#armpit stubble

[evergreen-endo]

my coworker was complaining to me about how she had to wake up extra early for work this morning because she had to shave her armpits and i was like “what the hell why” and she looked at me crazy and was like “…..because….I didn’t shave them last night….?” girl ok and? she wasn’t even wearing a tank top or anything mind u. like ur just making extra work for urself. u didn’t have to do that. come on now !!!!!

[kittyfitty29]

I slipped into red just to see who’d bite first… You gonna keep staring, or finally reach out and play? 😈💋

[diceboy01]

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[stromaenthe]

Bring hairy pits back to kpop

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: NSFW, implied noncon, yandere, bondage, abuse, punishment, intense spanking/whipping-ish

♡ GN reader

“Please- plea- m’so- sorry-” you sob, voice cracking on its own blubbering. Chest full of panic—heaving for a fix but achieving little less than spurring even more hysteria.

“Haah…” he sighs. Casually fixing your bonds tighter around your wrists, hoisting them a little higher above your head until you were properly stretched up on your tippy-toes.

Shivering in just your undies in anxious wait of his anger.

Stroking your back while holding your belly in a steady hand, he thinks he’s never felt fear quite like it, but unfortunately, “Y’broke the rules, Sunshine… and now yer’ gettin’ punished.”

He unbuckles his belt. Your eardrums burn at the crisp sound, so much spiked blood rushing about, making you go dizzy. 

You think you might pass out.

“What did I say the rules were, hm? ‘You remember ‘em?” he mumbles in a steady tone, speaking awfully softly with his lips pressed against your temple. Waiting for your answer.

You give a sob and a pitiful nod, and he hums in return, rubbing calm circles into your shivering, goose-fleshed skin.

“Recite them for me,” he requests, nose rubbing your hairline as you shiver from his touch.

Voice unsteady, filtered through tears and a hopeless sense of terror—chin tipped up, needing to gasp for breaths, “N-no fighting, no- no arguing, no run- running-”

“Mh…” he hums, taking in the scent of your shampoo with a sniff of your crown, placing a kiss there as though in kudos—or as a small mercy before getting started. “And you managed to do all three in one night. ‘You feel proud, hm? ‘You feel accomplished? Hm? Was it worth it?”

You whimper under the interrogation, feeling smaller and smaller by the second—so exposed where you are, practically hanging from the ceiling like dead meat. Stripped of everything that might’ve protected you—or that would have at least cushioned the coming onslaught of pain you knew to dread.

“Nah… it’s written all over your body. Goosebumps and cold sweat, shaking from tits to toes. You regret it, don’t you?” he murmured, winding his belt around his fist once, then twice, leaving a looped tail. “Mh, maybe you’ll think twice about it next time... or maybe you’ll finally learn your place.”

He finished with a soft bite to the chub of your cheek, then grabbed your chin just as gently, holding your face up to look at him as he sidestepped to your front. Leaning his forehead against yours, he stroked your jaw with his thumb—lips hovering just short of yours.

“I'm gonna hurt you, Sweetie,” he purred, stroking your asscheek with the cool leather in his grip—in such gross contrast to what you knew he planned on using it for. “I promised I would, and now I will…”

He kissed your lips then—slowly, sweetly, suffocatingly so as you cried—tasting your tears and doing a terrible job at withholding his grin as you felt it pull giddily at the corner of his mouth.

He licked his lips once he pulled away, walking a circle around you like a shark.

“How many hits do you deserve?” he mused. “I guess one for each rule you broke is fair, but it seems a little scant…”

He stopped behind you, placing a chaste kiss on your arm before nuzzling around it.

“Should we say thirty?” he offered, and your eyes immediately widened.

Shaking your head furiously, prayers already coming out in splutters, “No- please-”

“No? Too many?” he pouted, not bothering to mask his glee now. “Okay, okay, calm down, baby. Breathe,” he soothed with no effort. “I think…”

There was a pause—a hum of thought as he wrapped his arms around your front and swayed you back against his chest in a hug.

“Ugh fuck, I'm no good makin’ rules on the fly…” he feigned—sinking his jaw into the grove of your armpit before cuddling the soft flesh with his chin-stubble.

He sucked his teeth in a further display of thought before releasing an exasperated sigh.

“I really didn’t think you’d break ‘em, y’know? I thought you’d be a good pet…”

You trembled, eyes looking down at the belt held between his big hands—whimpering at the sight of him simply playing with it—psyching you out like a true sadist.

“But you just had to disappoint me, didn’t you?”

You bit your lip to stop a sob.

“Had to be difficult… and now I gotta make difficult decisions…”

He slinked off you, leaving you to wobble—toes barely grazing the cold basement floor.

You try your best to prepare yourself for the next events, but the more you brace yourself, the more tense you get and the harder you cry, “Please- I’ll be good- promise- m’real- really sorry-” 

“I know, baby. I know~ I am, too,” he coos, kissing your spine while rubbing circles into your sides—feeling your ribs rattle with sniffles, struggling for air through your panic. “I wanna make sure we never have to be sorry again.”

He wraps an arm around the front of your hips, steadying you while stroking the loop of his belt over the plump of your cheeks—tentatively teasing the soft flesh with what was soon to come.

He licked his lips at the promise—already imagining the flawless flesh blooming with his marks.

“I think thirty is fair.”

“No- no please- please, don’t-” You thrash—but do so little more than in place.

“Don’t squirm,” he interrupts, his hand curling into your hip with blunt nails denting the fine skin, keeping you still, pushing your side snugly against his front—holding you intimately while gruffing out eerie murmurs still much too softly for what he was saying, “Remember, it’s another ten hits if you fight me and another ten if you argue.”

At least he doesn’t make you count....

You wouldn’t have been able to even under threat—too busy wailing.

