#Tips to Lose Weight in a Month

[onlineshop024]

How I lost weight from 85 to 54 kg in just 2 months

Hi ladies! You all noticed that I lost a lot of weight and started bombarding me with questions. I tried my best to answer and support you all, but I couldn’t (I would have to live online to answer so many messages). So, I decided to write this post to answer the million dollar question: “How did you manage to lose 31 kg?” (Please note, this is not to say that you shouldn’t write to me or ask me anything, it just makes my life easier.)

My transformation lasted only TWO MONTHS! INCREDIBLE RESULT, DON’T YOU AGREE?

SEE MORE DETAILS >>>

[jesse-ben-israel]

Marine Life Survival Led to My AMAZING Fitness Transformation!

Surviving Marine Life: A Journey to Fitness and Self-Discovery Join me as I take on the challenge of surviving marine life for a week and see if I can come out fitter than ever. I still remember the day I decided to take the plunge and live among the marine life for a week. It was a crazy idea, but deep down, I knew it was an opportunity to push my limits and discover a new side of myself. And…

[semaglutidejourney]

https://www.gettrimtampa.com

[ujusttry]

How Can I Lose Weight in 6 Months?

Discover how to lose weight in 6 months with a balanced diet, exercise routine, and healthy habits. Achieve sustainable weight loss and transform your lifestyle.

Lose weight in 6 months (How Can I Lose Weight in 6 Months?) by following a structured plan that includes a balanced diet, regular exercise, and healthy lifestyle changes. This guide will walk you through practical steps to achieve your weight loss goals sustainably, without resorting to extreme measures. Whether you’re just starting or need to fine-tune your approach, you’ll find everything you…

[gloomwitchwrites]

i saw a tiktok of a heavily pregnant woman saying “maybe i dont give him butterflies anymore but i do give him high blood pressure” then they walk by their S/O with a latter and power tools. and i have been thinking about how the guys would react ever since

Oh, anon. This is so cute! I love this. I know the trend you're talking about, but I feel like I haven't seen it with pregnant women specifically, but I find it even more hilarious if it is. I had a lot of fun with this one. Thank you for sending it in!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, dad!141, pregnancy, married life, parenthood, domestic fluff

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Get off the ladder, cabbage.” John exhales, trying his best to keep his voice calm.

You’re standing just high enough on the ladder to rest your pregnant belly on the top rung. John stands directly behind you, both hands firmly planted on either side of you against the rail. It’s not to support the ladder but to catch you if you fall. A potentially likely possibility since you’re carrying extra weight in front of you. You could easily tip back enough to lose your balance.

“I’m fine, John,” you reply, continuing on as if he’s not worrying.

It’s maddening how relaxed you are, like the potential factor of danger is a completely foreign concept.

“Please,” he emphasizes. “Get off the ladder.”

“Why?” you ask. “I’m more than capable.”

“You are,” he agrees. “But you’re also pregnant.”

“So?”

“Cabbage,” warns John.

“Fine,” you exhale.

John keeps his hands on your hips the entire time. When you’re back on solid ground, some of that tension melts away, but his heart still thumps quickly.

You lightly cup his cheek, batting your eyelashes at him. “Were you worried about me, John?”

John places his hand on your belly. “Worried about all three of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle sits at the kitchen table, sorting through the mail. With a heavy sigh, he opens the energy bill, removing the paperwork, reading over the breakdown of energy usage for the month.

From his peripheral, Kyle notices movement. Glancing away from the itemized bill, Kyle’s gaze softens when you walk into the kitchen. You’re pregnant, close to your due date. Even waddling around, Kyle can’t seem to keep his hands off you.

He leans back in his chair, appreciating you for a few languid seconds, then his heart drops into his stomach.

“Damn it all. Put that down, love.”

Kyle shoots out of his chair, trying to calmly but quickly make it over to you.

“I’m fine,” you insist, attempting to walk by. “I can assemble it.”

“No.” Kyle’s tone is firm but gentle. “Give it here.”

His heart is pounding, anxiety spiking from not just the power drill you carry, but the cardboard box full of wood you’re attempting to guide down the hall.

“You sit here.” He points to the chair. “Sort the mail. I’ve got this.”

You slowly ease down into the chair, and Kyle breathes deep, trying to calm his nerves. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters.

John "Soap" MacTavish

He hears your footsteps first, and then your voice as you curse under your breath.

Johnny lounges on the sofa, reclining against a fluffy pillow. At his feet are his two-year old twin daughters. On the television, a Bluey episode plays. The girls aren’t watching. They’re smashing their dolls together and running them over with the yellow toy excavator.

Sitting up, Johnny glances over the top of the couch

At first, he smiles. Then frowns. Then launches himself off the couch.

“Put it down,” commands Johnny. “Drop it.” He steps on a doll and winces, wobbling slightly.

You turn toward him, pregnant belly coming into view. You’re carrying a ladder, the large one, and you’re not supposed to be lifting anything over a certain weight.

“Down,” he repeats. “Put it down.”

You roll your eyes and turn away. Johnny makes it to you quickly, grabbing the ladder and placing it on the floor.

“What are you thinking?” he asks. “You’re bloody pregnant.”

“Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m—I’m not yelling,” soothes Johnny, cupping your face in his hands. “But you gave me a right scare, yeah?” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll take care of it. Go sit with the girls.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon is curled up on the sofa, a precious bundle in his lap. His two-year old daughter rests her head against his chest, gaze focused on the colorful pages.

“He started to look for some food,” reads Simon from The Very Hungry Caterpillar. “On Monday he ate through one apple.” His daughter traces the outline of the apple, and then runs her finger over the caterpillar. “But he was still hungry.”

As Simon turns the page, he hears your soft but determined footsteps. He briefly looks away from the book, his gaze falling on your belly, round and full of his child. Inwardly, he smiles, knowing that the family you’ve created together is about to grow by one.

“On Tuesday he ate through two pears,” continues Simon. “But he was still—”

His voice disappears, and his stomach flips, blood pressure spiking as he watches you turn the corner. You have a step stool tucked under your arm and a drill in your hand.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters, lifting his daughter out of his lap and placing her on the sofa. “Daddy will be back shortly, doll.”

He kisses the top of her head, and then takes off after you. With the added weight, your steps are slow, and it only takes Simon a few strides to walk past you and cut you off before you make it to the nursery.

“What are you doing?” he asks, reaching for the drill.

“Hanging a painting,” you reply like it’s no big deal.

Simon sighs. “Give it here.”

“I can do it,” you insist, turning away from his reaching hands.

Simon plucks the drill out of your hand and holds it out of reach. “Give me the step stool.” With a pout, you surrender it. “Gonna give me a bloody heart attack.”

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - non/con, manipulation, mentions of breeding, and unbalanced power dynamics.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's ecstatic the day his owner, Suguru, brings you home. He's the pinnacle of a spoiled pet, constantly showered in toys and treats and affection, but his owner's a busy man, and he tends to sulk when left home alone. He's had other companions before, another leopard hybrid who nearly killed him before being released back into the wild and a black panther who somehow proved to be a worse influence on Satoru than Satoru was on her, but you're supposed to be more permanent solution, another hosuepet to keep him company when Suguru can't. You're a sweet little housecat, all wide-eyes and raised ears, but still, Suguru wouldn't be surprised if you're begging to go back to the shelter less than an hour after meeting your new roommate.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who falls in love with you immediately. Suguru practically has to keep him in a chokehold while you explore your new home, eventually curling up on your new bed. Satoru's on top of you as soon as he gets loose, purring obnoxiously while he runs his bristled tongue over your cheek. Suguru's half-convinced that your first day's going to end with bloody claws and bandages, but you only nuzzle into his chest and knead at the blankets underneath you. Satoru's a difficult cat to put up with, and Suguru's relieved that you, at least, find him tolerable.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's absolutely massive compared to you. The tips of your pointed ears barely reach his collarbones, and your wrist is only as thick as his fluffy tail. His favorite hobby quickly becomes carrying you from room to room despite your softly mewled protests, and he's not happy unless he's pressed against you as closely as possible. He used to force himself into Suguru's lap whenever possible, but now, he's unbearable unless you're sitting pretty in his. He doesn't even complain when you lose your temper and dig your little fangs (barely half the size of his - a poor imitation of a real predator's) into his arm, just grinning as he tugs at your ears and pinches your cheeks. He's not exactly a wild animal, but he's still at the top of his food chain. You're not quite a mouse, but you might as well be, compared to him.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's calling you his mate after less than a full month. You don't know what it means, often parroting it back as more of a question than a term of endearment, and Suguru just brushes it off as Satoru being deliberately irritating. He keeps it up, though. even after you start refusing to respond to it.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who starts introducing you to new "games". You know you don't stand a chance against him, but somehow, he always manages to goad you into roughhousing, into squirming as he pins you under his full weight. He likes to dangle things above your head, to see how long it takes your instincts to get the best of you before your chest is pressed against his and you're pouting so adorably as you jump and bat at his hand. Sometimes, when you fall asleep mid-grooming session, he'll let his mouth wander lower than it should, and you'll wake up to his tongue lapping over your chest, his face buried between your thighs in a way that leaves you teary-eyed and warm. You've tried to tell Suguru, but you always get embarrassed and end up mumbling something as vague as 'Satoru's being mean to me, again.' In the end, Satoru only ever gets a slap on the wrist and a new reason to tease you, next time Suguru turns his back.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who fucks you whenever Suguru isn't home. He planned on waiting for your first heat (delayed by your shelter suppressants and the stress of a new home), and he knows he's not supposed to, but he just can't get enough of having your smaller body curled up underneath his, your tail thrashing from side to side as he lazily rolls his hips against yours. You tend to whine, at first, to go on and on about how weird it feels and how much it hurts, but as soon he gets his cock inside of you, all those complaints tend to go away. It's almost funny, how easily your stupid little kitty mind gets all hazy and cockdrunk. He always loves you, but he loves you most when you're drooling and purring for his cum, begging him to breed you properly between hitched moans.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's not even mad when Suguru catches him bouncing your half-conscious, fucked-out body on his cock. He wants to be the best possible mate for you, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't willing to show you off <3

[enhaflixer]

jungwon x f!reader - truth or dare

cw: smut backshots, truth or dare a party some alcohol overstim fucking in a hallway playing hard to get reader

wc: 4K

-

The air inside Sunghoon’s apartment was thick with warmth, laughter, and the low thrum of bass-heavy music bleeding from the speaker in the corner. The living room, dimly lit by cheap string lights and the occasional glow of someone’s phone screen, was comfortably chaotic—half-empty beer bottles on the coffee table, abandoned playing cards scattered across the floor, and the faint smell of smoke drifting in from the open balcony door.

It was a typical night, the kind that started with everyone pretending to be responsible and ended with terrible decisions made over drinks that tasted like battery acid. At least, that’s how it always went with this group. Someone would drink too much. Someone would say something they shouldn’t. Someone would push a boundary just to see how far they could take it before it snapped.

Tonight, that someone was Jungwon.

His eyes had been on you all night. Watching. Waiting. Calculating. It wasn’t the kind of attention you could ignore, not when it felt like a slow, deliberate pull against your skin, a weight settling in the space between your shoulders. He was leaning back in the chair across from you, his posture lazy, one arm draped over the backrest like he had all the time in the world. The amber liquid in his glass swirled idly under his fingers, but his gaze—dark, unreadable, patient—never left you.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. At least, not yet.

