#ONLY cringe allowed on my blog

[lioncourst]

literally what's the reason behind me having a tumblr account linked to pretty much all my old emails who am i trying to hide from with so many blogs i wonder .

[moonstruckme]

hii!! i love ur blog lol. i saw ur requests were open and i thought maybe id send one in! no pressure at all to do it, thank you for writing what you write (it’s really comforting!) i was wondering if you could do poly!marauders with a reader who is overworking herself for exams/college stuff and is hiding from her boyfriends because she knows they’ll be stern with her and make her take a break? so she tries to evade them but they foil her evil little plan lol. maybe like dom!remus… i’m obsessed w him.. just an idea!!!! have an amazing day 🩷

Thanks for requesting, hope you have an amazing day too!

cw: d/s dynamics to be found if you want them to be, mostly they're just bossy

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 814 words

There are nice voices seeping into your consciousness. Soft, comforting. You snuggle into the gentleness of their familiar hum. 

Something moves from underneath your face. You start to open your eyes, slow and reluctant, and when the something is gone your face lands in a warm palm. It feels safe, easy enough to settle into, but as you’re about to let yourself slip away again it strokes its thumb over your cheek. 

“Angel.” James’ voice sounds almost like he’s trying not to laugh. He thumbs your cheek again. “Angel, hey.” A pause. “She doesn’t seem to want to wake up.” 

“She’s awake,” Sirius says. You feel his hand sweep across your shoulder blades. “Come on, sweetness. This is no place to spend the night.” 

You make a disgruntled, whiny sound you’d never allow in full consciousness. Your eyes peel open. 

“There she is.” Sirius rubs your back encouragingly.

You blink blearily in the sickening fluorescent light of the library. James is squatting at face-level in front of you, his expression somewhere between fond and pitying, while Remus stands behind him with your backpack over his shoulder. You can see Sirius peering down at you in your periphery, his hand still moving over your back as though to keep you from falling back asleep. 

There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. It must be late. 

“Oh, no,” you groan, forcing yourself up. Your neck and back crackle as you straighten, making James cringe. 

“I agree,” Sirius says smoothly. “I too would be devastated if I traded a warm and cozy bed with my loving boyfriends for a hard, cold desk. But don’t be embarrassed, there’s still time to make things right.” 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to rub wakefulness into them. “I…where’s my laptop?” 

“I have it,” says Remus. 

“I need it.” 

“You’ll get it back tomorrow.” 

A slow, heavy anxiety laces your bloodstream. “But I have to finish…” 

“Dove.” Remus’ voice is stern, though not unkind. “You have to sleep first. At home.”

You blink, your brain still lagging. “But…” 

“Sweetheart, c’mere.” James takes your face in his hand, angling you towards him. He brushes his thumb over the corners of your eyes, then smiles at you. “There. Sorry, you had crusties. Ready to go?” 

“I…” 

“Let’s go, babe.” Sirius winds an arm around your waist, hauling you up with him. “It’s definitely bedtime.” 

James chuckles. “Seems like it. Poor love.” 

“What about my stuff?” 

“I’ve got it, dove,” Remus reminds you. He frowns. “When was the last time you slept?” 

You think back. “Last night.” Was it really only last night? It feels eons ago. 

“But for how long?” 

“Uh…” you wince. “I dunno, a couple hours.” 

James makes a low pitying sound, and Remus’ frown worsens. On some level, you know you’d known they would react like this. Probably, you’d even known they were right. It was why you’d been spending as little time at home as possible, catching twenty-minute power naps in library chairs and avoiding your boyfriends. 

“Sweetheart,” Remus sounds tired himself, and guilt sprouts behind your ribcage, “you can’t run yourself ragged like this. It’s not sustainable. It’s not going to help with your schoolwork, and it’s awful for you besides. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

You heave a sigh. “I guess I just like living on the edge,” you grumble sardonically. 

Sirius huffs a laugh. He slots a piece of hair behind your ear. “Hey, recklessness is my thing,” he says, kissing your temple. “You need to get your own thing.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Remus chides. “You’ve tried your way, and it’s clearly not working. Right?” 

You’re silent. Then Sirius pinches your side, and you squeak, “Right.” 

“Good girl.” Remus’ tone warms some with amusement. “So we’re going to go home, and you’re going to sleep at least eight hours. Then, after you eat and drink something, you can have your laptop back. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You want to be more reluctant, but the allure of your boyfriends’ evil scheme is too tempting to resist. You don’t have the energy to fight them on it. “Thanks for coming to get me.” 

Remus holds the door open for you all to exit the library. As you pass, he cups your cheek with a small smile. “You’re welcome, dovey.” 

“And maybe during this next round of studying, you could take a break from time to time,” James suggests lightly. “I haven’t had a proper cuddle in days.” 

“Oi!” Sirius’ chin nearly smacks the side of your head as he whips around to see James. “What would you call what we did this afternoon?” 

“Not a proper cuddle. Your elbow has probably left a permanent indent in my stomach.” 

“There are people who would pay for a souvenir like that, Jamie.”

[songbirddoodles]

If I made a side blog exclusively for self ship purposes would you guys (all 4 of you) promise to pretend it doesn’t exist. Be honest

[svtiddiess]

Quiet Baby

Summary: You know what you're doing is wrong, but it just feels too good to stop.

Genre: smut, mini-series

Pairing: Seungcheol x afab!stylist!reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this), dacryphilia(?), semi-public sex, creampie, spanking, mean dom!Cheol, hair pulling, lemme know if I missed anything!

Rating: mature

Word count: 552

Note: This is a longer drabble of this thot. @brownsugarbaybee I have a feeling you'll enjoy this.