Each hit like the lash of a whip, smacking you fast, one on top of the other. It’s enough to make you throw up after half of it—though it's mostly just water and acid.

He takes pity enough to allow you a small break. Wringing off his wife-beater and wiping your mouth with it—also brushing some of the sweat off your brow before kissing your forehead. 

“Halfway there, Sweetie- you’re doing so good~”  he whispered soothingly, holding your cheeks to pick your face up from hanging—looking into the hopeless look of your opium-blown eyes—so lost he didn’t know if you could even hear him.

He acts as though he’s sorry after, but the boner he’s got nudged against you doesn’t lie—desperately dry-humping your thigh for some sort of relief.

His breaths are tight and hot, puffed against your arm where he now mouths wet kisses. “Good-” he swallows thickly, brows tight-knit, voice thick with lust, “Good pet.”

You hadn’t noticed he was done. And the relief doesn’t register either. There isn’t much comfort in it to grasp, not with the pain still so numbingly intense that you can’t feel anything but the raw sting. 

He drops the belt to the floor and struggles his fly open, shoving the trousers down along with his boxers, stepping out of the heap in a rush—all the while sucking sloppy kisses on your shoulder and nape, mumbling praise, “Y’were so good- so good fo’me- gonna reward yah- my good fuckin’ baby- gonna make yah feel so fuckin’ good now-”

The flesh of your ass burns with welts and split skin, ugly marks already lining the once-pretty color with horrid shades of bruise-dark. Your throat’s ripped raw from all the wailing—only weeping harder when he takes your hips and sways you back to meet his fat erection.

He shamelessly rubs himself between your cheeks—frenzied with his mouth gaping, releasing a filthy shuddering moan while leering at the beautiful sight of his handiwork—feeling so proud he was blushing just from sheer sadistic enjoyment—even letting slip a breathy laugh now.

He hung his tongue out and let his drool drip onto the shaft, then placed another kiss between your shoulder blades. Gliding his tip down and, with the help of a hand, pushed it between your cheeks until it caught your entrance. 

A rugged groan blew hotly down your spine, and another cry was ripped from your chest as he sunk inside without a single spare second to waste.

He laid his face to rest against your back, nudging up inside you slowly with both arms wrapping around you like before—holding you snugly before he began the intimate pace, fucking only the deepest coziest parts of you.

“I love you, Sunshine- you’re mine- only one I give two shits about- rest can just fuck off for all I care- as long as I have you- right here… forever.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Sakusa, Miya twins, Iwaizumi ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Kunigami, Baro, Shido, Karasu, Aiku ♡ DS – Doma, Sanemi ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ HxH – Feitan, Uvogin ♡ WB – Suo, Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[maylieecxtherine]

childhood bsf! matt letting you sleep in his arms.

divider creds once again to the lovely @bernardsbendystraws !! 🩷

since moving to LA, everything's been different. you've been grocery shopping in different places, hanging out at new cafes, making new friends at new parties with the whole influencer scene the triplets are into- and most importantly? you've been seeing a whole lot more of matt.

being friends with matt had always been effortless. you were born the same year, your moms were childhood best friends, and best of all, they lived next door. your siblings, and the sturniolo siblings had gotten on well, always had. chaotic energy, the sound of children screaming and giggling that made elderly neighbours shake their heads, and the dads clap their hands for silence.

but now? you were starting to feel like everything has changed. the triplets are famous, now. scrolling on your for you page, you're bombarded with edits. it's weird, you tell yourself. it doesn't stop you from favouriting cute ones of matt, in a little folder. today, you're relaxing on nick's bed, like the four of you did as kids, in a haphazard pile of cuddles.

matt always claimed he hated physical affection- but today he can't seem to get enough of you. his tattooed arm around your waist, leisurely resting, as he leans against the back of the sofa, your legs on his lap, nick and chris sandwiched beside you too, cuddled up watching the TV, giggling and showing each other funny tiktoks. life's good, you decide as matt trails his fingers lazily over the exposed part of your back under your fluffy sweater.

"i'm hot," you mumble,shifting slightly by his side. it makes your breath brush his throat,and your perfume waft to his nose. matt freezes up a little,but shakes hair out of his eyes and smiles leisurely at you, unwinding his arm.

"take that fluffy sweater off then, silly. it's hotter in LA than boston." he reminds, squinting at you through those pretty eyes. you feel yourself blush at the idea before you can fight it, despite the fact that he's seen you in bikinis before,and so have the others, the idea of matt seeing you in your bra makes your stomach flutter. "i haven't got a t-shirt on under." you manage,and watch his ears go pink.

"oh." matt amends,and then shrugs. "can borrow one of mine, from m'closet? whichever you like." he hates sharing his clothes, normally. but somehow..

you nod,and he watches you with a soft expression. "yeah,alright."

a few minutes later, when you return to the living room, in one of matt's t-shirts, the smile on his face makes your spine tingle. he tries to muffle it by wiping the stubble on his chin,and nods. "yep. suits you." and then he holds out his arm for you to tuck back under it.

you smile,tuck into his warmth,and go back to watching the telly. soon enough, the smell of his cologne, his shampoo, makes you dreary with sleep. it's been a long few weeks,since moving, unpacking your stuff into your apartment half an hour away. you shift,press your nose into the fabric of his polo just above his armpit,and watch him jolt.

matt tightens his arm, just a little, when he notices the way sleep's dragging your eyelids down, tugging you to rest with your chest on his, your head in the crook of his neck. his words brush over your scalp,lips nudging your forehead.

"sleepy?" it's said softly. teasingly. and unmistakably gentle,that gentleness he always has with you,even when he's angry, even when he's upset.

"yeah," your voice wobbles with sleepiness,and matt smiles, the sight making your stomach flutter again. maybe you're coming down with something.

"you can sleep on me." he offers. quietly, but enough for chris to turn around, bark a laugh.