Jungwon had always played this game too well. He never pushed outright, never gave too much away. Instead, he let his presence sink into the background, subtle but undeniable, like a whisper against the nape of your neck that you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. He was a walking contradiction—soft-spoken but sharp, polite but dangerous, calm but never still. Always watching, always waiting, like he was just biding his time until you let your guard slip.

And you hated it.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

If anyone else in this room looked at you the way he did, if anyone else had the audacity to sit back with that quiet little smirk and wait for you to break first, you would’ve shut it down in an instant. You would have rolled your eyes, called them a creep, and gone right back to pretending they didn’t exist.

But this was Jungwon.

Jungwon, who had spent the past few months testing you. Jungwon, who had a habit of getting under your skin in ways that felt almost calculated, like he was learning you. Figuring out what made you tick, what made you squirm, what made you second-guess yourself even when you swore you wouldn’t.

Jungwon, who knew you liked it.

The worst part was that he never actually called you out on it. Never forced the subject, never acknowledged the weight of his own attention, never once said anything that could be used as proof that any of this—whatever this was—was real. He didn’t have to. He just looked at you like he already knew the answer.

And the problem was, he wasn’t wrong.

The sound of Jake’s voice cut through the air, sharp and mischievous as always. “Alright, everyone shut up. We need a game.”

There was a collective groan from the group, though no one actually made an effort to leave. If anything, some of them perked up, already sensing that whatever Jake had in mind was going to be just chaotic enough to be entertaining.

“Please don’t say beer pong,” Sunghoon muttered, taking a slow sip from his drink. “I don’t have the patience to watch you throw a tantrum when you lose again.”

Jake scoffed, offended. “First of all, I have never thrown a tantrum in my life. Second of all, that was one time, and I should have won because—”

“No one cares,” Heeseung deadpanned, tipping his bottle in Jake’s direction. “Get to the point.”

Jake, unbothered as always, simply grinned. “Truth or Dare.”

This time, the reaction was immediate. Sunghoon groaned again, louder this time. Jay muttered something under his breath about how he should’ve left an hour ago. Someone else laughed, already grabbing another drink like they were preparing for whatever was about to happen.

You, however, felt something shift.

The second those words left Jake’s mouth, you felt it—a quiet but distinct shift in the air, an almost imperceptible pull that dragged your focus back to Jungwon.

Because when you finally did look at him, when your gaze flickered up and met his across the dimly lit room, you realized something that sent a slow, creeping heat curling through your stomach.

He was already looking at you.

He was smirking.

It was subtle, barely there, just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but you saw it. You felt it. That silent confirmation that he knew. That he had been waiting for this exact moment. That he had already won.

Jungwon’s voice was smooth when he finally spoke, quiet enough that you almost had to strain to hear him.

“I’m in.”

He said it like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t expecting anything from it, like he wasn’t sitting across from you with all the patience in the world as he waited to see what you would do.

It wasn’t fair.

The worst part was that no one else seemed to notice. No one noticed the way Jungwon was watching you like he was waiting for something, like he had already decided exactly how this was going to play out and was just waiting for you to realize it too.

You weren’t about to back down.

Lifting your drink to your lips, you took a slow sip, ignoring the way your stomach tightened under the weight of his attention. When you set your glass down again, you leaned back into the couch, tilting your head slightly, and let your lips curl into something just shy of a smirk.

“Fine,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “Let’s play.”

Jungwon didn’t react right away. He let the words hang between you for a second, stretching the tension just long enough to feel intentional, before the smirk on his lips deepened just slightly.

The game had started off simple enough. Truth or Dare. A childhood staple turned into an excuse to push limits under the guise of drunken amusement. Someone had already been dared to take three consecutive shots of the worst vodka in the apartment, another had been forced to send an embarrassingly explicit text to their ex, and at some point, Sunghoon had been dared to kiss Jay, which had resulted in an explosion of laughter and a very flustered Jay swearing he would get revenge.

But none of that mattered. Not to you. Not when Jungwon was sitting across from you, watching, waiting, looking as though he already knew exactly how this was going to end. He was relaxed, too relaxed, one arm slung casually over the back of the chair, fingers tapping an idle rhythm against his thigh, his glass cradled in the other hand as he took slow, measured sips. But his eyes—dark, unreadable, knowing—were fixed on you, making the space between you feel smaller than it actually was.

He had been watching you all night.

It was subtle, the way his gaze never strayed for long, the way he seemed unaffected by the noise and movement around him. He was patient, unnervingly so, biding his time, waiting for the inevitable. There was something about him that always felt like a challenge, something that made it impossible to ignore him, even when you tried. And God, had you tried.

The worst part was that he knew.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

And when Jake spun the bottle and it landed directly on you, you knew it too.

The chatter in the room shifted slightly, just enough to signal that people were paying attention. Anticipation crackled in the air, feeding into the slight tension already woven between your shoulders. Jake grinned, the kind of grin that meant nothing good, and leaned forward.

“Alright, princess. Truth or dare?”

Your breath was steady, controlled. You could feel Jungwon’s eyes on you, heavy, expectant. If you picked truth, Jake would find a way to expose you. If you picked dare, you would be putting yourself at his mercy, at whatever fucked-up, boundary-pushing challenge he had been waiting to throw at you.

And yet, you still found yourself saying, “Dare.”

Jake’s grin widened, slow and satisfied, his gaze flickering between you and Jungwon.

“I dare you to sit on Jungwon’s lap.”

The shift in the room was immediate.

The laughter dulled, the conversations thinned out, and suddenly, it felt like every single person in the apartment was waiting for you to react. Even the music seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of your own breathing, too sharp, too aware. You weren’t looking at Jungwon, but you didn’t have to. You could feel him, could practically sense the amusement rolling off him in waves, the anticipation humming beneath his carefully crafted exterior.

There was no way out of this.

Not without losing.

And you refused to lose.

With a slow inhale, you pushed yourself up, moving toward him with measured steps, refusing to let the moment feel as monumental as it did. The second you reached him, he tilted his chin, his smirk deepening, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He just spread his legs a fraction wider, resting one arm lazily over the back of the chair, waiting.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, smooth, amused. “Scared you’ll like it?”

Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you rolled your eyes, acting unaffected, and sank down into his lap, gripping his shoulders for balance. It was meant to be simple. A dare. A game.

But the second you settled against him, you realized your mistake.

Because he was hard. Already.

A slow pulse of heat spread through your stomach, coiling tight, thickening your breath. You tried to shift, tried to find a neutral position, but the movement only made it worse, the friction sending an electric shock through your core. And Jungwon? He felt it. You knew he did. His fingers flexed against your waist, his grip firmer now, securing you in place before you could pull away.

His breath was warm when he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to something just above a whisper.

“…You’re wet.”

Your stomach plummeted.

Heat flooded your entire body, rushing up your neck, into your face, between your thighs. Every inch of you locked up, your hands tightening against his shoulders, your breath catching before you could stop it. And he felt that too.

The worst part was that he sounded satisfied.

He shifted beneath you, slow and deliberate, just enough to let you feel him, to feel everything. You sucked in a sharp breath, body going rigid, but his grip didn’t waver. If anything, he only held you tighter, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, barely grazing bare skin.

“Guess that answers my question.”

Your thighs clenched involuntarily, the pressure between your legs unbearable. Jungwon hummed, his grip tightening just enough to remind you who was in control.

“Careful,” he murmured, his fingers dragging over your skin. “Unless you want everyone to see how bad you want it.”

A shudder worked its way through you, a slow, involuntary reaction that only made him chuckle. His breath was steady, controlled, unaffected, while yours was dangerously close to ruined.

And then, before you could stop yourself—before you could think better of it—you moved.

Pressed down harder.

Jungwon inhaled sharply through his teeth, his fingers digging in. His jaw clenched, and for the first time, he slipped.

“You’re fucking with me.”

A slow, satisfied smirk curled at your lips, your nails dragging down his arms.

“Is it working?”

His hands snapped back to your waist, grip firm, unrelenting. His voice was lower now, wrecked.

“You better hope these people leave soon,” he muttered, his breath heavy, hot. “Because the second I get you alone?” His fingers slid lower.

“You’re done.”

-

The party was still going, but you weren’t there anymore. Not really. The room was a blur of half-drunk conversations and muffled music, voices blending into a meaningless hum as Jungwon’s words sank deep beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire. You’re done.

That should have been a warning. A threat. But all it did was send a pulse of heat straight to your core, an ache that made your thighs clench involuntarily. You shouldn’t have pressed down on him like that. You shouldn’t have let him feel how wet you were, how much you wanted this.

But it was too late. He knew. And now, he was going to make you pay for it.

Jungwon’s grip on your waist was still firm, fingertips pressing possessively into your sides as he leaned back slightly, his mouth brushing against your ear. His voice was low, calm, controlled—but beneath it was something darker. Something lethal.

“Get up.”

Your breath caught. He didn’t say it loudly, didn’t need to. The authority in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, made your stomach tighten with anticipation. You hesitated for only a second before obeying, pushing yourself off his lap, legs unsteady beneath you. He followed immediately, his movements smooth, purposeful, like he already knew exactly where this was going.

You barely had time to process what was happening before his fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip deceptively light as he led you through the crowd, weaving through the bodies without so much as a second glance. No one even noticed. No one saw the way his other hand lingered against the small of your back, or the way your pulse was hammering so hard you could hear it in your ears.

He didn’t stop until you were in the hallway.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you barely had time to take a breath before he was on you.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, his body pressing flush against yours, heat radiating through the thin fabric separating you. His hands found your hips instantly, his grip strong, unrelenting, possessive. His eyes were darker now, heavy-lidded, filled with something filthy.

“You think you can fuck with me like that?” His voice was different now, rougher, his breath warm as it ghosted over your jaw. “Grinding on my lap in front of everyone, acting like you don’t want me to ruin you?”

Your breath stuttered. Fuck.

He didn’t wait for an answer. His hands were already moving, sliding lower, gripping your ass hard before yanking you against him, forcing you to feel how hard he was. The friction sent a shockwave through you, made your fingers clench at his shoulders as a quiet whimper slipped past your lips.

Jungwon chuckled.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

His lips found your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses, his teeth grazing along the sensitive skin as his fingers worked their way under the hem of your shorts. His touch was teasing, barely-there, cruel in the way he traced the outline of where you needed him most but never quite touched.

“You’re soaked, sweetheart,” he murmured, nipping at your jaw as his hand finally dipped lower, sliding between your thighs. “Did grinding on my cock do this to you? Or have you been dripping for me all night?”

Your head fell back against the wall, breathless, desperate, but he wasn’t satisfied yet.

His fingers barely brushed against you before he withdrew, bringing them up between you, glossed in your arousal. His eyes locked onto yours, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his lips. And then—he pressed them against your mouth.

“Open.”

A quiet, strangled noise slipped past your lips. His voice was a command, sharp and absolute, and your body responded before your mind could catch up. Your lips parted, your tongue flicking out instinctively as he pushed his fingers inside, letting you taste yourself.

“Fuck,” he muttered, watching the way your mouth wrapped around his fingers, the way your tongue licked over them, cleaning up every drop. “You really are a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You shouldn’t have moaned at that. But you did.

His eyes darkened even more, his breath coming heavier now. His free hand slipped behind your head, tangling into your hair before he pulled you into a kiss so filthy it left you dizzy. His tongue shoved past your lips, licking into your mouth like he wanted to consume you, tasting the wetness he had just fed you, owning it.

