.

He notices.

This time when he leans back in, it’s different.

His lips press into yours again, slow and unsure but eager, and you kiss him back, tentatively at first. He exhales through his nose like he’s relieved, like he wasn’t sure if you’d kiss him back at all. His hands slide down your back, hesitating before settling on your hips.

It’s awkward and clumsy and neither of you care.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, unsure, barely touching, until he presses forward, his weight gently easing you onto the carpet. Your back meets the floor, and then he’s above you, hovering, breath shaky, eyes locked on yours.

The world around you fades, the ocean, the boat, the distant murmurs from below deck.

Just you. Just him.

His lips find yours again, and this time it’s deeper. Slow. Uncertain. His hands tighten on your waist, then drift lower, settling just above your thighs like he’s testing the waters.

You exhale sharply against his mouth, gripping his shoulders tighter. He tilts his head, pressing closer, and your stomach flips, heat coiling low in your belly.

The touches are hesitant, inexperienced, but it doesn’t matter.

As you and Lochlan's kiss deepened, you felt something inside you ignite, an ache that spread through your body, demanding attention, demanding satisfaction. You pushed yourself up, your chests pressing against each other, and Lochlan's hands instinctively slid down to your hips, gripping you tightly, anchoring you to him.

You could feel his need, matching your own, as he pulled you closer, his body molding against yours, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. You moved together, the kiss growing more urgent, more desperate. Lochlan's fingers dug into your skin, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins.

Lochlan’s breath was uneven, his forehead barely brushing against yours as he hovered over you. The moonlight reflected off the water, painting shifting silver patterns across his skin. His lips were pink and kiss-swollen, his pupils dark and blown wide.

He wasn’t trying to be rough, it didn’t suit him. But there was something different in the way he touched you now. A little more sure of himself, a little more desperate. His hands traced tentative patterns down your sides, warm and steady, but there was an urgency to the way he kissed you, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt beneath him.

Your heart pounded so hard it nearly drowned out the waves lapping against the boat. You gasped softly when his fingers skimmed under the waistband of your bikini bottoms, not entirely pushing, just testing. Your hand instinctively closed around his wrist, stopping him.

Lochlan froze. His breath hitched, and he pulled back just enough to search your face, eyes flicking between yours, afraid he’d pushed too far.

“I—” he started, voice rough, but you shook your head quickly.

“It’s not that,” you whispered, though you weren’t even sure what that was. “You just…you donn’t know what you’re doing. Not really.” And the thought sent a nervous chill down your spine, despite the heat between you.

Lochlan let out a breathless laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah? Well, neither do you.”

You squinted at him, narrowing your eyes, and he smirked, soft, teasing, almost offended.

“Please…” His voice dropped, quiet and pleading. “Lemme try. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

You hesitated, searching his face for any hint of doubt, but there was none. Just Lochlan. Just the boy who had spent the whole night laughing with you, the boy who looked at you like you were something delicate and precious, even as his hands trembled slightly against your skin.

Finally, you nodded.

His lips parted slightly, exhaling in quiet relief. But before he could do anything, you grabbed his face between your hands, making sure he was looking right at you.

“You can’t tell anyone,” you whispered, voice firm despite the way it wavered at the edges. “I mean it. No matter how much Saxon gets in your head, you can’t spill.”

Lochlan’s brows furrowed. “Saxon doesn’t get in my head.”

You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Promise me.”

Something flickered behind his eyes before he sighed, holding out his pinky. “I won’t tell. Pinky promise.”

You hesitated for half a second before wrapping your pinky around his.

The moment you did, he pressed you back down against the soft, warm deck, lips crashing onto yours again, filled with a new kind of urgency. His fingers dipped under your waistband, dragging your swim bottoms down just enough for him to kiss along your stomach, slow and reverent, like he was worshiping you.

You feel his hands on your bikini bottoms, pulling it down slowly, giving you the opportunity to stop him if you want to. But you remain motionless, staring at the ceiling, silently granting him permission to continue.

As the fabric slides down your legs, you sense his eyes drinking in the sight of your exposed skin. He lets out a barely audible breath, his voice a husky whisper that seems to vibrate against your flesh.

With deliberate care, he lifts your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The position is intimate, vulnerable, and you feel a flutter of trepidation mixed with excitement. You're not sure where this is headed, but you trust him enough to follow wherever he leads.

His fingers brush against your inner thighs, the light touch sending shivers down your spine. You hold your breath, anticipating what might come next. Instead of plunging ahead, he parts your legs the slightest bit, as if savoring the taste of uncertainty.

