#knee replacement age

[emiliosandozsequence]

decided to nickname eds 'body falling apart' disease bc that's basically what's happening here

[tealfruit]

I'm just constantly on my bullshit these days. brain said fuck you feel everything and think about everything

[loserfuck]

Reminded of an experience by this post; some time ago I was in the VA clinic waiting room and a very old man was called in for his blood draw, I overheard the nurse ask him how old he was as he stood up "I just turned 93 but I still feel like I'm 60" That man has been alive more than three times as long as I have been alive and feels an age twice mine is "young" It is all just perspective

[kerosene-saint]

I wish I wasn't chronically ill :[

[dr-aashish-arbat-pune]

Can Knee Surgery Cause Death

Here get answers to questions: Can Knee Surgery Cause Death? How Dangerous is Knee Surgery?... Know about, Knee Replacement Mortality Rate by Age… from Dr. Aashish Arbat… Top Orthopedic Doctor in Pune. Top knee replacement Doctor in Pune.

[this-is-not-a-slow-burn]

My mom comes home from full knee replacement surgery tomorrow. She's 66 and not as sprightly as you might think. Hopefully this helps though.

Anyway any tips and tricks from anyone who's been through it, or helped someone who has?

She's got all kinds of instructions, will be doing PT ASAP, and they're sending her home with the ice pack therapy machine, a leg massage device that helps prevent blood clots, so those are covered. There's an assistance frame around the toilet, some shower bars that we're going to get put up, and I think a shower chair? There's a ramp on the front porch because of the three stairs there. She's already got a "rollater" walker like this and we have a wheelchair in case anything goes really bad.

It's a one storey house thankfully, with a fairly open floor plan, and we've removed anything that could be a trip hazard and widened spaces where we could like moving dining room table so it's diagonal and easier to access.

Thankfully my brother lives in town and works mostly nights and weekends, and my kid is around, so they will also be able to help.

(I'm living with my parents at the moment due to this and some other things, namely that my dad lost vision in one eye after a surgery that didn't work. He can't really see much out of that eye and the other is starting to go pretty blurry so I'm here for the long haul I believe.)

[drsameepsohoni]

Signs You Need Knee Surgery

Here know, Signs You Need Knee Surgery. Also get answers to questions: Can an X Ray Show If You Need A Knee Replacement? Where is the Pain If You Need a Knee Replacement? What Does a Knee Look Like That Needs to Be Replaced? From Dr. Sameep Sohoni… Top Orthpedic Doctor in Thane, Mumbai.

[amirasainz]

Little alonso when she is very small (around the age of 1 or younger), and she is brought with fernando to Media Day because there was no one else to watch her. She is being very quiet and content in her papa's arms.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

- xoxo babygirl 🤍

Sleepy Baby

The paddock buzzed with its usual energy—engines revving in the background, fans cheering from beyond the gates, and reporters lining up in the media pen to grab their post-session interviews. Fernando walked toward the pen with his one-year-old daughter, Yn, snugly nestled in his arms. Her chubby hands clutched his team jacket, and her head rested against his shoulder. The bright sunlight filtered through her soft brown curls as she blinked at the bustling scene with wide, curious eyes.

There was no one else to watch her today, and Fernando preferred having her close anyway. Yn was his calm in the chaos, her soft coos grounding him in a way nothing else could.

As he stepped into the pen, all eyes turned to the two of them. Fernando was an icon on his own, but seeing him with a baby—a tiny baby—drew immediate attention.

“Fernando! Who’s this little one?” a journalist asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and adoration.

“This is Yn,” Fernando replied, his accent curling around the words as a smile spread across his face. He adjusted Yn slightly in his arms, her small fingers now playing with the zipper of his jacket. “She’s my daughter.”

“She’s adorable,” another chimed in, leaning forward with her microphone.

Yn, sensing the attention, gave the faintest of giggles. Fernando chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

“Thank you,” he said. “She is my lucky charm today.”

Behind him, Charles and Lando had arrived to do their own interviews. Their eyes immediately darted to Yn, and they exchanged a glance before stepping closer.

“Mate,” Lando began, his voice teasing but soft, “you’ve been hiding her from us all this time?”

Fernando smirked. “She’s not for paddock chaos. But today, there was no choice.”

Charles crouched slightly to get a better look at Yn, his face lighting up when she turned her gaze toward him. “Salut, ma petite,” he said gently. “You’re so calm. How does she do it?”

“She’s always calm,” Fernando replied, stroking her back absentmindedly. Yn let out a tiny yawn, her hands now resting lazily against his chest. “She is like this… most of the time.”

“She’s a baby!” Charles exclaimed. “Most babies I know are… how do you say… chaotic.”

“Mine is perfect,” Fernando said simply, though his proud smile said everything.

Lando leaned in closer, his hands on his knees. “Hey, Yn,” he said softly, “do you like racing?” He made a playful engine sound with his mouth, earning another quiet giggle from her.

“She likes to watch,” Fernando answered for her. “But only highlights. It’s too loud otherwise.”

George strolled over next, curious about the cluster of attention. His eyes softened immediately when he spotted Yn. “Oh, no. Fernando, you’ve officially brought the most charming person in the paddock.”

“Thank you,” Fernando said, brushing Yn’s hair back from her forehead. “She takes after her father.”

“Careful,” Lando quipped. “She might already be more popular than you.”

Fernando chuckled. “Good. She deserves it.”

The journalists were captivated, their usual hard-hitting questions replaced with soft inquiries about Yn. Fernando answered them all patiently, his hand never ceasing its soothing motion on her back. When asked about his race prep, he replied, “This is my preparation,” tilting his head toward Yn. “She keeps me focused.”

As the interviews continued, Yn’s eyelids grew heavier. Fernando’s movements slowed, his voice taking on a softer tone as he answered questions about tire strategies and team updates. Every so often, he’d pause to kiss Yn’s cheek or whisper something to her in Spanish.

From the corner, Max joined the group, arms crossed but his eyes fixed on Yn. “She’s so small,” he said, almost in awe. “How does she stay so quiet?”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “Why do you assume she would not?”

“Because babies are loud?” Max replied, his tone genuinely curious.

“Not mine,” Fernando said, shifting Yn slightly as she burrowed deeper into his chest. “She understands when it is important to be quiet.”

The group laughed softly, careful not to disturb the little girl who now seemed to be half-asleep.

“Fernando,” a journalist began tentatively, “has becoming a father changed how you approach racing?”

He considered the question, his hand resting on Yn’s head. “It has changed… everything,” he admitted. “Racing is still important, but now, when I finish a session or a race, my first thought is her. I want her to see me… not just as a driver but as her Papà.”