His hips rolled forward, grinding against you just right, and suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the party still happening down the hall, not the fact that you should be ashamed of how easily you were coming undone for him. All that mattered was the way he was fucking devouring you.

His hand slid back down, slipping inside your shorts this time, pushing past your underwear until he was touching you properly. You choked out a gasp against his lips, your nails digging into his arms as he dragged his fingers through your wetness, slow and deliberate.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, his voice wrecked. “You’re dripping all over my hand.”

You whimpered, grinding down against his fingers, shameless. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. Needed him.

He must have sensed it, because his fingers curled suddenly, sliding inside with no resistance. Your body arched, your head tipping back against the wall, and he fucking grinned.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thrusting deeper, watching your face with pure hunger. “Take it. Let me hear you.”

The heat between you was unbearable. You weren’t sure when you had lost control, when pride had melted into something desperate, something raw, something so shamelessly filthy that you didn’t even care anymore. Maybe it was when his fingers first pushed inside you, stretching you open, fucking you slow like he had all the time in the world. Maybe it was when he licked his own fingers clean, tasting you, groaning about how sweet you were like he was going to fucking devour you.

Or maybe it was right now, when your head tipped back against the wall, legs spread wide, his fingers thrusting so deep into you that you couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips.

And fuck—the sounds.

Lewd, wrecked, absolutely obscene. Squelching, wet noises filled the empty hallway, a disgusting testament to how completely ruined you already were for him. And you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. You wanted more. You needed more.

Your thighs trembled around his wrist, your fingers digging into his shoulders, but he wasn’t satisfied yet. Not when you were this close to breaking. Not when your breath was coming out in shaky, broken whimpers, your body begging him without words.

But words were what he wanted. He wanted to hear you say it.

Jungwon slowed his fingers, barely moving inside you, just enough to keep the pressure, just enough to tease. His smirk was deadly, dark eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched you fall apart.

“You gonna beg for it?” His voice was smooth, dripping with arrogance. “Or are you still trying to pretend you don’t want me to fuck you senseless?”

A sharp whine ripped through your throat. Your head lolled forward, forehead resting against his shoulder, every ounce of shame burned away by the throbbing ache between your thighs. His fingers curled inside you, pressing against the spot that made your whole body jolt, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please,” you gasped, nails clawing into his arms. “Fuck me, Jungwon. Please. I need it. I need you.”

The words left your lips before you could stop them.

And Jungwon stilled.

For a moment, it was silent. His breath hitched, his fingers pausing inside you like he hadn’t expected that, like he had assumed he’d have to drag the desperation out of you. But here you were, falling apart in his hands, pleading for him without hesitation.

His lips parted slightly, his gaze dropping down to where his fingers were buried inside you, then back up to your face, taking in your flushed skin, your half-lidded eyes, your slick dripping down his wrist.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost in awe. “You’re really begging me, huh?”

His cock twitched against your thigh, hard as fucking steel, straining against his pants. His control was slipping. He was slipping.

And you wanted to break him completely.

You moaned, shifting against his fingers, your breath coming out in a messy, broken plea.

“Yes—please, please, please, I need you to fill me up—I need your cock inside me, I need you to ruin me, Jungwon, please, I’ll do anything.”

A low groan tore from his throat, deep and wrecked, his head tipping back for half a second before he lost it.

His fingers yanked out of you only to grip the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your thighs in one swift motion. You barely had time to process before he spun you around, pressing your chest against the wall, his palm splayed across your lower back as he forced you into a deep arch. Your fingers curled against the wall, your whole body trembling in anticipation.

“You want it that bad?” His voice was deeper now, breathless, wrecked.

You whimpered, nodding frantically. “Yes—yes, please—”

He clicked his tongue, his hand smacking against your ass hard enough to make you cry out.

“Say it properly.” His cock pressed against your bare skin now, hot and leaking through his boxers, teasing where you needed him most. “Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”

Your breath shuddered. Your brain was gone. Completely useless.

“I—I want you to fuck me until I can’t stand, until I can’t even think—I want you to fill me up, make me your fucking mess, make me scream—”

Jungwon swore under his breath. And then—

He shoved his cock inside you in one brutal thrust.

A ragged, filthy moan punched out of your chest, your body stretching around him, the delicious burn of it sending a shockwave through your spine. Your fingers scrambled for purchase against the wall as he bottomed out, stuffing you so deep you could feel it in your stomach.

Jungwon groaned, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his breath ragged.

“Holy fuck,” he gritted out. “You’re so fucking tight—”

Your walls clenched around him, making his hips jerk involuntarily, dragging another obscene squelch from between your legs. The sound alone had him groaning, biting down on your shoulder.

And then? He snapped.

He pulled back only to slam back in, setting a brutal, relentless rhythm, fucking you into the wall so hard that the framed picture beside your head shook. Your moans turned into screams, high-pitched and desperate, bouncing off the empty hallway walls, but you didn’t care. You wanted everyone to hear.

Jungwon was panting now, wrecked, completely fucking gone.

“Listen to yourself,” he growled, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you back onto his cock as he slammed forward again. “Fucking screaming for me. You really wanted this, huh? Wanted me to fuck you stupid?”

Your answer was nothing but a broken sob.

His hand reached around, slipping between your legs, rubbing tight, filthy circles on your clit. The pleasure was unbearable, your whole body shaking, throbbing, and you could feel it—

The inevitable. The uncontrollable.

“Come for me, baby,” he groaned against your ear. “Come all over my cock—let me feel you fucking fall apart.”

And then—

You shattered. Completely.

A loud, broken wail tore from your throat, your body locking up, spasming around him as your climax ripped through you. Your walls clamped down so tight that Jungwon lost it immediately after, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling inside you with a deep, wrecked groan.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The only sound was your ragged breathing, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around your waist. He stayed buried inside you, filling you up completely, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go yet.

-

The world outside the hallway didn’t exist anymore. Time had blurred into nothing but the aftershocks of pleasure, the slow hum of satisfaction thrumming through your veins as Jungwon’s body stayed pressed against yours, still buried deep inside you. The both of you were wrecked, breathing hard, coated in sweat and sin, the scent of sex thick in the air, clinging to your skin, to his.

You should have moved. You should have pulled away, found your clothes, pretended this never happened. But you didn’t.

Neither did he.

Instead, he tightened his arms around your waist, keeping you in place, his cock twitching slightly inside you, still hard, still refusing to let you go. A low hum rumbled against your shoulder, his lips brushing against your damp skin, slow, lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was raspy, sleep-heavy already, like he had decided that the night was far from over.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your body still overstimulated, burning. You tried to shift, but the movement only made him groan, his cock pressing deeper, making you whimper.

“Jungwon—”

“Shh.” His fingers slid up your stomach, dragging against your overheated skin before slipping beneath your jaw, tilting your face back to him. His lips ghosted over yours, not quite kissing, just tasting. “You can take it, baby. Just stay like this for me. Let me feel you.”

A sharp exhale left your lips, your pulse throbbing at the thought. The idea of staying like this all night, full of him, stretched around him, completely owned by him. You swallowed hard, your nails digging into his arm, your whole body fighting between exhaustion and the craving for more.

But the heat in his eyes told you exactly what he wanted.

And you wanted it too.

You nodded, barely breathing, and his smirk deepened. His fingers slipped lower, brushing against your still-sensitive clit, making you jolt.

“Good girl.”

He adjusted his grip, guiding you both towards the bedroom, his cock still buried inside you, refusing to slip out,refusing to give you even a second to feel empty. The sensation was overwhelming, filthy, unbearably intimate.

By the time he reached the bed, he pulled you down with him, settling you into his lap, his back against the headboard, his arms locking you in place. His hands traced slow, lazy circles over your bare thighs, completely unbothered by the way your body trembled from exhaustion.

You wanted to speak. Wanted to ask him why he was doing this. Why he wasn’t letting go.

But you already knew the answer.

Because this wasn’t the last time.

This wasn’t going to be a one-night thing, a mistake you could brush off in the morning.

Jungwon wasn’t going to let you forget this.

He shifted slightly, his cock twitching inside you, making a filthy, wet sound escape from between your legs, making your head tip back, your breath catching. His grip tightened.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not letting you leave until I’ve fucked you in every way I want.”

A sharp whimper escaped your lips, your fingers digging into his chest as he tilted his head, studying you like he was memorizing the way you were already breaking for him.

“You know that, right?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Your entire body was buzzing, aching, ruined.

Jungwon smiled, smug, knowing, victorious.

His hand slid up your back, gripping the nape of your neck as he pulled you forward, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. The kind that sealed the truth neither of you had spoken out loud yet.

This wasn’t the last time.

Not even close.

Because you were his now. And he had no intention of ever letting you go. Not until you knew exactly what it meant to belong to him.

-

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair @en-whims @prettygurlnikittie

[stuck-crowning]

A concept I've had stuck in my head for a while is an experimental facility where scientists are testing a procedure that makes humans produce and lay eggs. After a lot of trial and error they've got it down pretty well. The test subjects produce around 6-10 eggs a month in line with what used to be their menstrual cycle. The eggs are just a bit bigger than chicken eggs. Not super pleasant to push out but doable without much fuss. The whole project is viewed as a scientific triumph.

But what the news crews and scientific prize judges don't see are all of the poor souls who were in the first few rounds of testing before the procedure was perfected.

Some produce an egg every hour, their bellies filling quickly if they don't spend their whole day pushing them out. In the early stages they hadn't figured out how to standardize egg size so these unlucky subjects go from tiny grape sized eggs to eggs the size of grapefruit with no warning. Some become so fed up and exhausted from constantly birthing that they refuse to push for days despite their stomachs swelling and cramping. Just a day or two and they will appear full term with a human baby. Eventually the pressure will be too much and they will be forced to push. The backed up eggs will come shooting out of their holes much too fast making them scream. But once they start it's almost impossible to stop until most of the pressure has eased. At that point there will still be eggs inside and they will have to heave and strain, desperate to empty their overtaxed womb, knowing that even now a new egg is forming.

Others produce an egg less often, once every few days or so, but the eggs are much too big. Most are about as big around as a newborn's head. These unlucky subjects are forced to experience the agony of childbirth multiple times a week or, if they refuse to push, for hours at a time when they finally are forced to birth the built up eggs. The cruel irony is that the drugs used to induce egg production make their holes much more resilient meaning they stay tight never getting stretched out and lose no matter how many births they endure.

However, even they are fortunate in comparison to the most miserable test subject in the facility. They were one of the first to undergo the procedure and their body had a unique and unfortunate reaction. At first it seemed like it was working well. They produced a small clutch of fist sized eggs. Then on their next cycle one of the eggs grew extremely fast. Overnight it had grown larger than a full term baby. Their belly was stretched horribly, streaked with angry red stretch marks from being forced to expand much too fast. The scientists were baffled. They tried having the subject lay their eggs. They managed to pass all the regular sized eggs but it soon became apparent that the big egg would never be able to pass through their hips. It was completely stuck.

This subject is still in the facility now. They follow a miserable routine. Over the month their already overfull stomach swells until they finally feel the tell tale spasms of contractions. They squat and push, slowly laying 6 or so eggs the size of their fist. It's hard, agonizing work, each hard shell stretching them open and dragging against their sensitive walls.