"HA! and they say they're best friends-" the youngest triplet is cut off when nick slams a hand over his mouth, forces him to turn back to the tv. matt swallows greatfully. he'll have to thank nick, later. even if his feelings for you are obvious, he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, not ever.

you seem pretty comfy right now. he watches hair slide into your face,go on your lips, like you hate. matt leans down and brushes it out of your way with a fingertip and a gentle hum. he watches you yawn, wriggle nearer, flinging the leg on his lap to wrap around his.

"go to sleep,my angel," matt mumbles, just into the top of your forehead. when he looks down? you're already out.

YES i wrote this in the same 10 minutets as the last one, i'm on my grind! idk if i like this 🥲 lmk what you wanna see 🩷

[moondustbaby]

Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’ (and a BJ)

bsf!Rafe x bsf!Reader

cw: smut, oral (m rec), bsf tomfoolery

mdni 18+

summary: Post-Bonnaroo boredom turns into something a lot filthier when you offer to suck off your best friend mid-drive and Rafe’s ability to focus behind the wheel doesn’t stand a chance.

⸻

The road hadn’t changed in over an hour.

Still the same cracked asphalt, the same trees, the same awful indie playlist Rafe had insisted on playing because “it fits the post-festival vibes.” I was slouched in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, sunglasses sliding down my nose, hair in an absolute bird’s nest from four days of dirt, sweat, and overpriced beer.

“You good over there?” Rafe asked, glancing at me with that cocky grin that said he already knew I wasn’t.

“No,” I muttered. “I’m bored. And I smell like someone’s armpit.”

He laughed, that lazy, raspy one I secretly loved. “You look hot though.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Maybe. Still true.”

I turned to face him fully, resting my chin on the back of the seat. His hand was on the wheel, veins flexing every time he shifted lanes. He was in a white tank top, tanned skin and road trip stubble, and I hated how good he looked for someone who hadn’t showered in three days.

I watched him for a moment.

Then I said it. Blunt. No filter. Just the usual chaos that lived between us.

“Wanna blow job?”

He blinked.

His head turned just enough to see if I was serious which only made me laugh. “What?” I said. “I’m bored. You’re hot. It’s like… mutually beneficial enrichment. Like zoo animals. Enrichment time.”

“You’re so fucked in the head.”

“And yet here you are. Getting road head.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

I grinned, already popping off my seatbelt. “You didn’t say no.”

He shook his head with a smile that was all teeth. “This is how we die.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

“Tell my dad I died doing what I loved.”

“Getting sucked off by your best friend in a rental car?”

“Exactly.”

I leaned over the console, hand sliding into his lap, palming him over his shorts. “Fuck,” I whispered. “You’re already hard?”

He exhaled through his nose, one hand tightening on the wheel. “You offered to suck my dick outta nowhere, what did you expect?”

I grinned, teasing him through the fabric. “You drive. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Oh my God,” he muttered as I tugged his shorts down just enough to free his cock.

Thick. Already leaking. I wrapped my hand around him and gave one slow stroke, loving the way his jaw clenched immediately.

“You’re actually gonna do this,” he said, voice rough now. “Jesus Christ.”

“You want me to stop?” I teased, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.

He groaned, almost swerved. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

“Eyes on the road, Cameron.”

His hand flailed to the volume dial, turning the music down to a murmur, like he needed silence to survive this. I laughed, then ducked my head, lips wrapping around him, slow and steady.

“Fuck—” he hissed. “That’s not fair. That’s not fuckin’ fair—”

I hollowed my cheeks, going deeper, letting spit drip down onto my fist where I stroked what I couldn’t fit.

He twitched in my mouth.

“Holy shit, baby—”

God, the baby. He only called me that when he was too gone to think straight. I moaned around him, dragging my tongue along a vein just to hear him curse again.

My hand slipped under his shirt, nails dragging across his abs, and he groaned like he was dying.

“Don’t make me pull over,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I will. I swear to God, I’ll fuck you on the hood.”

I pulled off just long enough to breathe, resting my cheek on his thigh. “You said we had to make it back by six.”

“Screw six.”

I laughed, pumping him slow. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m getting head from you for the first time while doing 75 on the freeway—this is cinematic, actually.”

I licked the tip, then took him back down, deeper this time, relaxing my throat and letting him hit the back before pulling off with a wet pop.

“Fuck—you tryna kill me?”

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “I do.”

He was gripping the wheel like it owed him money, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, making sure no one could see even though we were in the middle of nowhere.

I flattened my tongue against the underside and bobbed my head faster now, spit pooling in my mouth, his cock slick and heavy on my tongue. His hips bucked up and I held him down with one hand on his thigh, nails digging in.

“Shitshitshit, I’m close,” he warned.

But I didn’t stop. If anything, I went harder, jerking him in time with each swirl of my tongue. I moaned around him again — loud and deliberate — and he whimpered.

“Gonna come,” he gasped. “Gonna fucking come, baby—”

He did.

Hard.

With a strangled groan that sounded ripped from his chest, cock twitching as he spilled into my mouth. I swallowed, slow and messy, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before licking the rest off my fingers.

Rafe didn’t say anything for a solid ten seconds.

Just kept driving, jaw slack, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“Are you good?” I asked, smirking as I climbed back into my seat.

He shook his head like he was rebooting. “I blacked out for a second.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked over at me, that slow, stunned smile spreading across his face. “That was insane.”

“Better than the festival?”

“Better than any festival.”

I laughed, propping my feet back on the dash. “We should stop for food.”

“You just sucked my soul out through my dick and now you want Arby’s?”

I shrugged. “Road head works up an appetite.”

He stared at me for a beat, then reached over and took my hand.

“You know this changes shit, right?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“Not going back after this.”

“Didn’t plan on it.”

He kissed the back of my hand, still wrecked, still smiling.