The media collectively melted at his words, scribbling down every heartfelt sentiment. Nearby, the other drivers exchanged knowing smiles. Even the toughest rivalries softened in Yn’s presence.

Eventually, Yn’s soft breaths signaled she was fast asleep. Fernando’s voice dropped to an almost-whisper as he finished his last interview, his arms never faltering despite the length of the session.

As he walked out of the pen, the other drivers trailed behind, still marveling at the tiny girl in his arms.

“Fernando,” Charles called, “next time, bring her to the drivers’ parade.”

Fernando glanced back, a rare sparkle in his eyes. “We’ll see,” he said, a protective edge to his tone.

“Just saying,” Lando added, “she’d definitely steal the show.”

Fernando laughed softly, pressing one last kiss to Yn’s head. “She already has.”

[maiamore]

LUCKY YOU

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 2.7k

Summary: Joel tries to read his book instead of giving his wife attention on his honeymoon.

Or, Joel fucks his wife at the beach.

Tags: husband!joel, public indecency, sex on the beach, established relationship, outdoor sex, p in v sex, accidental creampie,honeymoon vibes,able bodied reader, implied age gap, slight coercing(?) reader just wants her husband to fuck her on her honeymoon smfh, use of pet names, pussy pronouns, one use of the word daddy A/N: i don't even have to explain what conjured this, beach pedro y'all, i enjoyed writing this SO MUCH

Edit: this song, Image - Magdalena Bay suits this fic perfectly in my head arghh MASTERLIST

It wasn’t easy getting a man like Joel Miller to relax. 

Every goddamn chance he got, he’d find a way to keep busy–mind or body. Whether it was fixing the creaky cabinet door or patching up the leaky air-conditioning unit that the landlord swore they'd call someone for. Joel thrived on activity, claiming it "kept the bad thoughts away." Whatever those bad thoughts were, you weren’t sure, but you suspected they’d always be lurking at the edges.

Even now, with the tropical sun bathing both of you in its’ lazy warmth and the lull of crystal blue waves breaking the shore, Joel had insisted on unwinding by reading, of all things. 

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead.

Given, it was a good read, you’d insisted for him to give it a try. And you’d enjoyed it—a book that had you question societal norms, ethical implications of how humanity treated animals and the environment through the eyes of Janina Duszejko.

Could you really be upset at your husband keeping his mind occupied with a good book? 

Oh, you could. And you would. Considering this was your honeymoon.

Three blissful, chaotic years of marriage had finally led you both here. A getaway, tucked in a small Caribbean resort. You both managed to rub every damned spare penny together and finally found yourselves living a much needed pleasure. 

You spent your mornings indulging in piña coladas and your afternoons barefoot on powder soft sand with cool foam kissing your ankles. Taking in the salty ocean air.

To Joel’s credit, you were finally getting to see a side of him you weren’t able to in your entirety of knowing him. 

The deep creases of his brows had disappeared, replaced by something softer, easier. The only lines on his face now were the crows feet that appeared in his relaxed laughter. Work and responsibility kept him on his feet back in Austin. But here? With Tommy stepping up to manage Miller’s Construction, Joel had let himself breathe.

A man unburdened. Lord knows he’d deserved it. Though it was a double edged sword.

You’d never found your husband sexier than ever in his relaxed state and your libido was through the fucking roof.

If his hand wasn’t resting on the small of your back, it was tangled in yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles into your palm. And when it wasn’t there? It was on your thigh beneath the dinner table, his fingers tracing the outline of your knee absentmindedly.

You found yourself stealing glances at him.

In complete awe at the man who could quite literally wrestle a washing machine up three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat—look so utterly peaceful, sprawled on the sun lounger. With sand clinging to his calves and a vibrant blue book spread open within his thumb and forefingers. 

Good fucking god. His hands.

Your palm crinkled around the sweet peach seltzer that you pulled from the mini cooler, desperate to quench the growing thirst. The fizz popped against your lips as Joel glanced up from his book, offering you a smile with the soft shadow you brought with you. An angel you were, he thought. 

He adjusted just enough to plant a kiss on your cheek, his scruff tickling your skin. A grin spread across your face and you leaned in to steal a proper kiss, only for him to swerve to give the book his attention.

“Enjoying your honeymoon with the book?” You snark, flopping onto the soft white cushion beside him. Unpacking the essentials you’d lugged out here.

“Don’t be dramatic, darlin’. S’a good book.” He remarks, voice slow and warm, like honey dripping from its dipper. He doesn’t lift his gaze to look at you. Though his palm comes up to knead around your waist in a half assed attempt to acknowledge your existence.

You huffed, sinking into the lounger. The deep blues of your bikini catching in the sunlight. Joel’s gaze flicked up for a moment and you caught the way his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, like he was trying to play it cool. 

He snorted suddenly. “You tryin’ to be the book, hopin’ I’ll look atcha’ more?”

You paused, squinting at him before glancing down at your bikini and then the book cover. Damn it. They were the same shade of blue. A groan left you as you grabbed the sunscreen and tossed it his way.

“Don’t start. It’s a coincidence, Miller.”

He catches the bottle one handed, setting his book aside. You notice him eyeing you again as you turn to present your back. This surely would rile him up just a little and finally get his attention, wouldn’t it?

The untied straps of your bikini dangled and you give him a pointed look over your shoulder.

“Well?”

“Aight, Mrs Miller. C’mere.”

He muttered a curse underneath his breath, squeezing a dollop of sunscreen into his palm. He worked the lotion over your shoulders and down your back, his calloused hands moving slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second. The curve of your waist–down to the dip of your spine, it was all too much.

“You sure this ain’t part of your plan?” he begins, his voice low, a little strained now.

“What plan?” you tossed over your shoulder, feigning innocence.

“Mmhmm. You’re real sneaky, y’know that?”

You smirked, closing your eyes as his hands smoothed over your skin. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lets out a frustrated little breath, planting a chaste kiss on the back of your shoulder like it might ground him. His hands lingered for just a second too long on the gentle curve of your waist before he pulls away, clearing his throat and settling back into his lounger.

Joel was still a red-blooded man. How the hell was he supposed to keep his head straight when his wife looked like that, all soft and pretty, perched right there like she didn’t know the power she had over him?

Without another word, Joel busies himself with fiddling the pages. Trying real hard to convince himself he hadn’t just lost that round. But the way his thumb taps restless against the edge of the book gave him away.

You knew going into this relationship that being a man almost a decade older than you would entail a quieter life. 

Joel’s age had never been an issue. Not when he could still work circles around men half his years and definitely not in bed. No, he had no need for the blue pill, thank you very much. But times like this? Times when you’d laid yourself out like a fucking michelin star dessert and he couldn’t be bothered to take so much as a bite? 