Then comes the worst part. The weight of the giant egg settles into their hips. They push desperately, working the tip down into their birth canal. Several long hard pushes later the tip will be visible parting their lips, peaking out into the world. They will labor and push for hours and the egg will inch out of them, it's huge girth stretching their hole beyond its limit. Then, as it always does, the egg will stop moving. No matter how frantically they push they cannot move the egg out another millimeter. It is caught in their hips, too wide to pass through the pelvic opening. They will rock their hips and moan and cry in bitter frustration as their tortured hole spasms around the gargantuan egg.

Finally the staff takes pity on them and comes to their aid. The subject struggles and screams, pleading to be let to push for just a bit longer, they can do it this time, this time they'll get it out, it's almost there! please don't push it back in again!! But their pleas fall on deaf ears. They are held down and the giant egg is slowly pushed back into their womb. They howl in pain and cry with bitter frustration and the rough shell slides back inside. The terrible weight settles back into their perpetually stretched womb and the cycle begins again.

[joelsdagger]

only then, i am good || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs!!

pairing: daddy jackson!joel x f!reader summary: you have a bad day in which it makes you question your worth. only joel can make you see the truth. warnings: jackson era [well into the tlou2 timeline but nothing bad happens], implied age gap [i warn you, joel is old old], angst [in the form of internal turmoil], feelings of guilt/burdening, established relationship, dd/lg dynamics, soft daddy dom!joel, daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, finger sucking, pet names galore [baby, sweetheart, little girl, angel] size kink, reader is hella needy, reader has pubic hair bc i said so, smidgen of cockwarming, just the tip mention, dubcon*, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, nipple play, belly bulge, creampie, joel is reader’s personal weighted blanket, fluff, aftercare. *reader is not in the right headspace to properly consent to piv but she’s a-okay with it! word count: 3.8k

a/n: i’ve been to emotional (and physical) hell and back (are we back? who knows) these last few weeks and it had me yearning for daddy jackson!joel. so this is what this is. it’s a tad different from my typical style of writing and it’s not betaed and very very loosely proofread (barely looked thru it while in the waiting room lol), so it’s probably shit but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless xx

You should’ve double-checked the lock. Triple-checked it. As always. Hand to God, it slipped your mind. You were tired. Achy and sleepy, and you just wanted to go home. Back to Joel. Curl your spent body into the thick, burly warmth of his and let him cradle you until the whole day wipes itself from memory. 

You’ve been asking them for more responsibilities — a more serious role within Jackson, for months. After today, you’re sure they’ll never take you seriously. Never see you as one of them. They’re so much older and wiser — experienced. And you…well, you are not.

They never fuck up. Never make mistakes that would risk losing an important asset to this safe haven. And today you have. You fucked up. You don’t know how you forgot. It’s been your only job here, the only thing they let you have, and still — you messed it up. 

You forgot to lock the stall door to the stable for one of the horses. And not only did the horse escape but now the town is technically down one patrolman. You have completely thrown off the patrolling schedule, one that was meticulously crafted and has been in place long before you arrived in Jackson. It very rarely changed. 

You offered to lend a hand, practically begged them to send you out with the rest of the search party. But Maria, Tommy, and Joel all told you to go home while they sent a group (of which included Joel and Tommy themselves) outside the gates, well past dusk, to go looking for him. You felt entirely useless.

Begrudgingly, you scurried home, a beaten puppy in need of licking one’s wounds. Feeling the weight of the day and the frustration that has accumulated over months suddenly seeping into your bones, and you just…broke. You crawled into bed, alone in the dark, and you cried for hours, your mind spiraled, turning over the mistake you made, again and again and again. 

When it stops and the wracking sobs slow into shuddery hiccups, it’s only because you hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Tired. But steady — sure. And that nauseating sensation in the pit of your stomach returns as the footsteps grow closer and closer. 

The door creaks open slowly, pale yellow light from the hallway spills through the crack, your puffy eyes squint and flutter against the sudden light, shape of him vague in your blurry vision, but you know it’s him: tall frame, broad shoulders, pale skin, and dark features.  

Joel. 

You curl your body tighter, making yourself as small as possible. Close your eyes, and bury your tear-stained face back into the damp royal blue of his linens, the piney scent of him everywhere: his pillows, his sheets, his mattress, clouding your mind. You hear his footsteps as he rounds the bed, feel him reach over and switch on the lamp beside you. He grunts, his joints creak as you feel his weight sinking the edge of the bed, settling himself down in the ‘c’ shape your body had formed.

“We found him. Fella was out by Hidden Pines,” voice soft, almost cautious. 

You nod silently, but you don’t look at him, not wanting to embarrass yourself even more, not wanting him to see how pathetic you look after spending hours upon hours sobbing into the pillows over a mistake you made.  

A heavy hand cups your knee over the sheets, thumb stroking bone through the fabric there. 

“It wasn’t your fault, baby.” He says, surely.

But you don’t really believe him. 

You sniffle and tilt your face away from the tear-soaked pillows just enough so he can hear you. “Yes, it was. I was the last one in there. It’s my job to take the horses back and settle them in for the night. My job to make sure they stay in the stables. It’s been my job, my only job all this time, and I can’t even do that right,” you ramble, voice breaking, bottom lip wobbling, fat tears pricking your red eyes once again. 

“No. You listen here,” he says sternly, feeling his body turn beside you, bed covers bunching up around your knees. “You did lock it, but the latch was loose, honey. Tommy and I tried ‘em. They’re due for a fixin’ n’ we should’ve been checkin’ ‘em, but that’s my job, not yours. This wasn’t on you, darlin’. You hear me?”

You avoid his eye and stay furled on the bed. Silence swells between you, and you fiddle with a stray thread in his sheets.

“He wasn’t supposed to take off like that, but he’s a younger horse,” he shrugs, and a sigh falls from his lips. “It happens. Whoever was mannin’ the wall tonight should’ve seen him. Many things were at play, baby. It wasn’t your fault.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Your head snaps over your shoulder in a fury. “I could’ve helped fix it. I could’ve made it right,” you bite, shaky voice laced with venom. You don’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but it manages to stifle the sob that threatens to claw up your throat. And for a second, the irritation in your voice doesn’t rattle you until you notice Joel’s shoulders tense, and you regret it immediately. 

A whirlpool of emotions swirls in your belly. A weird noise squeaks out from your lips as you try to fruitlessly blink away the sleep and salt in your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him. You bury your face into the pillow again, trying to muffle the sob-like groan as you cringe away from Joel, ashamed. 

His hand drifts up your thigh, broad palm splayed across your flesh, his touch unwavering. “Sweetheart, the only reason I told you to stay here s’because it ain’t safe out there. The amount of infected may be less this time o’year but the cold…” He trails off, his grip tightening around the meat of your thigh unconsciously, “makes people meaner,” his voice grows unsteady at the thought. 

You shiver, and you suspect he feels it. He clears his throat, and tender fingers brush the strands of hair out of your face, then they trail down, and you feel the cold roughness of his skin against the warm softness of yours as his calloused hand cups your jaw, tilting it to face him, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

Your eyes pinch shut, and the dam breaks. You can’t bear to look at him. Your heart sits heavy in your chest, feeling the guilt creeping back in at his touch. His hands, usually warm, are now icy cold, and all you can think about is how you are the cause of it. He had been out in the cold longer than he needed to be because of you. You and he both know his worn bones can’t handle it, and yet, he went out there in the dead of winter as nightfall cloaked over Jackson to right your wrong, and it makes you feel terrible. 

“Baby. Look at me,” he whispers softly.

You do, and through bleary eyes you meet his weary gaze. His lips are downturned into a frown, and with a twist in his brows, that worry line in the middle of his forehead materializes. You hate being the cause of it. Your heart plops to your stomach, your throat goes thick, something rising at the base of it. 

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me,” he implores, his voice stern but soft, eyes shifting back and forth between yours — dark amber irises so warm, pleading.  

Teach me to be good. “Just you, daddy – just need you,” you blubber, your voice innocent and small. Weak. 

He knows exactly what you mean. You have been together long enough that he reads you like an open book. You watch as he wordlessly toes off his boots with a thud. Watch as he moves to stand to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor with a soft clink, his jeans, jacket, and flannel following shortly after. Watch as he shifts onto the bed, bones crackling as he lowers himself and presses his broad form into you, his knees popping as they coax yours open. Watch as one of his hands drifts south between your bodies to grip the thick root of his cock while the other bunches up your nightgown to your navel, revealing your unobstructed cunt to him.  

You whimper when the leaky head of his cock notches at the already slippery entrance of your cunt. He glides the wide cockhead between your folds, up and down, up and down, while the warmth of his breath fans across your face when his lips part to murmur, just the tip tonight, baby, s’not a good idea for you to take all o’me right now, alright? 

You nod numbly. You don’t care how much he gives you — you just need to feel him. Need him to fix you. Need him to make the hurt you feel inside go away. Need him to search for the good. Maybe it’s there, buried deep in a place only he can find. 

His hands find yours, pins them firmly above your head, and with his dark gaze holding yours, he very gently pushes his tip inside your tight, wet hole. His mouth pops open in a deep groan, and you catch it with a soft gasp of your own. 

“There you go. S’that feel better, pretty baby?” He murmurs, his jaw ticks, brows twitch.  

You nod desperately, your wide, glassy eyes going hooded. Your thighs tense around him, causing a little more of his cock to push inside, making you whimper and squirm beneath him.  

“Good. Now just listen to my voice. Just focus on me, right here,” he grunts haggardly, voice so low and commanding. And that alone makes your brain go fuzzy. 

You try to focus all your energy on his voice and the heavy weight of him on top of you and the fat tip of his cock stretching your too little hole open, but suddenly, he pulls out, and you almost whine at his absence.

But Joel doesn’t give you enough time. 

Your body moves up the bed with a jolt, gasping when his hips push forward with more force, filling your cunt with the head of his cock, and then some more, only to slip out of you again immediately after. He’s toying with you, and he’s doing so because he knows you really need this. 

He slips his cockhead gently back inside you, and you whine at the soft squelch your slicken pussy makes. The two of you revel in the lewd, wet sounds that ricochet through the room, all while never breaking eye contact. 

“My little girl just needed me to fuck all the bad thoughts away, hm?” he breathes, his nose brushes against yours.

“Mmhm,” you sigh, cunt flittering around him. 

“Needed me to stretch out her sweet little hole and make everything better, s’that it?” 

You nod frantically, moaning breathlessly. 

Joel growls. “Say yes, daddy,” he commands you softly, his fingers squeezing yours.

“Y—ye—yes, d–daddy.” Your words come out broken in between the slow rolls of his hips, but by the smirk that tugs on his lips, you know he’s proud of you anyway. 

“Good girl,” he praises, his touch featherlight as his fingers push the stray strands of hair away from your forehead, and the scruff of his chin tickles your nose as he lays an open-mouthed kiss between your furrowed brows.  

“But daddy—” you start to protest, scrunching your nose. 

Joel harrumphs as he pulls back. All of his features pull into a stern look, and to stop you, the pad of his roughened thumb sweeps across your cheek and sinks between your parted lips. 

“Na-uh. No fightin’ with daddy,” he presses gently. 

By instinct, your lips close around his digit, sucking it into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the thick of it, tasting the salty, woodsy flavor of him, and it only feeds the foggy haze in your mind more. 

Spit pools at the corner of your lips. His thumb moves in and out of your mouth, matching the rhythm of his thrusts as he fucks his cockhead in and out of your hole. Your mind begins to blur, but there’s still a storm stirring in your swollen eyes, and Joel, as always, can see it. 

“Alright, this ain’t workin’,” he sighs exasperatedly. 