Thank you to @tomodachiii and @c-oupsie for helping me with the ending, and sorry for suddenly attacking you both.

Click here to join my taglist!

Read part 2 here!

Read part 3 here!

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong.

Chants in your head as Cheol continues to pound into you from behind. But fuck, it feels so good. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes back and let a few moans escape.

“Shhh, quiet baby don’t want anyone to hear us now, do we?” He whispers in your ear as his hand snakes up your body to cover your mouth. 

It’s true. You don’t want anyone to hear you cause you’re not in a private space right now; you’re in one of Seventeen’s assigned dressing rooms. How did this happen? You think to yourself. You were just supposed to do your job as a stylist and help him get his stage outfit on, and yet here you are, getting dicked down by him instead. Sensing your brain drifting, he starts pounding into you harder, making you let out a muffled squeal against his hand.

“I thought I asked you to be quiet, baby, don’t make me choke you now,” he tauntingly whispers. You can’t see him, but you just know he has a smirk painting his face. You let out a sound of protest, but the sound of moaning quickly replaced it. 

“What was that baby?” He snickers as he continues to wreck you. 

You try to respond, but your brain has melted and is consumed by him; he just feels so good, stretching you out and filling you up. You suddenly felt a smack against your ass, making you gasp against his hand. He rubs his hand over the spot to soothe it before smacking it again harder. The cycle repeats until salty tears stream down your face, streaking your makeup. You felt a sudden tug on your hair, causing your head to tilt back and allowing Seungcheol to look at your tear-streaked face. 

“Fuck, you look so good fucked out like this,” he chuckles against your ear, “I’m the only one who can make you feel this way, right baby?” You weakly nod against his hold and let out a pitiful whimper, making him snicker at your pathetic state. You feel his thrusts getting sloppy. 

“Shit, I’m close,” he grunts. “Cum with me, baby. Cum all over my cock like the good little whore you are,” he growls, his hot breath against your ear. You cum around him, hard, almost passing out due to the intensity of the orgasm.

“Gonna stuff you full of my cum. Gonna fill you up,” he rambles as he continues to pound into you, making you whine from overstimulation. With a deep, guttural moan, he buries himself inside you and cums in you, filling you up to the brim. Your body trembles under him as he continues to ride his orgasm out.

He pulls out of you and then pulls your panties back up, making you cringe at how they stick to your skin. He turns you around and looks satisfied at your ruined state. He cups your cheek and gently caresses it, the stark opposite of how he treated you just seconds before. He leans in, lips almost touching yours.

“Better keep my cum in you till I get back; I’ll make sure to fuck it back into you later,” he whispers huskily before leaving you alone and fucked out in the dressing room.

[daizymax]

wondrous | lmh (m)

summary: pregnancy is strange and uncomfortable and even kind of gross, but your loving husband is always willing to show you just how desirable and wonderful you are.

pairing: lee know x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 5.3k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: profanity; pregnancy; some body insecurities; binary gender talk; graphic sexual content; pregnant sex; dirty talk; lactation kink; creampie

author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

---

Slamming the car door with more force than necessary is childish, and if your husband were here, he would probably tell you so. Well, maybe not in such blatant terms. First, he would probably ask you to explain what led you to such pissy behavior, and your answer would be that you’re frustrated and out of patience.

You hate that your patience is in such short supply these days. You know you are going to need all of it and then some when the baby comes.

You rest one of your hands on the crest of your bulging stomach and sigh softly. “I’m sorry,” you say to the ever-growing baby within. “I guess you might need to be patient with me, too, if it’s not too much to ask.”

The tears well up unbidden. That happens often lately with your hormones on the fritz. Evidently something as mundane as a shopping trip to the mall is enough to upset you nowadays. Then your mind dwells on how you should be grateful to be in a position to buy the things you want and need whenever you want, and that only makes you sob harder.

You allow the silly little breakdown to run its course, knowing it will be better to sit and let it out now before you drive home.

After a few minutes, you sniffle and wipe your wet cheeks in shame. After a couple more minutes of deep breaths, when you are certain you are stable enough to drive, you start the engine.

The commute home gives you some time to decompress, and the sight of Minho’s car in the driveway lifts your spirits. He told you this morning that he might have to work late this evening — which was fine by you since it translated to having more money for the pending expenses of birthing and raising a child — but having him home is even better.

A loud clang and a muttered curse greet you as you enter the front door. It may not be a polite reaction, but you can’t help but smile at whatever your husband is struggling with in the kitchen. You sling your shopping bags onto the couch and go to rescue him.

Minho is bent over at the waist, rummaging through a bottom cabinet with his backside to you. You take a moment to ogle the fit of his jeans appreciatively before making your presence known.

“Hi honey, need some help?”

He flinches and whirls around. “Heyyy, doll! I didn’t hear you come in.” He hastily combs his fingers through his smooth brown hair as if to compose himself for you.

“That’s because you were busy tearing down the kitchen, from the sound of it,” you laugh.

He does not even dispute your joke. He just groans in frustration and kicks his foot out behind him to close the cabinet. “Where do we keep the rice cooker? I swear I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Did you look here?” You pull open the correct cabinet near your calves and squat down to retrieve it. He rushes to stop you.

“Hey, hey, let me get it.” He comes over and crouches with you only to put his hands on your hips and guide you back up with him. “You shouldn’t exert yourself. I have a bun in that oven, lady.”

You snort loudly. “Don’t I know it. My whole day was an over-exertion, though. I think I can handle stooping over to grab the rice cooker.”

“Oh?” His face becomes concerned, eyebrows wrinkling and pink lips pouting adorably. His hands begin sliding up and down along your sides. “What was wrong with your day?”