That was fucked.

You lift your shades to perch on your head, glancing around the beach. It was almost empty, just a few scattered umbrellas and the rhythmic sound of waves breaking against the shore. Yet here he was, sunk deep into his book. The golden rays danced along his tanned skin, kissing the flecks of gray in his beard like he was a goddamn painting.

Your teeth catches your bottom lips before you finally decide to make a move. With a casual shift, you scooted snug next to him, thigh hooking around his underneath your paisley blue and white blanket. Your fingers drift to rest over his, twisting the cool silver of his wedding band.

Joel doesn’t look up right away but he gives a soft grunt of acknowledgement. Tugging you closer with a firm hand on your waist. He leans in to press a kiss just below your ear, the scrape of his beard sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

“Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

“Oh, not much,” you replied, glancing pointedly at his book. “Just wondering if it’s one of those magic books from Harry Potter that sprouts new pages.”

He smirks, finally tilting his head to look at you, eyes full of that slow, teasing mischief. “Maybe it’s ‘cause someone keeps tryin’ to distract me.”

You gasped, hand flying to your chest like you were scandalized. “Me? I’d never.”

“Uh huh,” he hums, clearly unconvinced.

You swat at his arm playfully but he catches your wrist, pulling you in for a deep kiss. It wasn't a chaste one this time. His lips locked with yours, slow, attentive. The taste of piña colada lingered on his tongue, mingling with the faint tang of sea salt from his earlier dip in the ocean. Your hands drift to the strings of his red swimsuit, sliding lower down the middle. 

That makes him pull away. Looking at you half-lidded, though he doesn’t quite move your hand. 

“You tryin’ to get us arrested, baby girl?”

“There’s no one around, Joel.” 

You offer as you lean in to kiss him again. You feel him hesitate, rightfully so. Maybe it was the drinks you’d pumped into your systems earlier, but Joel doesn’t push you away this time. His rough palm comes to wrap around the back of your neck, drawing the sweetness of peaches from the seltzer from your tongue into his. 

“Gotta make it quick, then.” He murmurs into your lips as you feel him guide you onto his lap. To your delight, your husband was already rock fucking hard for you. 

He lets out a drawn out sigh as you rock your hips onto his erection, his palm steady behind you to encourage your movements. He couldn’t have been any harder now. “Lookin’ like fuckin’ sin.” His thumb swipes up to the gusset of your bikini bottoms. 

“What’re you trying to do t’me?” 

You smile against his lips. “Finally noticing your poor neglected wife?” You flip your hair to the other side of your shoulders to nip at his ear lobe. He tenses at that, grabbing your jaw with a rough hold. 

“Had to, baby. Else we’d be spendin’ this entire vacation with my cock stuffed in this needy fuckin’ pussy.” 

You shudder at the want in his voice. You attempt to reply but a thumb slips into your parted lips, two fingers coaxing the drool out. 

You let out a soft uunff as Joel pulls out his fingers with a string of your saliva following. “Gross. Supergoop tastes like shit.” 

“Yeah well, didn’t give me much time to get all cleaned up for you now did ya?”

He grins at your little complaints about the taste of sunscreen on his fingers. You were quickly shut up by the sensation of his split slick fingers nudging into your pussy. 

You groan out. Hips jumping as he probes into you gently. You catch the flutter of your beach blanket in your peripheral, watching as Joel covers both of you–as well as it could've from the bottom down. 

“Don’t think that’s gonna do shi—hhhhiitt.” Your words slurrs at Joel’s steadily thrusts into your pussy. Your hands come to rest on his shoulders. “God. Baby that’s so—…so good..” You manage, words barely a whisper.

Joel leans in to pepper kisses up your jaw. “I know. Practically suckin’ my fingers in.” He mumbles against your neck, fingers squelching deeper into your walls, caressing it in a repeated motion. His thumb swipes against your throbbing clit simultaneously. 

“So fuckin’ warm n’ soft. She’s gonna milk my cock dry.” He mutters, more so to himself. 

A sharp shiver creeps down your spine. “J-Joel—…i’mclose—…shit i’msosoclose—“ You mutter incoherently. Your hips rising a little to Joel’s persistent finger-fucking. 

He hums against your shoulder. Other hand, keeping your hips down firm, making sure you felt the full bearing of his two fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy. “Give it t’me.”

Your eyes roll back in pure fucking ecstasy within a matter of seconds. Hips attempting to squirm away from Joel’s fingers. He kisses your cheeks softly. 

“Good fucking girl.”

You let out a fucked out giggle. Suckling at his jaw and down his neck. Joel doesn’t give you much of a cool down, evident in the way he’d already been sliding his pre-cum soaked cock out of his swim trunks, nudging the tip against your sticky folds.

His thumb pushes aside the gusset of your bikini bottoms further, watching your slick bubble around the soaked fabric. 

“Lookit’, all ready to fuckin’ go.” He grins. With a quick glance around to check for the soul of another, he fully sheathes himself into you. 

He groans out and earns a pathetic whimper from you at the motion. Joel tips his head back against the lounger. Almost seizing up at how your tight pussy strangles his cock. 

“Oh, god!” 

“Ain’t god, sugar. All me.” 

He chuckles at the way you shoot him a warning look, though it held no bite. Joel wraps his arm around your hips to piston himself into your pussy. 

The sounds of your cunt squelching as you slam down onto his pelvis spurs you on even further as you ride him. Joel looks up. Letting out a sssst as though he’d been burned at the sight of your tits bouncing before him like a goddamned porn star. 

“Right outta Hustler issue cover, baby girl.” 

“Lucky you.” You laugh a little. Head tipped back to keep up your momentum, rocking your hips to his periodic grinds. You wince as your hair sticks to the back of your shoulders uncomfortably. The prick of overstimulation long gone at the glint of Joel’s gaze on you. 

You feel the strings at the back of your bikini unravel at Joel’s gentle tug, allowing your bikini top to shift just enough for your tits to spill out. 

Joel gathers your hair loosely off your shoulders. Driving headfirst to pop a tit into his mouth. The grumble he emits against your chest makes you giggle, the scruffiness distracting you from your discomfort. 

“Ahhh shit!” You whine out. His hips stutter relentlessly into you as you arch deeper to rest your full body weight onto him. Letting him do the work as he lazily thrusts into you. 

“Aww sweetheart, tired already? Lettin’ yer old man do all the damn work?” You offer a mere grunt at his taunt. “Shut up. You’re the one taking for-fucking ever.”

Joel doesn’t respond to you right away, but you get the memo when he pretty much begins to thrust into you like a man unhinged. 