And you think he’s utterly fed up with you not obeying him. He unsticks his body from yours, and your eyes search his face — the lines beside his eyes, the hairs in his brows, the muscles around his lips — trying to decode the emotion that flits across his features. Though, as expected, it’s near impossible to read him. Joel may have been able to crack you open, and although the years he has spent in Jackson have managed to soften him up — tiny cracks in his stony exterior over time — he remains inscrutable. 

For a moment, you think he’s going to scold you. Tell you you’re no good for him anymore. You wouldn’t blame him. You can’t seem to do anything right. Maybe he thought he wanted to take you apart, bit by careful bit. But what if he peered through the gap and saw something he didn’t like? What if he had a change of heart — now that he stepped back and assessed the damage? What if the severity of it was too much to mend? Burden too heavy to carry. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone good. Someone not in need of fixing. Someone unbroken. 

But Joel surprises you. His hand retracts from your face, and instead wraps his arm around your middle, maneuvering you onto his thighs so you're straddling him. His free hand fists the hem of your nightgown, and in one swift motion, tugs the fabric over your head and tosses it aside to join his pile of clothes on the floor. His heavy hands find your waist once again, and with the head of his cock still buried deep in between your legs, he sits up and back against the headboard, grunting a low, alright, c'mere, as he takes you with him with ease.

You cling to him like a koala, body putty and pliant as he brings your weak arms to wrap around his neck. And then, a firm hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, lets you nuzzle your wet face into the dip in his shoulder, and breathe in the comfort of his scent while his other traverses the line of your spine.

Slow but steady, Joel bucks his hips up, up, up, until the entirety of his thick length works its way into the slick slide of your cunt. Your soft thatch of curls meets his, softly grazes your clit, and you writhe in his arms, sniffle, and whimper brokenly against his shoulder, but sure, gentle hands pull you into his chest tighter. You feel the strong drum of his heart against yours, thrumming against each other: ga-gung, ga-gung, ga-gung, pace quickening, like they're trying to catch up, trying to sync. Your body melts into his. Skin to skin, heart to heart, heat of your cunt to the heat of his cock; and then suddenly, two become one.

“Shh, shhh, I know, baby, I know. You got it,” he whispers, as he begins to rock you back and forth, back and forth, lulling you gently back into the haze, and everything finally fades away. 

He presses a kiss right behind your ear. “Therrrre we go, just take it, good girl,” he murmurs as a heavy hand pets your hair. And whether he’s talking about his cock or his praise, you obey regardless. Your cunt sucks the heat of his cock in deep. Let him fuck himself into you; let his warmth smolder you until your cunt ignites. Let it roar and burn and spread through your system like wildfire. Let him make you good.

The tips of his fingers move through your hair in small ministrations, gently scratching away at your skull. “Daddy—s–so big—” you whimper, your fingers pulling the hair at the nape of his neck, tears welling up in your eyes as something low in your belly begins to churn. 

“Shhh, angel, it’s okay. I know, s’a lot,” he soothes, feeling his deep voice reverberate against your chest. Your cunt contracts at his praise, and the steady pace of his hips falters briefly; he groans deeply when he feels his tip choked tight within your walls, “you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart, so good.”  

He continues his shallow thrusts while he rocks you in his arms. There’s a low static buzz in your ears, but you can still hear the perverse chant that manages to fall from your lips — one that grows louder with every roll of his hips, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy. And in turn, he murmurs incessant blabbers of, you’re okay, angel, daddy’s here, daddy’s gotcha, into your hair, punctuating every one of his words with a soft kiss to your temple and a slow buck of his hips.  

The tip of his cock nudges that soft ridge deep inside you, and he feels your cunt flutter around him. “You gonna come for me, angel, hm? You gonna be a real good girl for daddy and let me feel this drippy little pussy come all over me?” He coos.  

“Uh-huh,” you murmur. 

Deft fingers curl around the back of your neck, and with the slightest of pressure, he squeezes once, gently instructing you to use your words. A silent command. 

“Y-yes, daddy, I prom–I promise, I wanna be good. I wanna be good,” you mewl.

His nose drags along the side of your face, down, down, down, until his heated lips meet your pulse point. “Go on, baby, let go n’ get daddy all messy. Show daddy how good of a girl you are,” he rambles, his voice a low vibration, goosebumps prickling in its wake.

With your tight cunt full and impaled on his cock, your clit throbs, eager for more friction. You rut your hips against his, humping him like a dog in heat as you rub your puffy pearl against the graying curls there, smearing him in your slick just as he insisted.   

And within seconds, your body constricts, navel pulls taut, and then something fiery in your belly erupts. Your body begins to tremble as stars burst behind your eyelids, liquid heat turns your mind and body molten, melting away completely with the force of your release.

“Daaaddy,” you cry, lips quivering. Your muscles go lax, and your body slumps in his hold, feeling the last of your energy leaving you. Your head lulls back, and his hand slides up the base of your neck in time to catch it in his massive palm.

He clutches you tight, marveling at your fucked-out form in his arms while babbling praises of,  ohhh–that’s it, that’s it, good job, baby, such a good fuckin’ girl— daddy’s so proud of you, as warm tears roll down your face. And it only spurs him on. 

His languid strokes speed up, your body jolts above him violently, weeping cunt fluttering repeatedly around him. Your mouth falls open, wanton moans escape past your parted lips as he fucks you harder. “Christ, that’s it, that’s my girl. Look at you, perfect little thing,” he pants, coaxing you through your orgasm. 

His eyes drop quickly to watch the bounce of your tits, nipples peaked and gleaming with beads of sweat. He dips his head to one sticky breast, and with a flick of his hot tongue, he laps up the salt on your skin. 

It elicits a sharp gasp from you, your chewed fingernails desperately trying to claw at him, your body arching against his mouth, and you feel him grin against the curve of your breast. His mouth drifts, wraps his whiskered lips around your other swollen nipple, tongue swirls the pointed bud, teasing you with a graze of his teeth across the wet peak before nipping it, tugging the stiffened point ever so slightly between his teeth.  

“Daddy–oh!” You choke on a moan, and your spent pussy clenches around him so tight, your cunt is almost forcing him out. His hips buck into you harder in response, his thrusts growing more erratic as he seeks his own release. 

Joel hisses, mouth releasing your tit with a wet pop, “sweet Jesus, m’gonna give it to you real good, baby—like you deserve, fuck—”

He's cut off by the strangled groan that rips through his chest, his back arches off the headboard, and you feel him twitch. His grasp on your enervated form tightens, and then a blazing heat spreads inside you. His sweaty forehead falls to your dampened chest, the swell of your breasts cushioning the drop of his head, his body convulsing as he pumps upwards into your core. Cock pulsing and spasming within your walls as he continues to spill inside you, your belly swelling and set to burst full of his seed.  

Joel slumps back against the headboard, his arms loosen, but they don’t release you, just holds you there on top of him as he presses hasty kisses and whispers shaky sweet nothings into your hair while his hot seed dribbles out around his length, turning the hair at the root of his cock into a pool of sticky milky white.  

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours that pass by as you stay limp in his lap, breathing in the sweat and sex on his skin as you snuggle back into his neck, the heat a low simmer. But when he runs a warm, wet rag between your legs and uses the same one to wipe your mixed wet off of his shaft before he tucks you in with a peck to your lips, the tip of your nose, a long kiss to your forehead, and lays himself on top of you with the full weight of him, pulling the comforter up to trap the heat of your bodies between you, sore cunt plugged with his softened cock once more, you know that he makes you feel whole. Not ruined or broken. Not stupid or useless or helpless. And in truth, it's all you’ve ever known with him.

As you slip gently into the waiting black, small fingers that draw circles into his silver curls come to a slow, you think you hear a quiet sigh — feel his lips lazily form around the words against your tacky skin — something of, you are good, angel tucked away into the valley between your naked breasts like a secret. And you think you believe him, and for now, that’s enough for you.

[buckyalpine]

18+ drabbles. Imagine Bucky finally gets his hand on the sweetest doll he’s been pining after for months, absolutely taking her apart every which way when he finally has her all to himself. He could only be a gentleman for so long until the mask slips because she feels so good. Too good. He tried to take his time but his body moves on its own, chasing the addicting feeling her pussy makes his cock feel, his thick length gripping and massaging in her tight little cunt.

He has her in his room, no longer giving her soft gentle strokes; no. His hands are grabbing her hips, slamming her back on his cock to meet his thrusts, that spongy head kissing her cervix each time, precum and her arousal creating sticks webs where their skin meets.

“F-uck, I-mph!” Your moans come out muffled and broken, tears wetting his mattress as you try to keep your voice down. Bucky couldn't care less if anyone else heard, a part of him going feral knowing his cock is making you feel so good you can't even form words.

“Yeah? Y’like that, angel?” Sweat glistened off his tanned skin, a drop rolling down his back as he continued to rail you, groaning at your ass smacking against his pelvis, the sight enough to make him blow on the spot, "You're so fuckin' pretty, baby" His voice is a low rumble, talking more to himself as his cock somehow grows harder at the way you squeal. "Sweetest thing I've ever stuffed my dick into, my perfect bunny, fuck you make me feel so good" His head is thrown back, pounding harder, absolutely lost in his own world. His muscles burn, his body hotter than ever but he won't stop.

“S’too much Jamie” You nearly slip but he holds you in place like a limp ragdoll, using you for his pleasure at this point, hitting a spot that makes you gush with no control. Your arms give way, slipping onto your front but he continues to fuck like an animal without losing his pace. The weight of his body is pressed against you, his chest and stomach pressed on your back, his hands coming to pin you against the bed, forcing more of your perfect cream out of you "Oh God, m'gonna-fuck Jamie-J-AMie!"

“Yeah, milk me baby, cum on this cock, can’t help it, you just feel to. Damn. Good” he moans against your neck feeling your pussy clench and squeeze his length, coaxing his full balls to grow heavier, cum desperate to shoot from his swollen tip. "M'so full of cum for you baby, needed y'so bad. fuckk-needed it, look at how well y'take it, m'gonna fill you up angel-oh fuck a-angel-FUCKKK" He lets out an obscene moan, biting down onto your sensitive skin and his body goes into overdrive feeling everything all at once. Ropes of his creamy spend coat your insides, spilling onto the sheets as he continues to grind though his orgasm.

"Shit-m'still cumming, fuck I-I'm cumming again" A whine slips between a growl he lets out as more of his seed pumps into you, the weight of his body fully resting on yours. He wraps his arms around you, pressing a kiss onto your shoulders, now indented with his teeth marks.

You giggle at the feeling of his stubble tickling you as he nuzzles into your skin with a satisfied purr, now peppering more kisses to coax more of that sweet sound you make.

"B-Bucky, it tickles!" You squirm around, catching a glimpse at the French doors near the bed, your giggles turning into a near cackle. Bucky curiously follows what you were looking at when he sees your eyes widen, your skin heating up against his.

“We fogged up the windows” you bit your lip trying to hold your laughter down while Bucky smirked, getting off the bed, tracing his finger on the glass.

“There” he says with a satisfied grin, the words look what we did looking back at you. He pounces back on the bed, pinning you down, his tongue dating out to lick up your neck, nipping your earlobe, “can’t let that disappear just yet, ready for round two?”

(Backstory for the windows? this was a result of my sweet Italian menace. He did that. He will see this.)