“Oh, I’ve just decided I hate shopping for maternity clothes now,” you say, sighing heavily. The statement is so frivolous it makes you cringe, but the rest of your unimportant complaints come flooding out anyway. “They’re all so unflattering, not to mention it’s so uncomfortable trying them on. Getting undressed and redressed is such a pain in the ass. It’s like a whole fucking workout now, I swear to god.”

“Ah, I bet. Poor thing,” Minho says without a trace of condescension to his tone, and you envy his patience. He pulls you in for a hug in his strong arms, and your swollen stomach bumps against his flat one.

Inspired by his understanding, you continue unburdening your rather meaningless worries into his shoulder. “It was so crowded, too. I hate how everyone stares at me all the time just because I’m pregnant. And I especially hate when other parents come up to me and give me advice or tell me stories about their own pregnancies, like I fucking asked.”

Minho laughs and massages his fingertips into the back of your head. “I think they’re just trying to be kind and helpful. They only mean well.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also super annoying.”

“Sorry. What can I do to help?”

You shake your head and step back from him. “Right now I just want to shower and change my clothes. I’m not kidding about that ‘workout.’ I’ve been sweating for hours and I feel disgusting right now. The boob sweat is strong under this sweater right now.”

“Well, we’ve got a towel right here.” He whips the dish towel off the handle of the stove with a flourish and holds it up with a cheeky grin. “Let me help you.”

You laugh. “You want to dry my boobs off with that?”

“It’s clean!”

“Don’t be silly.”

“You’ll be glad for my silliness when our baby comes,” he says, dropping the towel to start tickling you mercilessly.

Your stomach muscles heave with your fit of giggles, and the baby starts kicking to join in on the commotion.

“Ah! No t-tickling, damnit! The b-baby doesn’t like it.”

“No?” Minho stops his playful torment and cups your stomach on either side. It only takes a second for him to feel what you mean. “I think maybe she does.”

“Or he. The baby could be a boy, you know.”

The two of you have decided to keep the gender a surprise until the birth, but that does not stop your husband from speculating.

“Could be,” he says a bit dismissively. He kneels down on the tiled floor so his face is level with your belly-button, which has recently begun to protrude outwards like the rest of you.

He runs his fingers along the surface of your stretched sweater and says quietly, “I just have a hunch that it’s a girl. She’s feisty, like you.” He places a sweet kiss on the top of your belly, then speaks directly to it. “Sorry about the tickling, sweet baby girl. Daddy was just making Mommy laugh to help make her feel better. I have something else that might make her feel better, though.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Minho interlocks his fingers with yours and leads you up the stairs — which have become quite the strain on your knees lately — and to the baby’s room.

The moment he pushes open the door, you see exactly what he means. The crib now resembles a crib and not a scattering of wooden pieces strewn around the floor the way they had been for weeks. The inside is lined with blankets and stuffed animals, and the mobile you chose is hanging above it. It could hardly be more picturesque.

With this, the nursery is complete. The painting had been finished a couple months ago, and the other pieces of necessary and decorative furniture have been set in their places for quite some time as well.

“Wow, you actually finished it?” you say. “How did you have time to do that after work today?”

“You were gone for longer than you realize,” he says, chuckling. “I took half the day off to come home and surprise you, but you weren’t here, so I decided to surprise you with this instead.”

“Consider me surprised,” you say with a smile. You squeeze his hand before letting go and walking over to the crib. You give the rail a little shake to test the sturdiness of your husband’s handiwork, and your eyebrows raise in satisfaction at the result.

“I only had to start all over again once,” Minho says proudly, sidling up beside you and gliding a hand along the small of your back to rest on your hip. His thumb traces little circles into it.

“You did a great job,” you say, turning in his hold to wrap your arms around his waist in return, albeit with a bit of difficulty due to your belly getting in the way.

“Glad you like it.” He leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then down to your chin, then back up to your mouth. You smile and chase after his lips when he pulls away, and he laughs as he kisses you again. “Come on, let’s sit for a bit and get you off your feet. Dinner and a shower can wait a little while longer.” He moves over to the rocking chair in the corner and takes a seat, then pats his lap invitingly.

“Min, I’ll crush you,” you say with a shake of your head.

He shakes his head right back. “Oh, stop it. No you won’t. You’re not that heavy, and I’m not that fragile.”

He starts beckoning you by stretching his arms out and repeatedly opening and closing his hands. The action is irresistibly cute, so you relent. You toe off your shoes and go to sit on his proposed seat. You try not to rest too much weight on him as you sit on his knee, but he ruins your position by taking your hips and dragging you further up his muscular thigh.

“Put your legs up on me,” he says. “If it’s not too uncomfortable for you, I mean.”

You do as he says and turn sideways to hoist your legs over his other thigh. Minho holds onto your knee with one hand and wraps his other arm behind your back to keep you in place.

“There we go. Is this okay?” he asks.

You shift and wiggle until your back is relatively comfortable. “I think so. Are you okay?”

He smiles and squeezes you reassuringly. “I’ve got my beautiful wife on my lap... we’re sitting right where we’ll be rocking our baby when she — or he — is born... I’d say I’m pretty perfect.”

You take his word for it and sigh in content, leaning into him and resting your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek against your head and pushes his feet off the floor to begin gently rocking the chair as it was intended.

For a few moments, the two of you sit and rock in silence until Minho begins humming softly. Something mellow and baritone. The melody is one you recognize, but the lyrics to that particular song elude you. You’ll ask him about it later. Right now, the vibrations from his throat and the steady thrum of his heartbeat are lulling you peacefully. The faint scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body seep comfortably into your skin.