The grip around the back of your hair turns meaner when he tugs you to look at him. Deep brown eyes pooling in admiration and sheer fucking need. 

“Look at me.” He commands. The way he jackhammers into your pussy being the only constant. “Look at me when I fuckin’ cum in this pussy.”

Your gaze flickers in slight surprise, soft gasps turning into moans when he thumbs your clit. “W-Wait. Joel—I-I can’t.” You manage when the sensation builds in you again. 

He adjusts his hold onto your hair in a pleasant grip. Making sure you looked at him while he fucked you hard and fast. 

“Yeah y’can.” He grunts into your ears, fucking you deeper in shorter bursts now. Joel could feel his balls steadily tensing up. 

“Give daddy nother’ one n’ I’ll consider fuckin’ this come deep into ya.” 

You grit your teeth in focus, desperate to give him what he wanted. If you couldn’t come with just his fat cock poking deep into you, you’d come at the way he was looking at you. Brows knit in focus, lips twitched in an attempt to not come. 

You finally falter, nails digging into his shoulder as your gaze flashes white and orange. Squeezing around his cock. Joel shudders at the sensation. 

“Shit, baby, I’m gonna—” 

You snap your gaze up when you hear a shuffle from behind the parasols. It doesn’t register in your head how you managed to grab the yellow and white and yellow tube. 

Joel seems to catch your shock, but he isn’t able to stop his cum from spurting deep into your cunt the same time you squirt an obscene amount of sunscreen into his chest. 

His hand instinctively comes up to adjust your bikini top, more so to make sure he isn’t letting his wife flash her yabbos out to other people. 

You stiffen up, palm smearing the sticky white lotion down Joel’s chest as one of the resort workers comes around with arms full of beach cleaning supplies. 

“Um…bonjou?”

[crimsonnsstuff]

Forbidden love

Summary: in-ho is your dad’s best friend. He leaves In-go there to babysit you. He treats you like a child and you finally get fed up

Warnings: age gap, p in v, degradtion,

You were laying on your bed, reading a book. Your dad was out for the night at a dinner a few cities away so he was gonna have to stay at a hotel for the night and come back in the morning.

You hear a knock on your door and then you hear the door open. You bring the book down from your face and you see your dad’s friend, In-ho. He was quite a bit older than you. And he was always treating you like a child.

You sigh and put your bookmark in your book and set it on your nightstand. “What are you doing here?” You ask, crossing your arms. He chuckles. “Your dad wanted me to watch you.” He says smugly. You roll your eyes.

“I’m 19, I don’t need a babysitter.” He steps closer to the bed. “I brought you something” he smirks, pulling out a heart shaped lollipop from his pocket. You groan. “I’m not a child.” You say sternly. “Oh come on, it’s a lollipop. There’s no age limit for eating a lollipop. And plus, you use to love them.” He says teasingly.

He takes the wrapper off of it and moves to the side of your bed. “Open..” he mutters. You hesitantly open your mouth. He places the lollipop in your mouth and the cherry flavor overwhelms your senses. You expect him to let go of the stick, but he doesn’t, feeding you like you weren’t capable of eating a lollipop by yourself.

You finally snap and slap his hand away, “stop treating me like a child!” You yell. He looks at you in shock. He growls as he roughly wraps a hand around your throat. “Maybe I specify you as a child because you’re so much fucking younger then me. And maybe I treat you like this because of the way you fucking treat your elders.”

He tightens his grip on your throat and you whimper softly. “I-I’m sorry..” you whisper. “No,” he says, tightening his grip on your throat. “Sorry isn’t gonna cut it..I guess I’m just gonna have to punish you..” he says with a stupid smirk on his face.

He gently but roughly pushes you back on the bed. You lay back. You realize what was happening. And then you realize that you’ve been wanting this to happen for years.

He looks down at the way your nipples poke through the thin fabric of your tank top. He smiles, “look at this..” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over your hardening nipple.

He pulls your shirt off over your head. He leans down and places open mouthed kisses to your collar bone. He bites down and starts sucking, leaving bruises on your fragile skin.

Your hips buck up and he smirks at how sensitive you’re already are. He reaches back and unclasps your bra and pulls it off. He smiles as he sees your tits bounce as he takes your bra off.

He leans down and takes on in his mouth, sucking softly and you moan. He pulls back with a pop. “Brats like you don’t deserve a gentle punishment.” He says before pulling your shorts and panties down.

You close your legs and he grips your knees and pulls them back open. “Let daddy see..” he mumbles, looking down at your pussy. He roughly shoves 2 fingers into you, stretching you.

You gasped, the sound swallowed by another kiss, deep and consuming. His fingers were replaced by something more substantial, his hard length pressing against you.

You gasp at the sudden change in side. He barely prepared you and the stretch hurt, but it hurt so good.

With a desperate moan, you lifted one leg, wrapping it around his waist, giving him the access he craved.

In-ho's breath was hot against your neck, his whispers of dirty promises in your ear. “Don’t you dare cum. Hold it in.”

He pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach only too slam back into you, ruining your pussy once more. “Yeah, you take my big cock do well..” he murmurs. You grip the sheets, letting out a broken scream.

“Hurts..” you whisper. He grab a handful of your hair and pushes your face into the mattress, not letting you speak. “Shut up, whore.” He groans. “Just let me fuck this tight cunt.”

You grip the sheets, kicking your legs slightly. He slaps your ass and your body twitches. “Gonna cum!” You squirm. “Don’t you dare.” He growls. “I’ll be a good girl-hold it in for you..” he smirks.

He grips your hip and pulls it up slightly, continuing to slam into you. With every thrust, your body bounces. He pushes your face harder into the mattress.

“Gonna cum so deep in this pussy..” he grunts, stoping his movements and holding you in place, cumming deep inside of your pussy. His eyes roll back, strings of grunts leaving his lips. He pulls out.

He grabs your ass cheek and spreads it, watching his cum drip out of your pussy. “Mm..look at this slutty little hole.” He murmers. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture.

He stands up and walks to the door. He turns around, “if you need me, I’ll be in the living room.” He says before walking out, leaving you shaking and unfulfilled on your bed.

[bruhstories]

Bet III

p.1 here & p2. here & p.4 here & p.5 here & p.6 here

summary: the game is on, but in-ho can't focus on it. he's got you on his mind pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, mentions of domestic violence, veeeery slow burn, reader is an orphan, slight voyeurism, people dying ayy yo (but if you watched squid game, this is just normal) w/c: 2.2k

a/n: if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! also feel free to replace y/n's age, i just needed to put a number there lol

In-ho removed the intricately designed mask from his face and poured himself a glass of whisky, one leg crossed over the other as he sat on the leather sofa of the control room. The first game was about to begin soon — always Red Light, Green Light — and he waited for his favourite song to start — always Fly Me To The Moon. There was something so hauntingly beautiful about listening to a love song while people lost all hope, one by one falling to the ground.