[bi-writes]

I miss John and his wife!!! she has so much personality I'm obsessed with her. is there anything she does that can really fuck with John when she's truly pissed? is there anything she can do that cracks that unflappable exterior?

he's been patient, all day—ever the gentleman. (18+, super dubcon lol)

he didn't bat an eye when you told him you paid an exorbitant amount for new tires on your car. he didn't react when you told him he didn't need to fix the sink anymore since you had hired a plumber while he was deployed. he didn't flinch when you told him that you threw out his favorite socks.

but this? this won't do.

the package of foil crinkles between your fingers. you set your hand down harder against his chest, glaring up at him as he pauses with his fingers wrapped around the waistband of your panties.

"what the fuck is tha'?" john mutters. you arch your back, touching your nose to his.

"need me to teach you how to put it on, baby? is that it?"

"not wearing that," john hisses. his entire face scrunches in anger, and you glare right back at him, your nose twitching as you meet him head-on. two can play at this fucking game—if he wants to be a bitch, you can be an even bigger one.

"yeah? and i'm not having your baby at the chance of you being gone for fucking months, john. so you will put it on—"

you cough when he grabs you around the jaw, puckering your lips as he shuts you up. you spit as much as you can, but he just opens his mouth a little, laughing.

"you're a naughty fuckin' girl," john mutters. "and usually, love...i don't mind. but this? this, i can't forgive."

you growl when john maneuvers you underneath him. he turns you over onto your stomach, pressing down, and you snap your jaws when he grips both of your wrists easily in one hand and holds them crossed behind your back. he uses his weight to keep you down, and you snarl when he rips your panties open.

"don't you dare, john," you tell him. "don't you fucking dare—!"

"yeah, you're beggin' for it, swee'eart, look how fuckin' wet you are."

you gasp when he fills you. you gurgle, immediately going soft underneath him as you press your hips back to meet him and open your mouth in a soft moan.

"there she is..." john hums. "look at 'er...pretty cunt just likes me too much, know tha', honey?" he smacks your ass gently, just enough to make a soft sound echo through the room, and you whimper as he leans over you and yanks on your hair to bring you upright. you cry out, leaning your head back against his shoulder, and he grips you around the throat and holds you there. "i let a lot of things y'do slip by. let you spend my fuckin' money. let you spit on me. let you scream...and bite...and start fights with men that y'know i'll have to finish, but this?" he sucks just under your jaw, using the leverage against your body to drag his hips back, feeling the tip nearly fall before he pushes back inside of you, hot and heavy. you whine, your eyes rolling back, and he laughs again. "we fuck the way god intended, y'understand me?"

when he kisses you, you kiss back. the slow rocks of his hips placate you, and when he pulls away, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck as he quickens his pace. the soft smack of your skin is easy-going with how wet you are, leaking, spilling, so turned on, the only name you're remembering is the one that belongs to him—price.

"i love you so much," he whispers into your ear. when he lets your hands go, you search for his, intertwining your fingers, keeping him holding steady onto you.

"i-i love you, too, john—"

"i know," he groans. "can fuckin' feel it—so tight—"

you like to fight. you like making john angry, because he makes you angry, but when he has you like this, you lose yourself. you do love him. you do want him. you want to be attached to him in all ways, and if growing half of him will give you a chance to keep him tethered here, then fuck it—why not? give him a baby, two, or four, it doesn't matter, maybe then he'll stay in your bed and stop leaving you and tell you more how much he loves you, maybe he'll mean it this time.

you're smiling when you sink back into the mattress. giggly, post-orgasm, his cum milky and heavy as it slips down your thighs. john is sitting up next to you, squinting at his phone as he scrolls through it and purses his lips. something must be upsetting him, because he keeps kissing his teeth and shaking his head.

you roll over onto your back, looking up at him. you reach up and touch along his bearded jaw, running your knuckles down the sharp line there until you can trace your thumb along his bottom lip. he glances over at you finally, narrowing his eyes. suddenly, the post-orgasmic bliss fades, and you're staring at your absent, terrible, no-good, cocksucker of a husband.

"need you to do something for me, baby," you coo.

"what's that?"

"gonna need the morning-after pill. could i use your credit card?"

"fucking brat—"

[earnfreemoney2023]

Magic Slimming products for Polish :D

[alchemistc]

ivory limbed and brown-eyed

Buck wakes with the sun streaking across his face and a finger tracing the lines around his eyes, feather light touch and a shadow across his brow like Tommy's tilted his head just to make sure he doesn't take a direct hit from the early morning rays.

"Time'sit?" He mumbles, and rolls into the warmth of Tommy's body heat. It's been raining for like three days straight, torrential downpours and extra long shifts, and they'd fallen asleep with water still pounding on the roof, too tired for more than a lazy sloppy kiss before they both passed out. He has no idea when it stopped. No idea when the clouds broke.

"Early," Tommy says, and Buck hums into his neck, considers sucking a bruise behind his ear. They don't have a shift for four days. Tommy would probably let him.

He's been indulgent, in the months since they cracked open their ribcages and had a conversation.

And then another conversation.

And then ten or twenty more.

"Where's my breakfast?" he asks, just to be a brat, because this is maybe the first time since they were fucking morning noon and night that he's woken up to Tommy still in bed with him. This is new, though. The sweep of work-roughened fingers, fat and long, shifting through his hair, catching in the barrel of a knotted curl. The stretch of a hefty leg, curled over his good knee. The ticklish twitch he's trying so hard to hide as Buck mouths at his collarbone.

He loves this man.

Tommy swats at his ass in retaliation. "I ordered bagels like forty minutes ago but someone just picked them up."

Buck pouts into the stretch of skin between his shoulder and neck. Shifts a shoulder to allow for the sweep of Tommy's hand as it starts to meander up and down his back. "Breakfast's always better when you make it."

"Too late to cancel now," he murmurs, like he wants to keep this quiet little bubble a little bit longer.

Last night had been rough, he knows. Two DOA's in a single night, nothing he could do about it, both of them long gone before he could risk life and limb flying through the rain. One of them was a kid.

Some days leaving it at the door is harder than others.

He'd been expecting the usual, when Tommy was working through something. Up at dawn to get a run in, back before the birds started looking for their worms to rifle through the fridge for breakfast. Buck had cried for a solid twenty minutes the first time Tommy confessed he'd started making breakfast for his mom the mornings after blowout fights with his dad. That breakfast was a love note he hadn't been able to write for a long time. He'd been thirteen.

So Buck never complains when the bed is cold on Tommy's side. Not now that he has his own side of the bed.

But Tommy's here, this morning, blinking at him in the soft yellow light shifting through the plantation blinds they forgot to close last night. Tommy's here, pressing the pads of two fingers to the sweep of the cheekbone below his birthmark. Tommy's here drinking in the sight of Buck like it's healing some deep hurt inside him he thought would never scab over.

Buck feels a little overwhelmed by it.

They're still navigating when they need to talk about things. When the words aren't actually necessary. They'd done a debrief, of sorts, last night. He can still taste the salt of the tears that had slid over Tommy's cheekbones as they whispered in the dark, and Buck had kissed them away. "You think we can get our driver to toss the bagels through the window? Maybe we just tell them where the spare key is and they can throw it at the bed."

The snort that shakes Tommy's chest makes Buck feel like he's won a marathon. Tommy tips his chin, glances over his shoulder, shifts his weight to grab his phone off the nightstand - ruffles Buck's hair at the plaintive whine Buck let's loose at losing chest to chest contact. "I doubt Melinda would be comfortable with that, but I left her a fat tip and begged her not to ring the doorbell when she left it at the door."

Because of course he'd want Buck to have as much sleep as he could get. Because he thinks about that kind of thing on such a regular basis it sometimes takes Buck's breath away.

Buck pulls him back before he can get more than a glance at his phone. Tugs Tommy to his chest, works his fingers into his thick mane and tucks his chin long enough to press his lips to the crown of Tommy's head. Tommy's sigh is deep, reverberating, hot breath shifting through the hair Buck decided to let grow back for no particular reason at all that definitely didn't have to do with Tommy admiring Henry Cavill's insane pecs in whatever the last movie they'd watched with him in it was. "I'll make you breakfast tomorrow." Tommy sighs when Buck digs into his scalp. Groans at the pressure when Buck curls his fingers in.

"Let's see how good these bagels are. Maybe they'll be so good Melinda will put you out of a job."

He's fully expecting the fingers that dig into his ribs, but he still squirms from them when Tommy grumbles and nips at his shoulder.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ stargirl interlude.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 part one ( you are here. )

masterlist.

synopsis: azzi’s one of the industry’s fastest rising stars—a notorious ice princess. she doesn’t pay much attention to the internet, so she’s caught off guard when she finds out who her biggest fan is: world-class athlete paige bueckers, publicly losing her mind over her.

cw: implied mental health issues, fluff, slow burn.

notes: hi, my loves. this is the first installment of my popstar pazzi au. let me know if you want me to continue. i kind of feel like this is shit, but i can be mean to myself.

love you.

I: FIRST TOUCH.

azzi hadn’t felt anything in months.

so, when her costume fitting resulted in a bubble of blood along her thigh, she found herself strangely grateful. the needle had only slipped and pricked her, but she was always easy to bleed which was what made her famous.

she watched, detached and faded, as the designer’s assistant apologized profusely, her thin lips quivering beneath eyes as round as the moon. they were a deep brown, like azzi’s own, and made her seem even more pathetic in her simpering. 

azzi reached out a light brown hand, her nails done perfectly in a glossy, milky-white set—extra-long and square-shaped, with a delicate cross of small, metallic studs glinting on the ring finger like a whispered prayer. they curled around the assistant’s shaking shoulder, the tips digging into the skin beneath the spaghetti strap of the woman’s halter top.

“hey,” she said, sounding as if she was underwater, “it’s okay. you didn’t mean to.”

and she knew the women didn’t; it was an honest accident. she extended her forgiveness like a knife, swift and exact because she could see her manager and mother in the corner vibrating with a frequency that only she seemed to be attuned to. 

“i am so sorry, azzi. i really—”

“i know,” azzi said, shrugging her shoulder. “why would you hurt me on purpose?”

the woman blinked up at her from where she was crouched on the ground, her hand dangerously close to her baby-pink pincushion. azzi smiled, revealing her sweet bunny teeth that had endeared over a million people to her overnight. the woman relaxed and azzi continued to smile, her cheeks aching by the time the fitting was finished. 

eventually, she was left alone. she always needed a moment to herself before performing—rehearsal or concert. she could hear the echoes of people’s movements in the otherwise empty arena, and something about that made tears prick at the corners of her eyes. she wondered if they would hear her heartbeat over the speakers, if it would echo and thunder with all of her sadness and the incredible weight of pressure put upon her. 

i look beautiful, she tried to think but the thought fell flat as it always did. objectively she looked gorgeous, absolutely out of this world if her fans were to be believed.

her skin glowed, the candy brown of it enhanced by her morning tan. her hair had been thickened by lush extensions and the fervent heat of a five thousand dollar straightener that, in her opinion, was shit compared to her well-loved seven-dollar one sitting on the rim of her sink in her apartment bathroom. her curls were gone, replaced by perfect rivers of dusky brown beach waves. 

her outfit was heavy, weighed down with shimmering embellishments that caught every stray bit of light. the corset was tight, sculpting her waist into something delicate, something precise, pushing her chest so high she couldn’t see her feet beneath it. the bodice was stitched with thousands of crystals, scattered like stars, each whispering of spectacle. the skirt was short, the hem dripping with beaded fringe that swayed when she breathed, a tiny, deliberate cascade of silver.

her arms were wrapped in sheer lace gloves, soft and weightless, tied off with ribbons that trailed past her wrists. the choker at her throat gleamed like a warning, pressing against her pulse, reminding her of the weight of expectation.

everything about the outfit was meant to make her look untouchable—something divine, something impossible—but standing alone in the vast emptiness of the arena, it felt more like armor.

with one last look at herself, azzi tossed her hair behind her shoulder and grabbed her personalized microphone from the edge of her vanity. the chrome twist along its body was cool in her hands, and she focused on it as she walked through the hall and grew closer to the heat of the stage lights. 

the beginning beat of her song began to play, the backing track taking the responsibility of harmonizing off of her. she stepped out from the passageway, her skin almost splitting with the force of her smile.