You tilt your face up to kiss his throat appreciatively for the comfort he is providing. He hums out of tune at your gentle touch, and you kiss him there again. This time you take a bit of his flesh into your mouth with a delicate suck, and he hisses in a short breath. His reaction spurs you to do it again, and then again, until the honey skin is left pink from the teasing.

“Mm, that feels really good, babe,” Minho murmurs. The pet name makes your heart flutter a bit; it was used so frequently at the start of your relationship, but over the years it has become a bit more rare. It makes you feel a little sexy, even in your sweaty, bloated, and achy state.

“Yeah? Should I keep going?” you ask. Your lips ghost over his neck, and your fingers begin trailing down the center of his chest.

“Please.” There is a slight rasp to the syllable that makes you feel proud considering you have barely even done anything to him.

Your fingers find the hems of his sweater and white t-shirt and begin tugging at them. “Do you mind if I take these off?”

“Not at all.” He shrugs out of his cardigan then lifts his arms so you can have the honor of pulling up his shirt to toss it aside. The taut muscles in his chest and abdomen twitch as your fingertips graze them. Before you get to the waistband of his jeans, Minho takes your wandering fingers and stops you.

“Wait,” he says. You look at him curiously. “You said you had a rough day. I should take care of you.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I figured I could start by getting you out of your clothes, and then we can see where things lead.”

Sex with your husband has been infrequent over the course of your thirty-week pregnancy so far, but it has occurred. The doctor assured you there are no complication risks involved, even when this far along. Your pregnancy is perfectly healthy, and sex is not harmful to the baby, so you and Minho are free to continue your normal sex life.

The problem is you don’t always feel up for sex. Between your various aches and the increasing challenge of finding a comfortable position, you sometimes have to wonder if an orgasm is really worth the trouble. But it has been a while since your last release, and you trust Minho to be caring and attentive, so you nod in agreement.

He guides you to stand up from his lap, and you allow him to remove your shirt. The sheen of sweat that has been building for the greater part of the afternoon is made even more apparent when the open air meets it.

“Ugh, I still feel gross,” you mutter under your breath. The inkling of sexiness you felt just moments ago is already gone.

“You don’t look gross,” Minho says. He scans you from head to toe before settling his gaze on your chest. “Will you take your bra off for me, please?”

You hesitate a few seconds, then unhook the restrictive garment and shrug out of it to let it drop to the floor. The moment it is gone, Minho reaches out to grasp your hips and slide his hands up along the expanse of your stomach. His warm, tender touch sends a shiver through you, and the baby begins fidgeting again. Your husband must feel it, too, because he smiles up at you brightly.

“God, how did I get so lucky? You are so beautiful.” His tone carries real sincerity. “Especially with your body like this, carrying our child. You’re so fucking… wonderful.”

You automatically let out an unflattering snort of self-consciousness as you think of the new stretch marks striping your breasts, hips, and stomach. You can’t even bring yourself to look at them right now.

“I mean it. It’s true,” he insists. His eyes drop to your bare stomach to look at what you will not. “It’s amazing how you’re able to grow a baby inside of you, just because I came in you.”

There is laughter in your breathy exhale. “Gee, you make it sound so sexy, Min.”

“But it is sexy. You’re growing hands and feet and… eyes inside your womb right now, this very moment.”

You wrinkle your nose. “That doesn’t sound sexy at all. It sounds scientific.”

“Yeah, but it’s also kind of magical, isn’t it? And just think about it: you’ll be able to feed the baby with your body, too…” Minho folds his bottom lip between his teeth for a second as he studies your chest with great interest. “Just look at these perfect tits, getting all swollen with milk for our baby.”

He starts to squeeze, lift, and massage your breasts reverently, completely undeterred by the stickiness coated on the undersides of them from your sweat. A quiet moan rumbles up from your throat.

Even though he is being gentle, the stimulation is still enough to make your nipples begin discharging a thick fluid that is slightly yellow in color. The sight of it kind of embarrasses you, even though it is completely natural. Your doctor explained that it is the “pre milk” before your body begins producing normal breast milk after the birth.

“Min…” you fret with a nervous giggle. You peel his hands away and take a step back from him.

“It’s okay, babe,” he says. He stands up and rearranges your hands so that he is the one holding yours. “It’s just your body, don’t be ashamed. I told you, you’re beautiful. You’re wonderful. You’re amazing.”

He lifts the heavy mounds on your chest again and presses them together as if to get a better view of the wetness seeping from them. He swipes his thumbs over both of your wet nipples, then casually sticks one of his thumbs in his mouth as if he has done this many times before.

“Mm, tastes sweet,” he says.

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Can I… do you think I could...” He trails off in a puff that sounds like he is the one who’s embarrassed. Eventually, he blurts, “I want to try some more.”

“What, you want to actually… drink it?” you ask. The notion surprises you, and you want to make sure you are understanding him correctly.

“I’d like to try, if you’re comfortable with that. I just want to appreciate your body in every way.”

Minho rolls a sensitive pebble between his thumb and forefinger as he waits for your reply.

After another second, you nod your consent, and he flashes you a toothy smile before he latches his mouth directly onto your nipple. The touch of his soft lips coupled with the tip of his tongue makes you gasp in pleasure. Goosebumps break out over your skin as he suckles delicately. You have to admit the sensation of the fluid flowing from your nipple is oddly satisfying, and the wet suction sound Minho is creating is more than a little erotic. Heat starts to pool between your legs to dampen your panties.

“Is this okay?” he asks you again, peering up at your face as he switches to the other tit. When his tongue takes the nipple in between his lips, you notice it is coated with a milky sheen.

“Yeah, it… it actually feels really good,” you confess. Without consciously choosing to do it, your thighs press together to apply some pressure to your clit. Even with your stomach in the way, Minho’s smirk tells you he does not miss the action.