It was a fantastic way to get rid of the weakest links, leaving only those resilient alive. Player 101, eliminated. Player 82, eliminated. Player 329, eliminated. Player 2, eliminated. They dropped like flies, frantically clawing at the gates in a futile attempt to escape while the soldiers shot them from above, painting the ground crimson.

Exhilarating was the only word that could describe what In-ho felt in that moment, and nothing compared to it. When happiness died along with his wife, control was the only thing that fulfilled him. He controlled who died and who lived, but he was also being fair — if participants played by the rules, they survived. It couldn’t get any simpler than that.

Obviously, they didn't have a choice, and In-ho knew that well enough. No, players only had the illusion of choice, but that mirage was what kept them in the game. Besides, they chose to come to the island. They chose to gamble their lives. They chose to be greedy. If anything, the games taught them, albeit for a short time, that actions had consequences, and In-ho was their judge, jury and executioner. It was truly thrilling. Exciting. Exhilarating.

His phone lit up with a notification from the security cameras concealed in his house. Irked by the sudden disturbance, he opened the app to check the footage. You weren't supposed to be there at that time, because you had already been at his house in the morning. In-ho watched you lock the door behind you, thinking today was the day you stole from him and proved him right.  He scoffed, hoping you would last longer than one day, but to his surprise, you sat on the kitchen floor, knees to your chest, crying. 

He couldn't send you a text — it would have made it obvious that he knew you were there, and his eyes lingered on his phone, forgetting about the game in front of him for a moment. In-ho watched you take out your phone and type, and not a minute later he received a text.

Good morning again! I had a bit of free time after my second job today and came to check on Eunjoo. I'll be leaving in an hour for my other job and I'm not charging for the extra visit.

In-ho stared at the big screen, completely dumbfounded and ignorant to the people dying right before his eyes. How were you working that many jobs? That was, if you were even telling the truth. But he would find out soon, because he left a stack of 2 million won on his nightstand, eagerly waiting for you to take it. You had to take it. You had to be the same as everyone else.

That's absolutely fine. If you don't mind me asking, how many jobs are you working?

He swapped back to the security cameras and watched you wipe the tears off your face with the back of your hand, smiling at his text. Did he say something funny? Why on Earth would you be smiling when a minute ago you had tears rolling down your cheeks?

Officially two, unofficially three. I teach Korean to a family of immigrants, but that's unpaid. I think of it as volunteering. They do feed me, though! My other job is a mascot at Lotte World.

In-ho shattered the empty glass in his hand while reading your text, and winced when he felt blood seeping from a fresh cut. Why, just why did you have to prove him wrong? He watched you go into his bedroom with a pile of freshly clean and dried shirts, ignoring the money. You saw the stack, he noticed you staring at it, hoping you grabbed it, but you found his ironing board and began to iron his shirts, not sparing the money another glance.

Why?

Through the camera, he saw you text back.

Why what?

"Tsk." In-ho scoffed at your question while wrapping a bandage around his palm.

Why are you working that many jobs?

Ah. My uncle has debts. Unfortunately, I had to drop out from uni to help him pay for them. It's fine though, I like what I'm doing. 

How old are you?

23.

Jesus Christ, you were so young, yet life had been unfair to you. You deserved an education, a better life, and it cemented his ideal that the world needed to rid itself of the trash. He didn't know the full details, but he was sure to find out. You were unlike anyone he's met before. At least for now, at least until you proved him right.

Ding!

In-ho opened a picture from you — Eunjoo curling up on the left side of his bed, paws under her, looking like a loaf of bread, and the question 'Is that your side of the bed?' under it.

Indeed it is. 

I knew it! Aww, she misses you :( 

How strange it was to read those words. How strange it was to think about someone, or something missing him. To In-ho that was a foreign feeling, and he loosened his tie, swallowing the lump in his throat. He'd seen Eunjoo sleep on his side of the bed before, when he was gone, but he assumed it was just comfortable for her. 

Animals truly were better than humans. If they betrayed their owners, they did it out of necessity. When humans betrayed, it was by choice. 

In-ho watched you neatly adjust his ironed shirt on a coat hanger that you hung in his wardrobe, disregarding the Red Light, Green Light game that had long finished, and it hit him like a train that you reminded him of his wife. God, you were so much like his wife it infuriated him, because no one was allowed to take that place in his heart. No one was allowed to make him feel anything other than hatred.

You had to make a mistake, to prove to him that you were just like everybody else, and if money didn't make you crack, something else would. In-ho made it his purpose to unravel your darkest secrets, whether through manipulation or sheer force, but the distance between the two of you proved a greater obstacle than he thought. 

He watched you finish ironing his clothes, watched you refill Eunjoo's water bowl, watched you comb your hair and put lip balm on while staring into his mirror, and it felt so wrong to study all your quirks and habits without you even knowing. It was the closest thing to having a normal life. But nothing about what he was doing was normal. Especially not watching you be so oblivious to his true self.

With a sigh, In-ho adjusted his mask left the control room to instruct his subordinates, the square-masked guards, to prepare  for the next game, Neolttwigi, the soldiers to take the remaining players back to their beds, and the workers to remove the corpses. 188 players survived and more than 50% were eliminated. In-ho, in his Front Man persona, should've focused on the games, but he couldn't, for some unknown reason, shake off the image of you crying on his kitchen floor. He didn’t dare ask what happened. How could he? It would destroy all the secrecy.

It wasn't that he cared about you — he didn't. You appeared to be a positive, cheerful and talkative person, so whatever hurt your feelings must have been important. Was it your uncle? Your boyfriend? He scoffed at that thought. The mere idea of some guy breaking your heart made him irrationally angry, and In-ho was lucky that his mask concealed his frustration. 

He decided to pay the remaining players a visit, accompanied by eight armed guards, and, just like last year, and the year before, and the year before that, there was always a woman who dropped to her knees, begging to be spared and allowed to go home. Another one followed, and even men asked for forgiveness, but they just couldn't get it through their thick skulls that they chose to be there. They chose to gamble their lives away, they chose to borrow money and end up with debts they could never afford to repay. No one forced them to play the games.

When the room was filled with echoing cries and hysterical sobs, In-ho fired a single shot in the air, shutting everyone up. They all looked at him with fear in their eyes like pigs in a slaughterhouse waiting to be gutted, and he lowered the gun, standing firm on his feet.