“hello, new york!” she called, her voice echoing off the empty chairs. pre-recorded applause and cheers exploded from the speakers. 

by the time she launched into the chorus, she was already distant.

⟡

azzi wasn’t supposed to be here.

her security team would kill her if they knew she had called an uber—no bodyguard, no disguise, just a pair of oversized sunglasses and a puffer that swallowed her whole. it wasn’t even a good puffer, not one of the designer ones gifted to her in hopes she’d be photographed in it—just something she grabbed on the way out, her hands shaking too hard to zip it up all the way.

or maybe it was good because it was hers. it had been hers for a long time and held the essence of the teenage version of herself who used to play basketball with the neighborhood kids and cried over crushes that no longer mattered. the lining of the pockets was worn and she wormed her fingertips into the loose cotton, watching the green of the fabric change underneath the lights animating from store signs and headlights. 

her uber driver was sweet, an older man who had come over from laos with his wife. he talked in a low tone, his accent curling like smoke over the vowels. she soaked up the stories of his home, lost herself in his memories. she sat with her legs tucked up on the seat, bare from the thighs down. she had thrown on a new york yankees tee and powder pink ballet shorts along with her favorite black leg warmers tucked into her well-loved uggs.

it was a relief to climb into the car and have him know nothing about her, his eyes not even flickering with a small hint of recognition. he’d only seen a small girl trembling inside of herself like a ghost trapped in its corpse, her dark eyes full of unease and her hair still wet from the rushed shower she’d taken beforehand. 

she reminded him of his daughter. 

eventually, they reached her usual haunt and she had to let him go. she tipped him generously, which she’d already planned to do, but he had squeezed her hand before she got out with such warmth that it made her stop. azzi had turned, looked back, and listened as he told her, the whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the main thing is to have no fear at all.”

she stared at him for a moment and he smiled. she could see the gold capping his back tooth. a good quote, he said. it helped me during the worst of times.

she would’ve given him a million dollars if she could. instead, she leaned over the seat and hugged him. then she told him to listen to the song “shame” by the smashing pumpkins. my go-to, she said, when i’m trying to figure it out.

 (in years to come, that same driver would relay that story to a journalist doing a profile on legacy popstars. he never forgot that, how kind she’d been to him. she never forgot that, how kind he’d been to her.)

the sushi bar was tucked into a quiet street, just past a convenience store that smelled like stale bread and cigarette smoke. inside, it was small and bright, warm in a way that made her stomach curl with need. she hadn’t been here in a long time. not since things changed. 

her mind was already falling into that static peace that accompanied her trips here. it was as if her brain fell out and onto the conveyor belt, looping back toward the kitchen where they would keep it on a freezer shelf until she was ready to be herself again. the bell jingled as she stepped in, and before she could process anything—before she could even breathe in the smell of sashimi and balled-up white rice—someone crashed into her.

it was solid, with enough force behind it that azzi’s breath hitched as she stumbled back, the scent of fabric softener and something warm and spicy filling her senses. she felt the grip of someone’s hands—strong, steady—catching her arms like instinct.

“oh, shit, my bad, my bad, i ain’t even see you,” the girl said quickly, stepping back so fast she nearly tripped over herself.

azzi blinked. she looked up slowly, her mind still trying to come back to itself.

in the seconds it took for her brain to catch up, azzi cataloged the facts of the situation. first, the grip—broad hands, fingers warm even through the padded sleeves of her puffer. then, the voice—low, raspy, almost apologetic. and finally, the face.

paige bueckers.

azzi knew who she was. everybody did. paige was a world-class athlete, a star, a whole damn nike deal in human form. and right now, she was standing in front of her, looking like she just got hit by a bus.

paige was still talking—rambling, really. “oh my god, bro. i did not just meet you like this. this cannot be how it happened. like, i gotta run that back or sum—”

azzi didn’t register the rest of what she was saying. because for the first time in months, something was funny.

it started as a small, startled exhale. then, before she could stop it, the laugh came—sharp, unexpected, curling out of her so fast it made her whole body shake.

paige froze. “uh.”

azzi laughed harder. she laughed until her shoulders curved inward, her hands gripping the counter like she needed something to keep her grounded.

“oh, nah,” paige mumbled, brows furrowing like she was really concerned now. “baby, you good?”

azzi sucked in a breath—tried to steady herself—but instead of stopping, the laughter turned into something else. something sharp and humiliating and impossible to control. she raised a hand as if to fend paige off, the familiar tightness in her throat stealing the words straight from her mouth.

the tears came fast. she barely had time to swipe at them before paige went full crisis mode.

“hey,” paige said, shifting her weight like she didn’t know whether to back up or step in. “what’s wrong, ma? you okay?”

azzi exhaled slowly, tipping her head back toward the ceiling like it would help her keep it together. she focused on the buzz of the fluorescent lighting so she wouldn’t have to see the patrons who had turned to stare. “sorry. um, we can take a picture or something.”

paige’s brows furrowed like she didn’t get it. “nah, it’s cool. you don’t gotta do all that.”

azzi didn’t know why that made her feel worse.

she cleared her throat, still feeling raw, and tried again. “can i get you something?”

paige hesitated. then, looking almost guilty, she muttered, “yeah, aight. sure.”

azzi watched as paige glanced up at the menu like she didn’t already know what she was getting, like she hadn’t been in line before they crashed into each other. something about it made her feel almost normal. she made sure to smile as she handed paige her order, squeezing her long fingers before letting go.

“thank you,” she said, “for asking me if i was okay.”

paige’s face did something complicated before she bit her bottom lip, and then spoke. 

“course.” then, “you okay to go home? my driver is around the corner.”

“i’m okay,” azzi said, already moving away. she turned, those perfect lips parting like petals as she said, “i want to sit here for a while.”

paige nodded, then smiled. she left, and azzi watched her ponytail sway through the window before she picked up her phone and opened her camera to scan the booth’s qr code. as she looked down, paige turned back around and found her again. 

she stood there for a minute too long, taking in the way azzi’s knees were drawn up to her chest, her brow furrowed and her curls falling almost rabidly from the bun she put it in. she was beautiful, even in that low light. 

she hoped azzi would never be sad again.

⟡

she didn’t check her socials much anymore. she had a pr team for that. but tonight, she needed something to distract her. it only took a swipe and two clicks for her to open twitter. 

then she saw it. her name, sitting right at number two on the trending page just beneath something about formula 1. she clicked, bracing herself for something unsavory, but instead, she felt an unexpected laugh bubble out of her.

there sat a tweet from pbueckersofficial, already viral:

met the fucking loml in a sushi bar bc I RAN INTO HER and had to physically restrain myself from getting on one knee and proposing in apology.

it had turned into a thread, paige’s lamenting going on for ages. 

⤷ dawg you don’t even understand, she’s so pretty in person. like i was genuinely about to kill myself right then and there  ⤷ and THEN she still asked if i wanted a picture like i didn’t just almost make her bust her ass  ⤷ it’s alright y’all. trust, imma be on my shit next time. #bueckersfudd2028 

azzi covered her mouth to keep herself from smiling. scrolled.

the replies were a mess.

username: PAIGE WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. username: bro she doesn’t even know you like that 💀💀💀 username: accidentally meeting ur wife in a sushi shop is crazy username: nah bc imagine fudd actually sees this 😭😭

azzi stared at them for a long time. then, before she could think too hard about it, she hit retweet and added:

azzi35: oh! that’s not—um just keep winning those games instead, please.

within minutes, her notifications were done. paige’s teammates were in the replies immediately.

karnold: girl this is NOT ur priv. aubrey: paige fumbled a proposal and got cooked by azzi fudd on the same night wow uconnsports: how are u even gonna play after this

azzi rolled over on her side, her phone pressed to her chest as she giggled. it felt like a strange creature—the vibration of her joy.

⟡

paige was going to die.

she padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, not even bothering to look up at her teammates sitting around the table. they’d probably been up for hours already, laughing at the bullshit she’d orchestrated in the last twenty-four hours. she had barely slept. after the whole sushi bar incident, she’d tried to shake it off, but it just… stayed.

and now? now she was paying the price for being online past her bedtime.

she opened the fridge, her movements slow and sluggish. as she grabbed the milk, her hair shifted over her shoulders and she tucked it irritably behind one ear. waking up to the whole world laughing at you could really ruin your day. 

as she closed the fridge door, she felt the weight of her teammates' eyes on her. no one was speaking, but she could practically feel the air crackling with suppressed laughter.

paige sighed, not ready to deal with it. "please don’t tell me you guys are still on that."

kk raised an eyebrow, looking like she might burst any second. "oh, but we are," she said, voice uncharacteristically soft like she was trying not to break.

paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. 

"i'm fucking killing myself,” she muttered.

ice, who had been eerily quiet up until that moment, finally spoke. she didn’t even try to hold back. "but bueckers-fudd 2028?"

and that was it. the whole table cracked. kk fell into jana’s shaking shoulders. ice was wheezing. even caroline, who normally kept her cool, was holding her side like she was in pain.

paige stood there, glaring at them, but her lips twitched despite herself. "y’all are so fucking extra," she said, trying to keep it together, but the image of azzi’s face and the whole absurdity of the situation came flooding back. 

she covered her face with her hand. "i didn’t even mean it like that. fuck, why didn’t i check what account i was on?”

it was ice who finally leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "i gotta admit, though—bueckers-fudd 2028? that’s got a ring to it."

paige shot her a look that made the other girl snicker even harder. "shut the fuck up," paige warned, but it was too late. the whole room was laughing. 

"man, this is so fucked up," paige moaned, trying to sink straight into the floor. but then, azzi popped into her head. the way her laugh felt had seemed like a relief, like a crack in the wall she'd been building. her fingers trembled, and she had to push that thought away before she started really melting. but then again, who was she kidding? 

she was already gone.

the worst part? her mentions were a complete circus. fan accounts. meme pages. sports commentators. everyone was having the time of their life dissecting her very public, very messy encounter with world-famous popstar azzi fudd. lusting after the people’s princess meant the people would be involved.

when her phone buzzed with a follow request, she assumed it was another troll. but then she saw the verified checkmark.

azzi35 requested to follow you.

without thinking, paige clicked on the notification and watched as instagram blossomed before her. she paid no attention to her feed, clicking the heart where the following request lay in wait. she triple-checked in, taking in the black and white candid of azzi holding her dog up to her cheek, their faces smushed together as she smiled with all of her teeth.

the photo made her think of how much azzi seemed to want to remain normal. her feed rarely had promotional material on it. instead, it was filled with carousels of memories: azzi squeezed into the booth of a restaurant alongside her parents, azzi laying beachside with her niece lifted above her head as she laughed, azzi bare-faced and half pressed into a hotel pillow with her most recent read covering the bridge of her nose, azzi in istanbul, standing on a street just beside grand bazaar with carts swollen with an endless inventory of multi-colored heels behind her, azzi’s hands interlinked with her makeup artist with the caption “thank you for making me so beautiful”. 

paige clicked on the comments and saw the mua’s reply: world’s easiest job, baby. x

hard agree, she thought.

she could’ve spent hours taking azzi in, drowning out her teammates' good-natured ribbing as she swallowed the pieces azzi let slip through the cracks of her iron boundaries. as if to remind her of why she’d gotten on the app in the first place, a dm request popped up.