Then, without warning, his face descends, his breath hot against your core. You gasp, your body tensing reflexively, but he continues undeterred,he moves closer and presses a feather-light kiss against your clit. The sensation is electric, and you can't help but clamp your thighs around his head, a mix of pleasure and embarrassment washing over you.

"Ow," he murmurs, his voice muffled by your grip. "Sorry," you whisper.

He returns between your thighs, his tongue gliding over your slick folds in long, languid strokes. Each pass sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, your hips twitching involuntarily in response. Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close, unsure whether to guide him or not.

As he works, his nose occasionally brushes against your clit, the slight friction adding another layer of pleasure. Your moans grow louder, more urgent, your body beginning to quake with the approaching climax.

His movements become more insistent, his tongue delving deeper, exploring every hidden crevice. You're lost in a haze of pleasure, your mind foggy with the sheer intensity of the sensations coursing through your veins.

Suddenly, a particularly skilled lick sends you over the edge. A strangled cry tears from your throat as your body seizes, convulsing in your orgasm. Your hand flies to your mouth, muffling the sound as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

When you start to relax, you release your death grip on his hair, panting heavily. He looks up at you, mouth wide curled into a shocked smile and he laughs at the sound you made. Without warning, he peppers your thigh with soft kisses.

Irritation flickers across your features as he laughs at your post-orgasmic vulnerability. You shove his forehead half-heartedly, trying to hide the pure utter embarrassment in your face. He catches your wrist, his grip gentle but firm, and presses a tender kiss to your palm.

Satisfied with the gesture, you relax into the carpet, the cool fibers a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from your skin.

With a contented sigh, he reaches over to gently tug your bikini bottoms back into place, covering your still-sensitive flesh.

He lays beside you on his back quietly. The both of you breathing heavily but at different paces, chests rising up and down at different times. Not even looking at you. And you not looking at him. Almost trying to see if you regret what you had just done.

Neither of you speaks, content to drown in the aftermath of your shared experience. Eventually, you both turn to face each other, exchanging smiles.

Breaking the silence, you both erupt in laughter.

sorry this is so long but this was my first time writing smut and I was feeling like Shakespeare.. I got a lot of requests and I’m trying to do them all in a short span of time..

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @yearlyism @cinnamoncunt

introducing 70s BABYDOLL READER paired with 70s chris

“That summer of 1976, when everybody called me baby and it didn’t occur to me to mind”

Her voice is smooth, with a soft New York accent that peeks through in her vowels, giving her words a rhythm all their own. It’s the kind of voice you could listen to for hours, whether she’s humming along to a Bee Gees tune or passionately defending her love for disco. While everyone else seems to roll their eyes at her playlist, she just laughs and turns the volume up, unapologetically dancing to the beat of her own world.

She’s always got a little gloss on her lips and a smirk in her eyes, like she knows something you don’t. There’s a warmth to her presence, a softness that makes people want to be better just to deserve her attention. She doesn’t demand it, though—she’s not the kind of girl who needs to shout to be heard. Her laugh is soft but unforgettable, the kind that sticks in your head long after she’s gone, like a melody you can’t quite place.

She has a passion for little joys—collecting vinyl records, baking cookies she insists aren’t perfect, but everyone eats anyway, and reading paperbacks with broken spines. She loves the smell of old books and the sound of rain against her window, and she swears there’s no better feeling than stepping onto a dance floor under shimmering disco lights. She’s not a loud person, but there’s something magnetic about her—a quiet kind of confidence that makes her impossible to ignore.

She’s gentle but firm, the kind of person who listens without judgment but doesn’t hesitate to call you out when you’re being ridiculous. She believes in authenticity, in living life fully, even if that means sticking out a little more than she intended. And when she looks at you, it feels like she’s seeing right through every facade, straight into the core of who you are—and liking what she finds.

@issysh3ll

I hope when yall read my Chris and Matt fic you read them with an accent.. because I do imagine them in the 70s to have a more profound Italian accent idk why just trust me on this. (Plus it’s way hotter)

Her.

ahhhhhh!!! this is too adorable

ִ ☆゙ mylene’s pick

@throatgoat4u @camsturnz <3 tags u don’t gotta if you don’t want but this is adorable

cuties tap in .ᐟ

we’re going on a date ˚｡⋆. ♡

pick : a triplet, a jelly cat, and an erewhon smoothie

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ angel’s pick

inspired by @bernardsbendystraws tags 🤍🪽

tag your fav you want to see blogs to do this!

Give me time to grieve.. please.

I hate my family I hate my family I hate my family omg I hate these hoes