“Are you wet down there between your legs, too?”

“Yes.”

“Dripping?”

“Mm…”

“I want to feel.”

“Be my guest,” you invite. He goes to slip his hand past the waistband of your pants, but you quickly instruct, “Just take them off.”

He does not need to be told twice. He detaches from your breast and yanks your pants down to your ankles. You steady yourself on his shoulders as you pull your feet free.

“Panties, too,” you add, but his fingers are already hooking into them.

Once they are shed, Minho takes his time running his warm hands back up your calves to your inner thighs, spreading your legs just a little wider than hip-width apart. He wastes no more time in dipping the pads of three fingers along your slit. The slickness he finds there has both of you groaning lowly.

“You are wet. Is this all because I sucked a little milk from your tits?”

A slow smile grows across your face. “Maybe.”

“Should I suck some more?”

“I don’t think there’s much in there at a time yet, honestly,” you tell him rather seriously. “Not until after the baby is born.”

He hums in understanding. “That’s okay, babe. I’ll settle for eating your pussy, if that’s alright,” he says, sinking two knuckles inside you.

“J-Jesus, Min. Y-yeah. Please.”

He grins, drawing his fingers back a little just to shove them in forcefully. “Alright. Have a seat for me,” he says. He removes his fingers from you and slides them into his mouth for the taste of something else. He really does adore all parts of you.

The rocking chair tips backwards when you settle into it, which only improves the access Minho has to your pussy. He makes it even easier for himself, however, by kneeling down and hoisting your legs onto each of his shoulders.

“Is this good?” he asks. He brings his head between your thighs and dots soft kisses along one of them.

You scoot your butt to the very edge of the seat. “Yeah, for now. I’ll let you know if it starts to hurt.”

“Please do,” he agrees at once.

He leans forward and parts your sticky folds with two fingers before dragging his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top in one slow, firm motion. Your breath hitches in your chest when he buries the pink muscle into your wet hole. He licks in a circle from one pulsing wall to the other and back again, then pulls back and licks his lips.

“Do you want my tongue in you and fingers on your clit, or my tongue on your clit and fingers in you?” he asks. He does not normally require such direct instructions, but he has been so concerned with you in your pregnant state. He wants to make sure he is giving you as much pleasure as possible, and he does not want any room for misunderstanding or disappointment.

“Fingers inside, please,” you say.

Minho fits one finger back inside your pussy, soon followed by a second, and your walls squeeze tightly around the digits to welcome and secure them. Then he flattens his tongue to press it back and forth, up and down over your clit. He builds a steady pace that renders your eyes closed and mouth unhinged to let flow a stream of pleasurable sighs and moans. Your pitch heightens considerably when his fingers hit pay dirt on that spot inside you that always makes your toes curl. When you rock against his face to get all the friction you can, the chair moves with you.

“Shit, this is so hot, babe,” your husband groans from below. “Should’ve eaten you out in a rocking chair a long time ago.”

You start to respond but your words pinch into a squeal from a particularly strong tap against your g-spot with his fingertips, and that seems to be all the answer he could want.

Minho becomes greedy for your unfiltered noises and closes his lips around your clit to suck it the way he sucked your nipples just moments earlier. A shiver tumbles down each rung of your spine, all the way to your clenched toes. Your muscles tense to cope with the sheer intensity of the pleasure being administered to that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. His fingers work tirelessly to undo you in tandem with his skillful tongue. The crest of your climax is drawing near so soon.

“Oh my god, Min,” you breathe with hardly any sound. “Fuck, you’ve got me so close already.”

He grunts his acknowledgement. “Is this how you want to come, doll? All over my fingers? All over my tongue?”

It is very tempting, but you still decline. “N-no. I want you inside me.”

“I’m already inside you.” He twists his fingers pointedly. “Can you be more specific?”

“You know what I mean,” you groan.

He has to get in a few more swipes of his tongue before he can say, “Yeah, but I want to hear you say it. You can have everything you want if you ask me.”

“I want your c-cock inside me. Now, please.”

Minho makes no move to cease his actions other than to briefly retract his tongue to speak again. “You sure you don’t want me to just keep going? You’re so close.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Please, fuck me already.”

The moan he lets out when he pulls away from you and gets to his feet is positively carnal. He rushes to undo his jeans, then shoves both them and his underwear to the floor in one swoop. You tilt your head to take in the view of his erect cock; the bulbous head is nearly purple from engorgement, and there is a glistening wetness at the slit from a buildup of precum.

“How do you want me?” he asks.

“Let’s try the chair.”

“Do you want to bend over it and I’ll fuck you from behind? Or do you want me to sit down and have you ride me?”

“Sit down and I’ll try riding you.”

You rock yourself up and out of the chair, and Minho takes a firm hold of each of your hands to help tug you to your feet. He kisses you quick and sloppy, giving you a quick taste of your arousal, before switching places with you and taking a seat. His cock points upwards as the perfect target for you to sit on.

You face away from him and straddle his legs to get yourself in position. One of his hands steadies your lowering hips as the other lines his dick up for entry. The tip squeezes into your warm wetness with ease. Minho spreads his legs wider and thrusts up to fit a few more inches of himself. With another shove from him and a bit of wriggling on your part, he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you always feel so fucking good,” he rumbles from behind you. Both of his hands are clenched tightly on your hips now.

You moan in agreement. “So do you.”

Bracing yourself on the arms of the chair, you raise yourself up a couple inches, then sink back down swiftly. Minho plants his feet firmly to keep the chair steady and meet you blow for blow as you start up a rhythm. The two of you grunt and pant with every stroke; the sounds are out of sync, but your movements are not.