"You must be mistaken. You are not here to be punished, you are all here because of the choices you made." In-ho simply said, his voice distorted by the mask. 

He took notice of teams already being formed, of those who were willing to step on corpses just to get the big prize and those who would rather sacrifice themselves, because there were always people who wanted to play the hero. He studied them all before they got recruited, and knew 456 secrets, 456 names, 456 lives. Well, only 188 survived.

"We came here to win money, not to fucking die!" Player 072 shouted from the back of the room. "And if I'm correct, we can vote to go back home."

Ah, yet another one who thought they could outsmart In-ho. He's been there before. He walked that path before, and it taught him that people don't change. Ever. Even if they voted to leave, they always came back.

"Of course, clause three of the consent form. If the majority decides to go home, you are free to do so. We don't hold anyone against their will." In-ho nodded. "But before you make your choice, allow me to tell you the current accumulated prize."

He pressed a button on a small, black remote and a large glass piggy bank was lowered from the ceiling as the lights in the room dimmed down. Stacks upon stacks of money piled up in the piggy bank, and the screen counted the current prize — 26.8 billion won. In-ho watched how their faces lit up at the amount of money accumulated, but also how the penny dropped for most of them — the more people died, the more money the survivors got.

"If you choose to leave, the money will be distributed amongst the deceased players' families. It’s only fair." He said, and left the room so that the soldiers could prepare for the democratic vote.

"You're manipulating us!" In-ho heard a player shout, and maybe he did. Maybe he was chipping away at their humanity to bring out the worst in them, but it was for the best. At least by dying they served a purpose.

It was no surprise that the majority voted to stay, 95 to 93. Good — he didn't have to go through the trouble of sending them home. The soldiers and workers brought food for the players, and In-ho checked his phone in the safety of his room. There was no text from you, and it was almost time for you to check on Eunjoo, but when it hit 9 and you weren't in his house, he felt a knot in his stomach, an uneasy feeling. Was he worried? Of course he was, for his cat, not for you.

Ding!

The sound of his phone caught him off guard, almost startling him, almost making him feel relieved when he saw it was you, and In-ho read the text.

Evening! Traffic was baaad this evening but I'm nearly at the penthouse. Will Eunjoo ever forgive me? :( 

The stupid sad face you sent made the image of you pouting pop up in his head and he wondered why. There wasn't a good enough reason for you to be haunting him like a phantom. You were a nobody to him.

Eunjoo might, but I won't.

In-ho immediately regretted pressing send. It was unprofessional and stupid of him to text such a reply, because you weren't friends. He had no friends. 

I'm so sorry, but I promise I'll make it up to you, Mr. Hwang! I really need to get you a gift for letting me use your shower anyway.

A relieved sigh escaped his lips when you didn't take his message the wrong way, but part of him was hoping you would try to flirt with him, seduce him, do anything to prove him right. And yet again, you remained true to yourself.

He watched you on the cameras again, how you invaded his home, his life, how you fed Eunjoo and munched on prawn crackers again, disappointed that you, for the second day in a row, refused to use anything in his house for yourself except for the shower and the TV.

There was still time to win the bet, and he never lost.

tagging: @ri1liane @anmert1 @syraxnyra @frshluvcats @lanyia @mettreads @nightdark-dreamdark @bridge-always @lovekm @audrey223 @ririgy @starkeyszn @hobiesbrownsgf @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @maria-trisha @akiqvq @10hrs26mn @tenzko @okaycharr @politicstanner @moonxknightx @googie-jeon @swthrtbyeol @mariiestfu @ratsnestinmyhair @missroro @talia-the-gemini @fortluocha @true-queen-of-mischief @ssa-callahan @bibliophile-yomna @wwastro @heartsforseo @marymun @glads-stuff @starryeddie @kisses2kanao @gagaga167 @l4venderia @scryi @lelisae @twicelover2 @ashtrosstuff @cruel-affair @cdej6 @veragrhm

please keep in mind that if i didn't tag you it's because i either missed it, or i couldn't find your age on your blog. there will be smut.

[femmeroll]

hiii, could you write something about sevika corrupting a sweet church girl?

your blog is really cute btw <3

omg omg omg !!! i’ve been dying to write something like this, thank you for the request!!

sevika x fem reader

cw: religion, corruption, implied age gap, fingering, semi-public.

you’re a good girl. made good grades in school, good daughter, good sister, kind person. you never miss a sunday service. and if you must, you’ll be at the church for service on monday afternoon. you spend your life being pure, avoiding sin wherever it may rear its devilish head.

no pride or greed or lust. just simple, sweet purity.

that is, until you meet that lady.

every day on your walk home from mass you see her. maybe mid forties, dark hair, and easily six feet tall. she stands outside the deli every morning at 11:45 on the dot for her smoke break.

and every sunday morning she says hello, or good morning, or asks how ‘sunday school’ is going. it’s strange. you always give her a smile, say hello back, but she seems so condescending. like every word she says to you is secretly making fun of you.

you don’t really know her either, which is weird. it’s a small town, everyone knows each other. not…her thought. she’s just an impossibly rude person you see on sundays that causes you to remember the jesus was always kind to strangers.

it’s a cold january morning, sidewalks slick with ice. like clockwork, that woman is standing outside the deli with her cigar.

“careful, virgin mary. don’t want you slippin’ out here.”

okay, rude.

“i’m okay, no need to worry,” you respond, stopping in your tracks in front of her. the gaze she holds on you is almost uncomfortable. she’s staring down at you like she’ll burst out laughing at any moment. like the mere idea of you is just hilarious to her.

“sevika, by the way. my name.”

oh. sevika. okay.

“y/n. it’s nice to properly meet you. i’ve never seen you around outside of…this.”

“i’m not very social” she responds.

you smile. you certainly know the best way for people to find community in town.

“well, there’s a service on mon-”

she cuts you off with a scoff. “not interested. not the place for me.”

“why not?”

sevika leans closer, letting her lips fall near your ears.

“i like smoking, drinking, cursing, fucking. it’s not the place for me, princess.”

you clutch the cross around your neck with a gasp. this is wrong on so many levels. sinful, disgusting, unnatural…and yet you feel your face getting impossibly redder.

sevika stomps out her cigarette. “see you next sunday, princess.”

whether you like it or not, sevika evokes quite a bit of lust in you. her smirk, her piercing grey eyes, her muscles that stretch the fabric of her impossibly tight tshirt…you can’t help it. the forbidden fruit is strong. you suppose it’s all a part of the lord’s plan. send you a taste of homosexual temptation and watch you be a true follower.

you aren’t though.

you entertain her flirting, all her lustful stares, and your church dresses start to come above the knee just to give her something to look at. you don’t know why you like this so much. it’s gross. it’s wrong. it’s against god’s wishes.

but jesus christ, one look from sevika and that all goes out the window. every good christian moral, everything you’ve known to be true disappears the second sevika locks eyes with you.

after a monday evening service, you take your weekly stroll home. it’s dinner time, and sevika is working.

you open the door to the deli, seeing sevika behind the counter. you watch silently as she meticulously rearranges the meats on display.