» hey, i wanted to say sorry about earlier. you were so sweet when we met and i feel bad i was such a mess. that was probably not the experience you were hoping for when randomly running into someone. » thank you for checking on me. it meant a lot.

paige read the message approximately 47 times. her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly.

» hey, you were great. made my day regardless. you're allowed to have a hard day.

she made the message simple, direct. the kind of genuine response that would cut through all the performative noise azzi had been swimming in for months. no pressure, no expectation—just human kindness.

she watched as azzi began to type something, the bubble rising and lowering before another message came through.

» can't believe you wanted to propose to me when i was basically a snot-nosed mess at the sushi place

there was a pause as paige stared at the reply. long enough that she realized azzi may be wondering if she'd said something wrong. she jumped into action, sending her response through, and in her eagerness, the message was filled with such raw honesty that it made embarrassment flush through her—ripe and red.

» u were beautiful, azzi. so beautiful it was fucking unreal. never seen anything like you. couldn't stop looking at you if i tried.

the words hung there, suspended in digital space. paige read them again. and again. 

why the fuck would she say that? it read as cripplingly parasocial, almost rotten with its clear excitement and awe. she closed her eyes, kicking her head back as she thought, once again, of ending it all. 

her phone vibrated and she cracked one bright blue eye open, scanning her screen for what was sure to be azzi’s swift block.

» you too.

then,

» want to grab coffee?

⟡

azzi was feeling something. it was fragile and unexpected, like a seedling pushing through concrete. connection. warmth. the first genuine emotion she'd experienced in months.

she rolled her lip between her teeth as she waited for paige’s answer, her leg bouncing underneath the table of the conference room she was sitting in.  she’d typed out the offer before she could second-guess herself. before the bear trap of performance and expectation could slam back down, cutting through the tendons of her ankle and drawing blood.

paige's response came after a few more minutes, and azzi’s jittering slowed.

» yes. » fuck yes. when and where?

azzi felt herself smile. a real one. the kind that reached her eyes.

© hcneymooners.

[lexluvsmegs]

Just thinking about Nanami helping virgin!Ino fuck you for the first time.

Ino feels as if he was on cloud 9 after finally asking you, his sexy class mate, to be his first ever girlfriend. He’s nervous, that much is painfully obvious, his sweaty hands fiddling as he blurts the words out trying his very best not to stutter. His hopes aren’t set too high since you’re… you. But when you smile that beautiful smile and nod your head in acceptance he leaves with hearts in his eyes. Literally.

He’s in love, there’s no doubt about it. You’ve been going out for a few months now and Ino has been nothing but a gentleman, pulling out all the stops to keep you impressed. He’s made you playlists with your favourite songs, taken you out to fancy restaurants, bought you the clothes you’d been eyeing. What more could a girl want?

However, there was one aspect about dating that was weighing hard on him, and that was sex. You see, you were hot, and Ino was a virgin. That may not seem like such a big deal. But to him? It was the end of the world. His insecurities were eating away at him. What if he wasn’t good enough for you? What if he couldn’t satisfy you? In his mind, everything could go wrong.

And that’s how Nanami found himself here, positioned on the edge of Ino’s bed as you lay naked, sprawled across the plush mattress with Ino knuckle deep inside your gushing pussy following Nanami’s instructions as if his words were law. Ino had practically gotten down on his knees when he begged for the older man’s help, he really couldn’t lose you. Thankfully, Nanami took sympathy on the poor boy. He couldn’t deny that you were stunning, so maybe it was a little selfish when he agreed to the terms with the promise of seeing you in such a compromising setting. Call him a perv but just the thought of you was able to make his pants feel just the bit tighter.

“Angle your fingers like this” he sounded calm and composed, but in reality he had never felt so excited. Nanami shuffled closer as he grabbed Ino’s hand and repositioned it until it had you moaning out his name. God did Nanami want it to be his name next.

“T-that feel good baby?” Ino felt breathless as his fingers kept up his ruthless pace. You couldn’t form a proper sentence being too overwhelmed by the immense pleasure you were feeling. However, the endless whines that fell from your lips let the two men know exactly how you were feeling.

Nanami felt his resolve break slightly as he knelt down next to Ino who looks at the blond with a confused glint in his eyes. Nanami, however, wasted no time as he lowered his head to be eye level with your gushing pussy. With a deep inhale of your scent he finally opened his mouth to taste your juices and immediately groaned.

“Tastes so good” you can barely make out the words as he sloppily laps his tongue over your clit causing you to snake a hand into his golden locks and pull. His tongue felt like heaven as it dipped deep into your hole, tracing his name over your puffy lips not allowing you the chance to catch your breath. Babbles of his name leave your mouth in huffs as you feel yourself reaching your first orgasm. To your disappointment, Nanami halts his movements of nipping and sucking at your clit and sits back. Fucking tease.

“She should be ready for you now” his voice is so husky and damn is it sexy. Ino immediately fumbles as he stands, nervous yet hard as a rock, his cock bobs as his flushed tip falls from his lower belly. You hadn’t yet had time to properly inspect it but my god, it was long. By no means was it ugly, you would argue that it was one of the prettiest you had seen, prominent veins led up to his raging head that pulsed with the need to be buried deep within you. Your legs would have closed if it weren’t for Nanami’s strong hands keeping them wide open.

Ino climbed onto the bed, his weight held up by his shaking arms. “So wet f’me baby… you ready?” His gentle tone had you melting deeper into the sheets as you gave a slight nod. He took this as his chance to reach one hand down to pump himself a few times before lining himself up and pushing his cock inside. The three of you groaned, Nanami transfixed by how well you were able to take Ino’s cock. He wondered how you would be when taking his.

Ino felt like he was in heaven as your gummy walls wrapped around him so perfectly. “P-please move” your hoarse voice called out which spurred Ino to snap his hips down into you leaving you gasping. An uneven tempo was created, though, Nanami could tell Ino’s pace wouldn’t bring you to finish, therefore he took matters into his own hands, resting a large palm on Ino’s lower back as he guided his strokes. If Nanami hadn’t promised to help Ino he would have probably taken you for himself, his hard length screaming for relief as he palmed himself with his free hand.

With the new pace set, Ino was making you see stars as he hit deep within you. Your arms wrapped around his back as your nails dug deep, Ino groaned at the thought of you leaving marks and claiming him as your own. His hips stuttered as you pulled his face close to yours, sloppily kissing and licking into his mouth. You were gonna be the death of him. You broke the kiss to look down at where he was pounding into you and instead noticed the bulge that was forming in your belly every time Ino would push back in. Ino followed your eyeline and couldn’t help but whine as he found the source of your attention. He was filling you so good you could barely process your impending orgasm.

The feeling was intense as you tried to wriggle away from the shocks of pleasure racking through you. “S’too much” tears began streaming down your face as Ino’s pace never faltered.

“Stop whining, you can take it” Nanami’s harsh voice rang out.

“S-so close” you whine out, you can tell he and Nanami are the same as they moans filling the room grow desperate. And as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close, he empties out into you causing your own orgasm to crash over you.

You feel a hand petting your hair as you come down from your high, turning to face Nanami as he offers you a sweet smile. You pretend not to notice the obvious stain now gracing his light pants and instead smile in return as Ino slumps his body atop yours.

Virgin!Ino who’s no longer a virgin.

——

© lexluvsmegs 2025 ➳ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

PLEASE DO NOT Copy, Translate, Re-Upload, or Steal ANY of my work.

Thank You, Beautiful People! :)

[thef1diary]

the way you’d run straight to the internet to buy your own spirit box so max could talk you through the ghostly orgasm 💀

— you finally bought the right device, everyone cheers! but now, how would max use this form of communication to make you lose your mind over and over again? 18+ content below

The static from the spirit box buzzed faintly, filling the air with anticipation. It was the fourth device you’d tried, but this one… this one worked.

“Max?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you adjusted the dial. The static shifted, crackling, until—

“Missed me?” came his distorted voice, low and rough, sending a shiver straight through you.

Tears pricked your eyes at the sound of him. Weeks, months even, of feeling him but never hearing him. Now, his voice filled the room, warped but unmistakably his. You barely had time to respond before the bed dipped, invisible hands pushing you back against the mattress.

“I can hear you,” you breathed, already pressing your thighs together in anticipation.

“Yeah? Good,” he replied, the slight distortion only making his words rougher, filthier. “Because I’ve got a lot to say now that you finally got it right.”

Instantly, hands you couldn’t see but knew intimately gripped your thighs, spreading them apart firmly. The fabric of your shorts was tugged down, your underwear following in one swift, decisive movement.

“Fuck, you’re soaked already,” his voice hissed through the static, mocking and dripping with approval. “Were you hoping to hear me like this? Whispering all the dirty things I’m going to do while I ruin you?”

Your head tipped back, a whimper escaping your lips as his hands—strong and sure—gripped your thighs tighter. You arched into nothingness, gasping when his mouth—cool, solid, and so painfully real—latched onto your nipple, teeth scraping, tongue flicking.

“Max!” His name left your lips in a desperate cry, but his laugh—deep, teasing—cut through the static.

As he continued lapping at your nipple, his hand, firm and skilled, slid between your thighs. Fingers thrusted into your soaked heat without hesitation, curling and stretching you, preparing you for his cock.

“That’s it,” his voice growled, the spirit box crackling in tandem with your moans. “You take my fingers so well. So perfect, schatje.”

After placing one more kiss each to your nipples, he curled his fingers inside your pussy. “So wet, so ready for my cock.”

You gasped hearing his filthy words before a plethora of pleas escaped your lips, asking for his cock. Your cunt clenched at the thought of being fucked by him.

The bed creaked under the force of his invisible weight, his cock pressing into you in one hard thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs. The sound of his groan through the spirit box was nearly as intoxicating as the feeling of him inside you.

“Max,” you gasped, clawing at the sheets as he set a brutal pace, each thrust hard enough to rock the bed frame. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you against him with every snap of his hips.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he hissed through the static, his voice raw with pleasure. “Feel how good you take me? How you clench ‘round me?”

Your head tipped back, eyes rolling as he pounded into you, each word making the coil in your belly tighten. “I need you,” you cried, your voice breaking as he angled his hips, driving deeper.

“Good girl,” he groaned, the spirit box crackling under the weight of his praise. His thrusts grew erratic, his grip bruising as he chased his release.

“Fuck, Max, yes—don’t stop, ‘m gonna cum,” you begged, the words spilling from your lips unchecked.

You shattered first, his name a scream on your lips as your orgasm tore through you, your body convulsing around him. He followed seconds later, his groans—raw and guttural—filling the room.

As you lay there, trembling and boneless, the static from the spirit box crackled softly, his voice cutting through with a low, satisfied murmur.

“Leave it on,” he said, referring to the spirit box. “We’re not done. Now that I’ve got a voice, I plan on using it.”

want more ghost!max? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days