The friction feels good, but your looming orgasm from earlier is not quite building again as you had hoped it would. Furthermore, your arms are already beginning to tremble from your efforts.

“Shit,” you swear in frustration. “Maybe this won’t work after all.”

He brings up his earlier suggestion and says, “Want to try bending over?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s try that.”

His wet dick falls out of you to slap against his stomach when you stand up from his lap. Again, the two of you switch positions so you can lean down and prop your arms along the armrests of the chair. The seat tilts downward as you bend over and press your head against the back of it, and your breasts hang heavy below you. You vaguely notice they have begun to leak again.

Minho steps up behind you and returns his hands to your waist to lift your backside a little higher to expose yourself to him. The head of his cock briefly pokes over your asshole when he guides it into place at your pussy again. With a sigh of satisfaction, he pushes back inside and waits for an extended moment while you to readjust to the tight stretch of his girth.

When you tell him you’re ready, he recreates the rhythm you had started earlier, but at a slightly faster tempo now. Each smack of his tensed thighs against your buttocks makes your breasts bounce — another motion that does not go unnoticed by him.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he breathes. One of his hands reaches over to cup one swinging breast and then the other. His fingers toy at your wet nipples once more. “You’re already such a MILF.”

The term makes you burst into surprised laughter. “Oh my god, please do not call me that,” you say.

“Why not?” Minho laughs back. “It’s true. You’re so. Damn. Sexy.” He emphasizes each word with concise, gasp-inducing thrusts. “And motherhood is only going to enhance that.”

“Ungh, right now I just want to come,” you groan, not interested in continuing a conversation at the moment, no matter how flattering. Your body feels heavy, but the coil in you is getting close to snapping again. “Please, Min... please…”

“Oh, you will, doll. I want you to come just as badly.” He pinches your drippy nipple with one hand, maneuvers the other hand around your waist, under your stomach, between your legs to trap your throbbing clit between two fingers. “Want you to come all over this cock.”

“Keep going and I will,” you promise him.

He speeds his hips up until he is hitting your g-spot with every push. He rubs and plays with your clit just the way you like. The steady whapping sound of skin on skin fills the nursery, along with your breathless encouragements for your husband to keep groping, keep pounding, keep going.

“You’re dripping everywhere for me, aren’t you, baby?” he grunts, his breath hot and ragged. “Got your sticky little clit in one hand, and your tit is leaking in my other.”

He is not wrong. Everything is so wet, so hot, so sticky. You whimper and repeatedly push back against him to further increase the friction.

“So fucking filthy,” he goes on, nearly growling. “Makes me want to bust and fill you up with cum. There’s gonna be so fucking much of it.”

His words, combined with a few more sweeps of his fingers over your clit and stabs of his cockhead against the sweetest part of you, burst you straight through the roof of your climax. With a whiny, broken moan, your pussy clamps him tightly, and it is not more than four of five more strokes before he joins you in sheer bliss. He seizes and grunts deeply as his cum shoots out of his twitching cock to meet the resistance of your already-occupied womb. He was right — there is a lot of it. The viscous white fluid oozes out of you and down along your thighs before the spurts have even finished trickling out of him.

Both pairs of legs between the two of you are shaky as Minho pulls out of your swollen pussy with a slick squelch. He helps straighten your body and pulls you into an adoring hug as you both regain your lost breath. His sweaty chest is nearly as damp as yours as it heaves against your back. You can feel his heart racing.

“You alright, doll?” he checks while dotting sweet kisses along your shoulder. “Was that good?”

“Very good,” you pant with a blissed smile. You turn your head to the side and pucker your mouth for a kiss. Your lower belly is cramping from the intensity of your orgasm, and you massage it absently as Minho’s lips envelop yours. His fingers bump yours as he, too, goes to cradle your stomach.

“How’s our little princess?” he asks next.

“Fine,” you answer. You kiss him deeply and whisper against his mouth: “We’re both just fine, thanks to the daddy.”

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2024 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

[angelofsmalldeath-codeine]

Good Saturday, y’all.

Topic of today’s rant: PEOPLE PRINTING AND SELLING FANFIC & GENERAL FANDOM ETIQUETTE

Profiting from fanfic will ruin it for everyone.

I want all of you who gift us your stories to be safe from lawsuits and beware that your content might be stolen.

Not to be on a soapbox and preaching to the choir but here are.

There are many authors pulling their work off AO3 because people acting on bad faith are printing and binding fics to sell on etsy thus infringing copyright laws. Fanfic has always been a grey area and we are allowed to exist in this grey area because we are not profiting from it. The minute money is exchanged, every party involved is breaking the law.

Why am I complaining about this yet again? Because we might be deprived from enjoying fanfic with the freedom we currently have because the fanfic authors will fear getting sued. If third parties are stealing our work and selling it, publishers and studios won’t care to know who sold it. It is your handle (thus IP address) on the sold fanfic. Because, get this, they are doing downloads straight from ao3 with your usernames.

Manacled is being pulled from ao3 because the author will publish it as a book. People are putting the book at risk by selling printed versions of it on Etsy.

I believe many of us who fall on the 20 years of reading fanfic side rather than on the 20 year olds reading fanfic will remember the Anne Rice days. These are not fully over because her son is carrying on the legacy of suing everyone who writes fanfic of her work. And if I may say, she didn’t invent vampires and should’ve taken many seats. I digress.

I am not sure of the levels of awareness within this community and to what extent it can affect all of us. TikTok is a massive contributor to this problem (as it is to many other problems. Again, I digress) since booktok and the binding folks discovered ao3.

You might think, I only post on tumblr so my content is safe. Well, they are finding their way here too. They cringe because tumblr is for old people but they still make their way here with their bad manners and pillaging behaviour.