Then he glanced back at the road and muttered, “You’re gonna suck me off every road trip now.”

I grinned. “Only if you stop playing this damn playlist.”

He groaned. “You liked Phoebe Bridgers!”

“You cried during ‘Motion Sickness.’”

“You gave me head to it.”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: listen. i don’t know what demon possessed me to write a road head fic at 10am, but here we are. rafe’s hands are on the wheel but his soul has left the chat. this is what happens when you take two feral best friends, 17 hours of driving, and Phoebe Bridgers and trap them in a vehicle. thanks for riding along on this highway to horny hell. wear your seatbelt. tip your best friend. give him head. 🤩

♥️ lani

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𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@psychicnatural @superlegend216 @rafesbabygirlx

[prettyboystories]

Megumi // Shaving

774 words Premise: You and Megumi are childhood best friends; you help him shave his face Warnings: Female Reader implied, boners mentioned

“What do you even shave for?” you asked curiously, side-eyeing Megumi as you spat your toothpaste out and watched your friend dab the shaving cream on. “You don’t grow any facial hair.”

Megumi’s hand stilled as his eyes met yours and he tilted his head.

“...my face is clean because I shave every day.”

You appraised him with a childishly horrified look. “No way. I touch your face plenty. There’s no stubble.”

The corner of Megumi’s lips quirked up. “Yeah, because I shave it every morning.”

You stared at his shaving cream covered face for a while before scrunching your nose in displeasure, either at the mental image of him with a beard or his potential for growing one.

“What are you thinking of?” Megumi asked you after a few moments of wordless staring.

“Monkeys,” you answered and he dead-panned, scoffing at your association, prompting you to give him an apologetic smile. “Can I try?”

“Shaving?”

“You,” you confirmed with a quick, eager nod.

“S-sure,” Megumi nodded instinctively. Maybe Nobara had a point when she called him a pushover in regards to you. “Just be gentle.”

You led him to the side of the bathtub, pushing him to sit as you stood between his legs and tilted his head up for yourself.

“I won’t let your pretty face come to harm in my hands.”

You took the razor from between his fingers and started ever so slowly and carefully bringing it across his face. Megumi watched your eyes focus on your task.

“You don’t actually have to be that careful,” he chuckled softly when you turned to clean the razor before turning back around to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you replied and changed nothing about your diligent movements. If his face hadn’t been spotless before, it definitely would be now.

“Would I be a bad person if I requested that you never grow a beard?” you mused, catching his gaze and giving him a fond smile.

“Oh please, we’re Japanese and I’m sixteen. I can’t actually grow a full beard even if I tried.”

“Good,” you assessed with a satisfied nod. “You’re too pretty to hide behind hair.”

Megumi let out a huff and turned away at your words to which you tutted and turned his head back so you could finish the last of your shaving.

“No compliments today?” you asked kindly though, ever careful with him.

“It’s just different when you’re so close, saying them quietly and… reverently.”

You just gave him a half amused smile before stroking the back of your pointer finger over Megumi’s now clean cheek and cupping said cheek as you brought your lips to his forehead because Megumi’s best friend was careful but cruel, too.

As you were about to step away, Megumi held on to two of your fingers and you looked back.

“Do you really find it gross? That I grow hair there?”

You hummed and tilted your head like the question required some amount of deep pondering.

“No,” you finally surmised. “As long as it’s shaven off at least, I just find it curious that you grow it. And it doesn’t gross me out like men’s armpit hair so I’m free to appreciate this boyish feature of yours.”

You underlined your assessment by smoothing your thumb over his clean chin once more before trailing it down his neck and over his Adam’s apple, pressing just softly enough that it was only mildly unpleasant. You’d finally learned to keep your touch gentle there.

He huffed your name regardless.

“Megu,” you replied with a smile. “Aren’t you happy I can appreciate these differences of yours now?”

He was. Of course he was. He was forever grateful that he and you were able to maintain their close bond despite all the effort the people around them, Japan and society at large had put into teaching boys like him that girls like you were embarrassing to play with, associate with or be alike in any way. As well as then warning girls that boys were just like that and fostering subtle resentment against them as pseudo-revenge for the resentment they faced first.

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘appreciate’,” he still countered. “You poke at my neck, scrunch your nose at my ‘monkey-hair’ and giggle at my boners.”

“They poke me when we cuddle. I’m allowed to giggle,” you stated. “Be grateful I find them cute.”

“Yeah, you are,” Megumi agreed with a sigh. The chuckling about his ‘horniness antenna’ was perfectly fine, much better than if he’d ever made you uncomfortable. “Think you’d want to ever do this again? You’re very diligent about it.”

[pierregazly]

breakfast for three ꨄ lando norris

lando norris x wife!reader

warnings: mentions of mother's day, lando and reader have a son, fluff [861 words]

request: 💗 i was wondering if i could please request prompt 3 with lando norris? [3. "Go back to sleep."]

The soft giggles broke through your warm slumber, a small smile pulling onto your lips as you felt the little hands squishing your cheeks. Wrapping your arms around the small body that had found itself on top of you, the giggles grew as you pulled his little body closer to yours.

“Mama, no!” 

The little boy squealed, his arms trying to break free of your hold as you littered his face with groggy kisses, blowing raspberries into the soft skin as the loud giggles continued.

“I think I’ve found myself a wild Archie this morning, haven’t I?” 

He shook his head instantly, pushing at your hands that tickled under his armpits, squealing in laughter as he continued to try and get away.

“No, Mama, no! I wanted to wake you up with a big kiss,” he enunciated the word big, pressing a slobbery kiss to your cheek once you finally halted your own attack.

“Oh did you, my sweet little love? Shall I give you a big kiss in return?”

He nodded his head eagerly, turning his cheek towards you with a toothy grin. Instantly pressing a large kiss to his little cheek, he cuddled into you, pressing his chin into your shoulder as the soft giggles returned.