“i could use some dinner, sevika” you say and she perks up, brief shock replaced with her signature smirk.

“princess. c’mon back, i’ll make you whatever sandwich you want.”

and she does. you’re sitting on a wooden stool in the back of the deli, making small talk. sevika’s presence feels strangely right, like these little moments were made to happen. maybe this was the lord’s plan after all.

sevika steps closer, towering over you.

“you have sauce on your lips. messy eater, huh princess?”

she takes her calloused thumb and wipes the sauce away, eyes never leaving yours. the air feels thicker and your face feels hotter. and without skipping a beat, your lips on on sevika’s.

she stammers a bit in shock, then immediately gaining back control. she wraps her hand around the back of your neck to pull you in deeper. you can feel her smirking against you, prying your lips apart and exploring the inside of your mouth with her tongue.

her lips feel like the missing piece of a puzzle, perfectly slotting against yours in a dance of passion and affection. she’s calculated with the way she kisses, making sure you feel every bit of her tongue gliding against your mouth.

“sevika-” you pant, pulling away. “we shouldn’t, i-it’s not right.”

“shush, princess,” she growls, “gods not watching right now.”

and maybe he’s not. so fuck it. you nod and let sevika pull your blouse off, pushing her head into your chest. she litters your chest in bites, reveling in the sweet moans you let out.

her hands make their way under your skirt, silently asking for permission to pull your slick panties down.

all you can do is nod, desperate and utterly dumb for her touch.

“so soft, princess…” she moans, “so wet. is that all for me?”

another nod.

“you gonna be a good girl?”

another nod.

sevika pulls hand away with an evil grin. “words. or you aren’t getting shit from me.”

“yes, it’s all for you. yes, i’ll be good. please hurry before i remember that i’m a woman of god and stop,” you groan.

her ring finger circles your swollen clit, spreading your folds and rubbing you down to your needy hole. one of her thick fingers is enough to stretch you out, walls tightening around her as she slowly moves in and out of your cunt.

“tight fuckin’ pussy…so pure and innocent, huh? just a good little church girl who likes other women fucking her greedy cunt?”

she chuckles darkly at herself, and at the way you get even tighter at her mean words. so humiliating, so blasphemous, so unholy. and yet every deep, deliberate thrust has you closer and closer to cumming.

“sevika,” you whimper, “i can’t hold it, please.”

“is that right?” she teases.

“you can cum, baby. but make sure to repent after.”

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

💬 reddit

← ⬤  r/relationship_advice • 16 hr. ago       

      1mjust-agirl02

I found out my (22F) sneaky link (25M) is a cult leader. Am I enabling him if we keep hooking up?

First-time poster here. I’ll try to keep this brief. A few months ago, I was going through a rough patch. I’d just moved to the city from a tiny countryside town—a major life change. Sure, it came with perks: a good job, a decent apartment, and better nightlife. But I felt… disconnected. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the gnawing loneliness. The more I tried to adapt, the more isolated I felt.

I’ve always been a model citizen—quiet, diligent, never stepping out of line. But in the city, my days dragged, my nights felt darker, and I was slipping into depression. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but everything around me seemed coated in this heavy, negative energy.

That’s when I started frequenting a local bar. It was small, dimly lit, and blissfully cheap. The kind of place where people drank alone to nurse their sorrows. I guess I fit right in.

The bartender knew my order. The regulars were predictable: the middle-aged lady with crimped hair, the clean-cut businessman with tired eyes. I even started to find comfort in the routine. Until he walked in.

It was a random Wednesday at 5 PM. He was tall, with long black hair tied back neatly except for two loose strands framing his sharp, bronze-toned face. Dressed in a plain black sweatsuit, he looked effortlessly suave, even with a grim expression. Our eyes met, for a moment, his stern demeanor softened, replaced by something that felt like intrigue. Without hesitation, he made his way over, settling beside me like it had been his plan all along. He ordered whiskey—straight—and downed it in one smooth gulp.

“You didn’t even flinch,” I blurted, unable to stop myself. “Impressive—or concerning.”

He smirked, devilish and confident. “You don’t even know.”

That was the start. We chatted. Or rather, we danced around anything personal, just sharing vague feelings and flirting between drinks. He had this magnetic sorrow about him, like we were kindred spirits.

The night carried on, the drinks kept coming, and somehow, he kept getting closer. Our knees bumped beneath the booth. He was attractive in that quiet, alluring way—charming. That distant look in his eyes, as though he’d seen too much too soon, only added to his appeal.

I think we both needed a distraction. I laughed at his teasing, swatting playfully at his chest. His dark eyes lingered, and when I fumbled with my glass, he reached over, swiping his thumb across my lips.

What came next was a blur: heated kisses stolen in a dingy bar bathroom, his coarse hands gripping my waist and sliding to the back of my neck. The kiss was messy, whiskey burning on his tongue as it slid against mine. We stumbled back to my apartment in a haze, barely making it inside.

The second the door swung shut, he had me off my feet. My lock hung unlatched as he threw me onto the bed, the impact knocking my head lightly against the headboard. His hands were everywhere—rough and deliberate. My blouse fell open, my slacks tangled around my ankles as he pushed me face-down on the mattress. I heard the shuffle of his sweats coming off, the warmth of his spit trailing down my skin.

He’s big. I struggled to take him, fluttering and gasping as he pressed inside. His hand yanked my head back, forcing me to look. Between the bunched fabric of his sweatshirt held in his teeth and the tense, toned muscles of his abdomen, the sight was utterly debauched. The sounds—slick, lewd—filled the room. By the end, my sheets were damp, my chest marked with his teeth and hands, and I had my first noise complaint from my neighbors.

I thought that would be it. A one-time thing.

But then, the next Wednesday, he was at the bar again.

Now sober, I finally got a good look at him—and somehow, he was even more devastatingly handsome. His sharp features softened by the loose claw clip holding back his hair.