I want all of you who gift your stories to be safe, lawsuit free, not lose your content and not be afraid of sharing.

I wish I had a definitive solution to this problem but I can only think of small actions:

report the etsy accounts selling fanfic/fanfic commissions,

report the TikTok accounts selling binding for fanfic work,

go back to the days of putting disclaimers on your notes that you don’t own the characters and you are not profiting from the story.

Tagging some authors* here for visibility so you can cascade to more people. Absolutely no pressure tag.

@theywhowriteandknowthings @tightjeansjavi @diversemediums @goodwithcheese @nerdieforpedro @fhatbhabie @undercoverpena @thelightsandtheroses @ezrasbirdie @notjustjavierpena @javierpena-inatacvest @freshlyrage @5oh5 @wardenparker @endlessthxxghts @creedslove @sp00kymulderr @secretelephanttattoo @gnpwdrnwhiskey @whatsnewalycat @pedrostylez @thetriumphantpanda @toointojoelmiller @dancingtotuyo @agentjackdaniels @ladamedusoif @lotrefcp @wildemaven @musings-of-a-rose @justagalwhowrites @morallyinept @pedropascalsx @criticallyacclaimedstranger @pennyserenade @kteague @astoryisaloveaffair @moralesispunk @linzels-blog @metalnecklace

*I can remove the tag if you are not comfortable with being associated with this post.

[duffslut]

Don't cry

Axl Rose x Reader

My Masterlist.

Word Count: 580

Warnings: Angst!

Taglist: @guns-n-roses-gal @a4tumnvenice @used-to-love-her-06 @changbinsdummythiccahrms @guitarsfan @em-21 @their80smichelle @svrgs-blog @rocketttqueennn @wiifitboard @unknownperson246 @fxcethestrange @lovergirl4slash @rottoneggs01 @metallical0ver @brunette-barbie4562 @appetiteforattitude @prettypersuasion @gyaas @nenynra @brezeblog @damianodavds @ch3rry-earrings @1-800-meth-blog @hauntedrosie @inkieink @rocketqueen1989x @rafesgirl7 @thatsoversace @maverickman5k @metallicaloverrr @xoxytoxinx @queenoftheundergroundscene @beebemarie @yourowngirlie @impuls1ve

- Hey... - You heard Axl's voice approaching you.

It was late at night, past midnight, you had left your boyfriend's house and simply couldn't go back home, you didn't want to have to face your parents in the situation you were in, so you went to the beach and just sat on the sand, watching the sea and letting the tears run down your face. It was cold and windy, but nothing could be worse than the throbbing pain you were feeling in your chest, the anxiety almost stopping you from breathing.

You greeted him Axl with a sad smile, cringing even more as he sat down next to you in the sand.

- How are you doing dear? - He asked in his deep, concerned voice, taking off his jacket and placing it over you, caressing your back with his hand.

- I... - You tried to speak but the tears came even stronger and you turned your face away. - It's all over.

Saying those words made your mind go back to a few hours ago, when you finally got the courage to break up with your boyfriend, and the scene repeated itself in your head, it was the best thing to do, but you didn't know it would hurt so much.

- Don't cry Y/n. - Axl said, touching your chin turning your face carefully towards him, drying your tears with his fingers. - Please, I hate seeing you like this..

You had called Axl because he was your best friend and the only person who could help you at that moment, he always knew the right thing to say, just having his presence calmed you down, he had that power, it was one of his many qualities.

- I'm sorry about this, Axl... - You said sniffling, looking at the redhead next to you. - I shouldn't have bothered you...

You let out a deep breath, Axl took your hand and held it lightly, warming your cold skin.

- I would come to you any time Y/n. - He said. - You know that, right? Things will get better.

You tried to believe him, but none of his words seemed real since you no longer had your boyfriend with you, who had promised the same things, but still had broke your heart.

- I don't know... I feel alone, lost. - You said, and noticed Axl's eyes sadden.

- You're not alone sweet girl, I wish I could make you believe... - He looked away. - I know exactly how you are feeling inside.

You couldn't decipher his gaze as he stared out to sea, you didn't say anything, you snuggled into him in a hug and closed your eyes for a few minutes, absorbing his scent mixed with the scent of the sea.

- Can I sleep at your place tonight? - You asked, opening your eyes and accidentally looking at him - I can't go home.

Axl nodded in response and you both got up and walked to his car.

You had already slept at his house several times, but it was the first time you actually lay down in his bed, your eyes red from crying began to close automatically, letting sleep take over your body, Axl watched you standing next to the bed, stroking your hair and saying things that sleep didn't allow you to understand perfectly, but something inside you felt that he was being the most sincere he had ever been.

- You're the most special girl in the world...

I will never leave your side...

I hate to see you cry...

I love you...

[bbyquokka]

4:30 pm (lmh)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | lee minho x fem reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | timestamp, smut – 18+ is strongly advised!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | established relationship, consensual somno, penetration (p in v), oral sex (f rec), clit stimulation, messy pussy eating, pussy drunk minho, spit play, grinding, squirting–if i missed any lmk!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 1.2k ~ (1,265)

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 | the ending is kinda cringe but i didn't know how to end it! osabddjab! also, hugeee ty to @bintificreads for helping me with the warnings (and for the reassurance!)

♡ m.list — ♡ you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

the mattress dips behind you. the bed frame squeaking a little due to the sudden weight. the scent of heavy aftershave hitting your nostrils as an attempt to cover up the smell of sweat but it’s a scent you know all too well.