“Archie, mate! I told you not to wake her up, we were supposed to be making breakfast for her and bringing it to her in bed, you silly boy,” Lando hollered from the door.

A pout formed on your son’s face, his face turning back into you as he tried to melt his body into yours. 

“I jus’ wanted a little snuggle, Mama,” the little boy whispered into your ear, a small smile pulling across your face at his words.

He always wanted a little snuggle in the morning, a tradition from the day he was born. From Lando picking him up and out of the crib to snuggle in bed, to the little boy eagerly crawling in between the two of you on Christmas morning; he always found a way to squeeze an extra snuggle in.

You felt him being picked up from beside you, a soft ‘no’ flying from his lips as he glared at the man above him. 

“Off you go to the kitchen, little man. Don’t you wanna spoil Mum for her big day? Daddy will burn everything without your help, Arch,” a look of horror overtook the little boy’s face at your husband’s words. He wiggled to get out of the arms holding him, ungracefully dropping to the floor below him.

His little feet pattered against the carpet, towards the direction of the kitchen. Lando turned towards you with a smirk.

“Mama’s boy til’ the end of his days, I swear,” he said with a shake of his head.

Leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead, you smiled up at him, your hand gently grazing the grown-out stubble on his cheeks. 

“Just like his own daddy, don’t act like you’re not a little Mama’s boy, Lan,” you said.

Shrugging his shoulders, he simply grinned down at you. “Course’ I am, taught him well, didn’ I? His idea to cook you a little Mother’s Day brekky, jus’ for him to disappear and wake you up.”

Laughing softly, shaking your head at your son’s usual antics. You felt the fondness inside of you grow, a yearning to feel your son cuddled into your arms again, breakfast or no breakfast.

“Go back to sleep for a little bit, baby. It’s going to take us a little bit, he got all the waffle mix on the floor. Hasn’t been much help, really,” he said.

Quirking an eyebrow up at him, “You sure it’s not you that hasn’t been much help? Don’t think I’ve seen you cook breakfast once in the years we’ve been together.”

Pinching your bare shoulder, you whacked at his hand with a small laugh.

“You brat, I cooked you brekky last Mother’s Day, don’t act up or I’ll give you a little spank,” he said, a cocky grin overtaking his features.

Biting the corner of your lip, you let your finger gently tug on one of his overgrown curls as he grinned down at you.

“Hm, maybe that’s what I’m looking for. Good start to making a little brother or sister for Archie, don’t ya’ think?” 

The soft murmur of words prompted a redness to grow across Lando’s face, his hand cupping your cheek with a cheeky grin on his own face.

“Should I lock Archie out for a little bit, tell him the door’s closed and to jus’ play with the waffle mix for a little? Could get started right now, Mama,” he said, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Shoving at his shoulder with a laugh, you pushed him away from you, pulling the comforter tighter around your body. 

“I believe I was promised a wonderful Mother’s Day brekky, no? Get to it, Lan.”

Pressing another kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips, the Brit pulled back from you. 

“Happy Mother’s Day, my love. Go back to sleep for a bit, it’s your day for us to spoil you for once.”

Happy Mother's Day to everyone who celebrates, to all the Mother's who are forgotten, who aren't given the love and celebration they deserve, the Mother's without their children today, the Mother's with their rainbow babies, their fur babies, their babies who are no longer with us - I hope you treat yourself well today.

To everyone with negative feelings towards Mother's Day, who do not look at this day with love and adoration - know that you are valid, and you owe no explanations. I hope you treat yourself with love and care today as well.

[prettyboystories-old]

Megumi // Shaving

774 words Premise: You and Megumi are childhood best friends; you help him shave his face Warnings: Female Reader implied, boners mentioned OLD POST (Switching blogs) Will be retired in a week. Go to this version to interact instead.

“What do you even shave for?” you asked curiously, side-eyeing Megumi as you spat your toothpaste out and watched your friend dab the shaving cream on. “You don’t grow any facial hair.”

Megumi’s hand stilled as his eyes met yours and he tilted his head.

“...my face is clean because I shave every day.”

You appraised him with a childishly horrified look. “No way. I touch your face plenty. There’s no stubble.”

The corner of Megumi’s lips quirked up. “Yeah, because I shave it every morning.”

You stared at his shaving cream covered face for a while before scrunching your nose in displeasure, either at the mental image of him with a beard or his potential for growing one.

“What are you thinking of?” Megumi asked you after a few moments of wordless staring.

“Monkeys,” you answered and he dead-panned, scoffing at your association, prompting you to give him an apologetic smile. “Can I try?”

“Shaving?”

“You,” you confirmed with a quick, eager nod.

“S-sure,” Megumi nodded instinctively. Maybe Nobara had a point when she called him a pushover in regards to you. “Just be gentle.”

You led him to the side of the bathtub, pushing him to sit as you stood between his legs and tilted his head up for yourself.

“I won’t let your pretty face come to harm in my hands.”

You took the razor from between his fingers and started ever so slowly and carefully bringing it across his face. Megumi watched your eyes focus on your task.

“You don’t actually have to be that careful,” he chuckled softly when you turned to clean the razor before turning back around to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you replied and changed nothing about your diligent movements. If his face hadn’t been spotless before, it definitely would be now.

“Would I be a bad person if I requested that you never grow a beard?” you mused, catching his gaze and giving him a fond smile.

“Oh please, we’re Japanese and I’m sixteen. I can’t actually grow a full beard even if I tried.”

“Good,” you assessed with a satisfied nod. “You’re too pretty to hide behind hair.”

Megumi let out a huff and turned away at your words to which you tutted and turned his head back so you could finish the last of your shaving.

“No compliments today?” you asked kindly though, ever careful with him.

“It’s just different when you’re so close, saying them quietly and… reverently.”