Our dynamic stayed the same: casual conversation, teasing touches, and nights that left me trembling. He was addictive. Every time, his grip was firm, possessive—his habit of squeezing my throat just as my climax approached pushed me to the edge. It had me teetering between bliss and unconsciousness, choking out strangled moans as he drove into me, relentless. It felt like a punishment. It felt like everything I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

If I were to indulge myself, I’d admit I liked him best when sobriety started creeping back into him. He had this way of reading my body like a map, tracing every nerve and exploiting it until I was trembling, breathless, undone. Sometimes, as he finished—his hair spilling over my face like a curtain—I’d let the lines blur. I’d tell him how good he was, how deeply I felt him, how pretty he looked. And for a fleeting moment, he’d soften, his rhythm slowing, kissing me with an almost tender deliberation.

Weeks later, I got a text and an address:

“Want to see you. Be here at 11. Side door, past the gate.”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I showed up. His house was bigger than I’d expected—too luxurious for someone his age. On the way to his room, I passed a door slightly ajar. Inside, I glimpsed pink walls and a boy band poster. My stomach dropped. Was he married? Did he have kids?

I confronted him immediately. Sitting nervously on his bed, sandwiched between his toned thighs, I listened as he explained. He’d been raising his two orphaned cousins for years. His voice softened as he talked about them—their favorite shows, their quirks, their hobbies. I’d never seen him like this before. The care and pride he showed for them stood in stark contrast to the man I knew intimately.

That night was different. When I came, hard and breathless, his lips brushed mine, our eyes locked, fingers intertwined beside my head. For the first time, I thought I was starting to understand him.

But everything changed soon after.

At work, I passed a bulletin board I usually ignored. For some reason, that day I stopped. A flyer caught my eye—his face stared back at me.

In the photo, he was dressed in a golden kasaya draped over black yukata robes, his serene smile paired with an outstretched arm in a regal, inviting pose. The caption called him a “Buddhist priest” and a “divine leader” of some obscure spiritual group.

Confused, I Googled it. Turns out, it wasn’t just a spiritual group. It was a full-blown cult. The photos showed worshippers kneeling before him, their faces aglow with reverence, calling him a godlike figure.

I couldn’t resist. That evening, I went to the event listed on the flyer, held at a local temple. I slipped into a seat in the back, close to the door. Watching him lead the ritual felt surreal. There he was—calm, composed, draped in robes—like he hadn’t had me screaming into my pillow just days ago.

Then, I saw him lay his hands on a sobbing woman kneeling at his feet. Her cries turned into praises as she clung to him, trembling. It was… chilling.

I barely had a chance to settle in before I felt the need to leave. I thought about ending things right then and there—but I hesitated. Now I’m torn. On one hand, he’s the best I’ve ever had—dominant, attentive, and downright divine in bed. On the other hand… he’s a cult leader.

If I keep seeing him, am I complicit in whatever shady things his group does? Or am I overthinking it—can I keep pretending I know nothing?

Advice is welcome. Don’t hold back.

( ↑  734  ↓ ) ( 🗨️ 1K ) ( ୨୧ ) ( ↳ Share )

⬤ toge-talks-shit  MOD  • 14h ago • 

This is the wildest shit I've read all day. My prayers go out to you, OP—but your hookup might be answering them LOL. Fr though, the cult stuff sounds creepy. Not worth it. ↑  1.5K  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ blue-eyes-savelives  • 11h ago • 

OP, message me privately. Did he ever mention old regrets, breakups, or friends? Plz answer. T-T ↑  425  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ k-nam_mister73  • 9h ago • 

Delete his number. You should’ve ceased all contact a long time ago. ↑  344  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ nobarabara_yaps  • 2h ago • 

He sounds hot. See it through. Gatekeep, Gaslight, Girlboss. ↑  109  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

[dr-aashish-arbat-pune]

Can Knee Surgery Cause Death

Here get answers to questions: Can Knee Surgery Cause Death? How Dangerous is Knee Surgery?... Know about, Knee Replacement Mortality Rate by Age… from Dr. Aashish Arbat… Top Orthopedic Doctor in Pune. Top knee replacement Doctor in Pune.

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐫𝐞𝐯 𝐦𝐞𝐧 + 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬. (𝟐)

➺ INCLUDES: taiju shiba, hanma shuji, ran haitani, rindou haitani, keizo arashi (benkei), wakasa imaushi, izana kurokawa, (all of legal age, timeskip or bonten) x fem!reader

➺ CONTENT WARNING | this post contains explicit porn links!! you may need to have a twitter account or change your privacy settings to be able to see them. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

➺ NOTE | You ask, I deliver :) the links will probably disappear after a little while but i'll do my best to replace them or find similar ones when that happens!

➟ TAIJU.

Taiju’s fingers are so much thicker, so much longer than yours, always reaching places you can only dream of reaching yourself. He doesn't do sex before marriage but he'd be damned if he were to leave you frustrated and unsatisfied when you're whining and begging so prettily for him.

↳ LINK ↲

➟ WAKASA.

Wakasa doesn't like to rush things. He’ll work you to orgasm nice and slow — his cock tucked underneath the rough lacy fabric of your lingerie as he thrusts his hips forward, his cock dragging between your folds while his thumb gently rubs your clit in time with his movements, his breathing uneven and shaky from the pleasure building up.

↳ LINK ↲

➟ HANMA.

Hanma loves being in control, and he loves to put you in your place when you start acting a little too bratty for his liking. There's nothing that thrills him more than watching you squirm and beg, his fingers furiously pumping in and out of your pussy, lewd squelching sounds accompanying the pathetic little sounds coming out of your mouth while his other hand tightens its hold around your throat, teaching you a lesson.

↳ LINK ↲

➟ IZANA.

Izana isn't exactly gentle with you. He’ll hold you by the throat, pull your hair and force your head back as he fucks you like you’re his own personal fleshlight, your neck arching painfully as he keeps you in place - knees firmly planted into the mattress for more leverage. But the pain is always worth it when you feel the sloppy press of his lips onto yours, reminding you of how much he loves you.

↳ LINK ↲

➟ BENKEI.

Benkei always pulls the strongest, most powerful and body-shaking orgasms out of you. He's rough but never too much, just the right amount that turns you into a moaning mess, your eyes rolling back in your head. His thrusts are firm and rough, loud “plop” sounds echoing inside the room while the pair of panties he stuffed in your mouth serves to muffle your moans.

↳ LINK ↲

➟ RINDOU.

Rindou eats you out like he's paid to do it — always making sure you're nice and comfortable before he dives in and makes a complete mess of you. He’ll slide his tongue whatever way he pleases, up, down, or side-to-side; tasting every inch of you and swallowing everything you have to offer.

↳ LINK ↲

➟ RAN.

Why would you own so many toys of all shapes and sizes when you have your very own loving husband at home? You better hide them well unless you want him to dedicate a few hours of his day to edging you and overstimulating you until you pass out on his lap.

↳ LINK ↲