You just gave him a half amused smile before stroking the back of your pointer finger over Megumi’s now clean cheek and cupping said cheek as you brought your lips to his forehead because Megumi’s best friend was careful but cruel, too.

As you were about to step away, Megumi held on to two of your fingers and you looked back.

“Do you really find it gross? That I grow hair there?”

You hummed and tilted your head like the question required some amount of deep pondering.

“No,” you finally surmised. “As long as it’s shaven off at least, I just find it curious that you grow it. And it doesn’t gross me out like men’s armpit hair so I’m free to appreciate this boyish feature of yours.”

You underlined your assessment by smoothing your thumb over his clean chin once more before trailing it down his neck and over his Adam’s apple, pressing just softly enough that it was only mildly unpleasant. You’d finally learned to keep your touch gentle there.

He huffed your name regardless.

“Megu,” you replied with a smile. “Aren’t you happy I can appreciate these differences of yours now?”

He was. Of course he was. He was forever grateful that he and you were able to maintain their close bond despite all the effort the people around them, Japan and society at large had put into teaching boys like him that girls like you were embarrassing to play with, associate with or be alike in any way. As well as then warning girls that boys were just like that and fostering subtle resentment against them as pseudo-revenge for the resentment they faced first.

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘appreciate’,” he still countered. “You poke at my neck, scrunch your nose at my ‘monkey-hair’ and giggle at my boners.”

“They poke me when we cuddle. I’m allowed to giggle,” you stated. “Be grateful I find them cute.”

“Yeah, you are,” Megumi agreed with a sigh. The chuckling about his ‘horniness antenna’ was perfectly fine, much better than if he’d ever made you uncomfortable. “Think you’d want to ever do this again? You’re very diligent about it.”

[piggytfs]

The Wrong Wish (revamped)

inspired, once again, by the iconic @bigfuckingdudes. more stories to come! appreciate all the asks and excitement. hope y'all weren't trying to lose weight while i was gone.

Kyle slouched on the couch, his lean, 19-year-old frame tense with disgust. Craig, his mother’s new husband, waddled in from the kitchen, his beer gut swaying, sweat stains blooming under his armpits. The man let out a ripe fart, chuckling as he scratched his hairy belly, crumbs from a bag of BBQ chips tumbling to the floor. “Hey, lighten up, squirt,” Craig leered, winking with a crude grin. “Life’s too short to be so uptight.” Kyle’s stomach churned. Craig was everything he despised: loud, vulgar, and shamelessly gross. Worse, his mom seemed blind to it, laughing at Craig’s lewd jokes, blushing when he groped her. Kyle was the opposite—quiet, introspective, a college kid who valued discipline and order. This slob was ruining his life.

That night, Kyle lay in bed, his mind racing. “I’d do anything to get Craig away from Mom,” he whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. The words hung in the air, heavy with intent, as if the universe itself was listening. Exhausted, he drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep.

And then the sun rose on a new reality.

Kyle woke to a suffocating weight, his body sinking into the mattress like it was quicksand. His limbs felt sluggish, pinned by an unfamiliar and quivering bulk. His chest heaved, each breath a labored wheeze, as if his lungs were squeezed by layers of dough. He tried to move, but his neck—now a thick roll of fat—resisted, creaking as he turned his head. In the dim light, Craig loomed beside him, propped on one elbow, his doughy face split into a smug, intimate grin. “Mornin’, my sexy hog,” the man purred, his voice dripping with lust. His meaty hand reached out, stroking Kyle’s cheek, fingers lingering on the stubble of a double chin.

Kyle’s heart pounded. “What the—” His voice was alien, a deep, raspy growl, thickened by years of grease and smoke. He tried to sit up, but his body rebelled. His belly, a massive, quivering dome, spilled across the bed, its pale, stretch-marked surface trembling with every breath. Rolls of fat cascaded down his sides, pooling against the sheets, each one soft and heavy, like warm dough. His thighs, thick as tree trunks, rubbed together, slick with sweat, their friction sending a jolt through him. His arms were flabby slabs, jiggling as he flailed, and his man-tits sagged, dusted with coarse, dark hair that trailed down to his navel. A sour, musky stench clung to him—sweat, body odor, and something earthier, like unwashed skin. It was his smell, and it made his stomach lurch.

He raised a hand, fingers now fat and clumsy, nails yellowed, and saw a gold wedding band glinting on his ring finger. His chest tightened. He was married. To Craig. “No, no, no,” he rasped, his voice trembling. He tried to roll off the bed, but his bulk made it impossible. His belly sloshed, dragging him back, and his joints ached under the strain. Beneath the layers of fat, his cock stirred, buried under a thick pad of lard that jiggled with every movement. It throbbed, hard and aching, the pressure intense but humiliatingly inaccessible, smothered by his new girth.

“Look at you, my big, blubbery boy,” Craig teased, his hand sliding down to knead Kyle’s belly, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. “Fuck, you’re so heavy, ain’t ya? Bet you can’t even get outta bed without me.” He chuckled, his own gut pressing against Kyle’s side, their sweaty skin sticking together. Kyle’s cock pulsed harder, betraying him, and a wave of arousal hit so strong he gasped, his cheeks flushing under his chubby cheeks.

“Get… away,” Kyle managed, but his mind was foggy. He was not himself—or was he too much himself? Memories flickered, not his own. He saw himself as Kyle, the lean, disciplined kid who planned his workouts, who cringed at fast food, who valued control. But new memories—vivid, invasive—pushed in. He was 48 now, not 19, a man who’d spent decades indulging, gorging on pizzas and beers with Craig at their favorite diner. He was no longer quiet; he was loud, laughing at crude jokes, belching in public, reveling in his bulk. He was Craig’s husband, a role model for excess, a gainer who lived for the scale’s climb. Their wedding day: Kyle, 400 pounds, waddling down the aisle, his suit splitting at the seams, Craig whispering, “You’re my perfect pig.” Nights in this bed, Craig feeding him, their bodies entwined, sweat and musk mingling as they fucked.

“No, I’m not that guy!” Kyle growled, shaking his head, his jowls quivering. He clung to his old self, the college kid who hated Craig’s filth—his farts, his sweat, his lewdness. But it was fading, like a signal drowned out by static. Craig grinned, undeterred, and grabbed a tray from the nightstand, laden with donuts, their glaze glistening, alongside a pitcher of cream and a stack of bacon. “Time to eat, big man,” he said, holding a donut to Kyle’s lips. “Gotta keep my hog nice and stuffed.”

Kyle’s stomach roared, a deep, hungry rumble that shook his frame. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to open his mouth. “I’m not… your fucking pig,” he spat, but the scent of sugar and grease was intoxicating. His cock throbbed beneath his fat pad, the pressure building, and he hated how good it felt. Craig’s teasing didn’t stop. “Oh, come on, babe, you love this. Look at that gut, all swollen with lard. Bet you can’t even reach your dick anymore, huh? Need your husband to take care of that for ya.” He jiggled Kyle’s belly, sending ripples through the fat, and Kyle moaned, the sound raw and involuntary.

His mind begged him to fight. You’re Kyle. You’re not this slob. You hate him. But his body had other ideas. His mouth opened, and the donut slid in, the sweet, doughy taste exploding on his tongue. He chewed, glaze smearing his lips, and another moan escaped. Craig fed him another, then a strip of bacon, the grease dripping down Kyle’s chin, pooling in the folds of his neck. Each bite was a surrender, his old personality crumbling. The disciplined kid was gone, replaced by a man who craved excess—food, sex, filth. He was becoming Craig’s mirror, a loud, crude gainer who laughed at restraint, who loved burping contests and farting in bed, who got off on being too big for chairs.

“Fuck, you’re such a greedy pig,” Craig growled, his hand sliding under Kyle’s belly, fingers brushing the fat pad where his cock strained. “Look at this. All that lard’s got you so hard, but you’re too fat to do shit about it.” He squeezed, and Kyle bucked, his bulk quivering, pleasure overwhelming his resistance. Craig leaned in, kissing him, his stubble scraping his sensitive skin, his breath hot and sour. Their bellies pressed together, sweat and musk mingling, and Kyle’s mind frayed. Craig’s filth—his filth—wasn’t gross; it was hot. His farts were funny, his sweat was sexy, his crude love was perfect.

“I… I’m not…” Kyle whimpered, but the words were a lie. The wedding band felt like it had always been there, a symbol of their kinky bond. New memories solidified: him and Craig at a buffet, Kyle’s shirt riding up, Craig feeding him ribs until he couldn’t breathe. Their honeymoon, Kyle stuck in a hot tub, Craig fucking him as the water sloshed. He was a gainer, a hog, proud of his 500-pound frame, his immobility a trophy of their love. His personality had shifted—he was no longer introspective but boisterous, cracking lewd jokes, goading Craig into stuffing him fuller.

“More,” Kyle gasped, his voice thick with need. “Feed me, Craig.” His mind screamed one last desperate plea, but it was drowned out by his hunger. Craig’s laugh was deep and triumphant. “That’s my big, filthy hog,” he said, stuffing a pancake into his mouth, syrup dripping onto his man-tits. His hand worked under the fat pad, teasing his cock, and Kyle moaned, his body quaking. “Gonna make you so much fatter, babe. My perfect husband.”

Kyle surrendered completely. He was Craig’s, body and soul. His old life—discipline, restraint—was a distant dream. He loved his filthy, kinky husband, loved the sweat, the stench, the excess. As Craig fed him, fucked him, worshipped him, Kyle knew this was where he belonged: a massive, smelly hog, bound to his fat man forever.

[girlcowboy]

rhett abbott | "if you make me laugh, we can have a baby"

a/n: anyone else obsessed with the thought of dad!rhett? bc i am. anyway theres this trend on tiktok thats like ladies telling their partners "if you make me laugh we can have a baby" and then laughing really hard before their partner can say anything. yeah this was inspired by that

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"Hey, Mama," Comes Rhett's drawl, breaking through the haze of sleep. Lips brush over your ear, stubble ticking your skin as his oversized hands slide up your waist. "You been sleepin' good?"

"Mm..." You hum sleepily, shifting to roll over into his arms, snuggling your nose against his bicep, still slightly damp from working outside. He smells like dirt and sweat. You murmur tiredly, "You crawl into my bed like that, Abbott?"

"Real sorry, baby," He laughs softly, shifting around you. "I'll go change 'n shower, if'n that's what you want."

"Nah," You yawn, eyes still closed. A hand finds its way to your hair, brushing tress back away from your face. "Y'smell good."

A little laughy scoff tumbles from his lips. "Oh, yeah? The real good scent of sweat and cow manure?"

You give a grunt and he laughs again. "Naw. Like... skin. An' sweat, yeah. But just... I dunno. Good."

"We'll have to get your nose checked, baby," And his voice goes all warm and melty. "You feelin' alright?"

"Just tired," You yawn again, finally cracking your eyes open. The room is dark, slightly damp with a breeze running in from the window. And there Rhett lays next to you, curls sweaty and sticking to his head, half dried from the hot air. His white undershirt sticks to his chest and armpits, and he's clearly ditched his jeans and boots on the floor, just laying there in his dark blue briefs.

The way he looks at you... God, like something holy. Something untouchable. Warm and gooey around the edges, crows feet crinkled.

Like you're his.

"Well," You drawl, running your fingertips over his stubbled jaw, feeling the tiny hairs bite at you. "Hey, there, handsome."

"Hey, there, pretty thing," He murmurs, eyes falling half lidded as he kisses at what he can reach of you. Your fingers, your palm, snuggling closer to get at your neck and shoulder.

"Hey," You whisper, to get his attention. Rhett peers up at you through his lashes, languid and curious. You pet over his jaw. "If you c'n make me laugh, we can have a baby."

Rhett's eyes are dark, now, watching you. He goes to open his mouth, to say something, but you let a giggle spring forth, morphing into a snort as his eyebrows furrow in confusion. He snorts back, hands grabbing at your waist and hauling you over, rolling his eyes fondly as you laugh under him, squirming.

"Alri', you had your fun," Rhett complains, fingers grasping your sides. You squirm as he begins peppering your face with kisses, starting out soft, light, before he reaches your lips and deepens the kiss, lips moving languidly against your own. You make a muffled little content noise, right through your nose, and he groans back appreciatively, moving closer, as close as he can, hips slotting into yours. "Mmph, c'mon, Mama-"

"Rhett," You breathe as you break away, just for one moment, just to breathe before his lips are back on yours, mouth hot and damp as he pries your mouth open with his, invading your senses and lapping at your tongue. "Mnhg, Rhett- baby-"

Rhett groans again, into your mouth this time, breaking away with a pant. "You ain't got no idea what you do to me, darlin', no fuckin' clue-"

"I think I'm all caught up, Rhett," You giggle as his hips, and the hard outline of his cock trapped in his briefs, rock against you. Your laughter breaks away into a breathy moan as he slots his bulge against your core. "Oh-! I jus' woke up, gimme a second, Daddy-"

"Okay," Rhett says, before pausing, staring down at you. Then he nods, a serious look on his pretty face as he leans down again hurriedly to reconnect your lips. "One, two-"

You shriek a laugh as his tries to capture your lips again. "More than that! Rhett!"

"Nuh, baby, I gave you the second you were wan'in," He rumbles against your jaw, having missed your lips as you turned away. He shuffles closer, rocking his hips down against yours. "Two of 'em, even-"

"Alright, alright," You grumble playfully as you let him taste you again, tongue lapping at your lips. "Be a good boy, now, Rhett,"

"Yes, ma'am," Rhett breathes against your lips. "Anythin' my pretty thing wants."

[crowttore]

Notes: Anon. I'm so sorry, somehow I lost your ask.. Maybe because I was writing at 3am... But the request was 'Dottore helping chronically bad sleeper reader drift off'. I went with Akademiya!Zandik.

Tags: Dottore x reader, established relationship, bad sleeper reader, fluff, banter, akademiya!zandik

"Do you think-" your words were cut off by a yawn forcing itself from your lungs, only to choke when Zandik tugged you closer and pushed your face into his armpit.

He merely chuckled at your weak swats, not relenting until you pinched his tender flanks. "That we should be sleeping? Absolutely. Preferably since an hour ago."

When had your days turned into this? Despite your exhaustion, having sat through six consecutive hours of lectures, followed by independent studying in the House of Daena, it was impossible for your mind to grant itself even one shred of rest. It had always been this way, taking hours to finally slip into peaceful slumber and requiring next to nothing to rouse you again.

"Not what I meant," you huffed, scratching the patchy stubble just beneath his chin, a spot Zandik always seemed to miss when shaving, "I wanted to know if you believe e-"

"Everyone has a constellation, yes." If it wouldn't get you thrown out, you might just have strangled him. If nothing else to wipe the toothy grin from his face. Your chest felt unfairly tight at the sight.

A soft breeze had the canopies just outside the window rustling gently, the sound filling otherwise comfortable silence. And more importantly, masking the annoyed sigh that left your lips before you attempted to continue, "even if-"

"Even if they never have an astronomer point it out, yes. Just like a tree falling will always make a sound, even if no one is around to hear it." Zandik interrupted again, his carmine eyes devouring the pale starlight.

"You're an ass, Zandik."

"I believe my poor mood surrounding the topic is quite justified. How come questions about the stars and sky from you are nothing but 'childish folly' but the moment I ask a question, suddenly there are threats of expulsion involved. So much for academic freedom."

"That's because I don't act like a madman while posing them. You always look like you're three seconds from declaring you want to fistfight an archon." You both knew that was a truth with modifications, the real issue being how he tiptoed the line of blasphemy.

Once more, Zandik adjusted his grip around your waist, muttering a few additional complaints under his breath. "Still not feeling tired?"

With the grace of a charging sumpter beast, you ignored the question, knowing he already had an answer anyway. Your eyes had been drooping for half an hour, but every time they'd stayed shut, the urge to sleep had vanished completely.

"Don't interrupt this time. To me, it doesn't look like there'd be enough stars in the sky for everyone to have entirely separate constellations. I said don't interrupt, Zandik!" His barely audible snicker only made you roll your eyes, "What if you share stars with the people you'll grow closest to in your life?"

"Some sort of divinely appointed friend? Utterly ridiculous."

"Oh come on, isn't it a reassuring thought? -wait a moment, friend?!" Your attempts to struggle away were easily stopped by his firm grip, expending little enough energy that his slender fingers were still soothingly rubbing along your back.

"Reassuring? Being forced by divinity is your definition of reassurance? In that case, we certainly aren't meant for each other." Cracked lips brushed against your forehead before he continued, "it was never specified that you were referring to our situation."

The kiss and subsequent nuzzle of his crooked nose into your hair, your face pressed to his chest and able to breath nothing but his oaky scent, hardly able to hear anything but the steady beat of his heart, had an odd calm settling in your bones.

"Was that all you needed to hear to quell your anxieties? That I consider us far more entangled than any 'shared fate' could dictate?"

You wanted to argue, to say it was a ridiculous proposition. But it had made you feel warm inside, and it was difficult to focus on the nagging voices in the back of your head when the sound of Zandik's gentle kisses echoed in your mind instead.