“are you sleeping?” his breath fans against your cheek gently, the tips of his hair tickling your cheeks. you hum a little as a response before nuzzling in the pillow.

it's been a rough day for him and all he needs is something (or someone) to take his stress out on to so when he sees that silver necklace hanging around your neck that gives him consent, does he feel his cock twitch and excitement start to bubble in his stomach.

he swallows a little as he scans your body. his hands curled up into fists from the surging feeling of excitement. you're curled up in a ball, hand under your pillow, duvet covering half your body and showing off that flesh he so badly wants to taint with love bites and cum. 

“you're so pretty..” he whispers. you feel his soft and plump lips kissing your neck, suckling and biting gently before trailing up to your ear. he kisses and blows on the shell, causing you to shiver and groan softly. 

“i'm sorry, pretty. i just need a few minutes, i promise.” he pulls the duvet off you, satisfied to see you in flimsy panties. you feel the weight shift from behind to below you, your legs being slowly opened. his fingers sinking into your inner thighs, tongue licking his lips hungrily as he comes face to face with your core.

he glances up at you before taking a deep breath in and shakily letting it out. he leans in to kiss and mark your inner thighs, lips trailing closer and closer to your groin. you shuffle a little, humming softly before reaching down and itching your inner thigh from where his hair has tickled.

he lets out a soft laugh before trailing his fingertips up and down your folds through your panties. he applies a little bit more pressure on your clit, your body stirring as he slowly rubs your clit. pleasure starts to slowly spread throughout your body, traveling up your arms and legs only to be met in the pit of your stomach.

your lips part a little, allowing you to let out shaky and small breaths. minho traps his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches you. he rubs and teases your clit and entrance whilst watching you squirm and pant a little.

he slides your panties to the side. his breath hitching in his throat at the sight and scent of you. he's missed this, missed you and now you're all his for the taking. he closes his eyes briefly to allow himself a few minutes to calm down before pressing the pad of his finger against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

your chest rises fast as minho teases your clit. he rubs in circles and side to side, occasionally dipping his fingers into your entrance to gather some of your wetness to use as lubricant.

“m-minho..” you moan out softly. he presses his lips together in a thin line, his penis now straining against his sweatpants. he pushes his bangs away from his eyes before rubbing up and down your puffy folds with two fingers, coating the skin and his fingers thoroughly in your wetness.

“you have such a pretty cunt yn.” he mumbles to himself, eyes fixated on the way your entrance throbs. “it's to be expected though. you are pretty through and through. makes me want to taint you so badly..”

he glances up at you for a brief second. convinced that you're still somewhat asleep, he grabs the waistband of your panties and pulls them down your legs. discarding them on the floor, he shuffles closer to your core.

“so perfect, so pretty and it's all mine.” he hooks your legs over his arms, hands on top of your thighs to squeeze the soft and plump flesh. he flicks his tongue out, flicking your clit with the very tip. 

you groan, back arching up off the bed at the feeling. minho's eyes flutter close as he presses his tongue against your clit and swipes, giving it slow and long licks. he nibbles and sucks on the bud, teeth and tongue grazing over it delicately as his fingers sink into your flesh.

so caught up in the sensation, he doesn't notice you waking up. only when he hears his name does he glance up does he realise.

“you're awake.” he says for a brief second before his tongue is back on your clit, lapping away at it.

“yea–fuck!” you groan. you reach down and bury your fingers in his hair. you feel his tongue lick between your puffy folds before diving into your entrance. he laps at your juices, humming and rutting against the mattress as your taste and scent overpowers his senses.

he pulls away for a split second to gather some spit in his mouth. he spits on your pussy before rubbing your clit side to side at a fast pace. you tug on his roots, the pleasure overwhelming you at a fast rate.

he buries his face deep between your legs as he messily eats you out. spit and juices coat his lips and chin. his nose bumping against your clit. you grind on his face slowly, bruises slowly forming on your thighs from his tight grip. teeth nibbling on your clit. he occasionally pulls away to kiss and mark your inner thighs before the need to be attached to your pussy overwhelming him.

“love this pussy. want more of it. fuck, i want more!” minho shakily moans. the lust overpowering him, making him shake and babble. he goes several minutes without breath just to eat your cunt, purposely depriving himself of oxygen. his tongue diving in and out of your entrance, nose and fingers rubbing your sensitive clit.

his mind slowly clouding over. scenes heightening due to your taste, sound and smell. 

your legs threaten to close around his head, which they do, trapping him in between your legs. within a matter of minutes, however, your legs are forced back open. minho's lustful eyes gazing at you, his bangs covering them just slightly.

“minho.. so much. i might end up cumming if you carry on.” you pant heavily. the burning knot in the pit of your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each passing second.

“do it. cum on my face. give me everything, yn. i want it.” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut. you shake, orgasm fast approaching and which one final swipe of the tongue, your orgasm hits. 

your thighs shake as your juices coat minho's face. he pulls away briefly to watch you squirt out onto the sheets. he licks his lips as your pussy throbs and pulsates, minho licking his lips before diving back between your legs and licking the juices off your skin and entrance.

“m-min! b-baby!” you gently push him away due to oversensitivity. he allows it but only because he kneels up between your legs, pulls his sweatpants down and grabs your thighs, pulling you down and closer to him.

he grabs the base of his dick, rubbing your entrance with the tip before penetrating you. he groans at the warmth and wetness, but most of all; the tightness.

“you're going to be good for me and milk me dry, yeah?” he instructs. “i'm going to breed, taint and corrupt you.”

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 (𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍) | @bintificreads ; @septicrebel ; @alyszaen ; @writerracha ; @hyunluvxo ; @aestheticsluut ; @xcookiemonsteer ; @mnwrld ; @fairylouist ; @lilquokka04

[certifiablyinsanez]

This post is dedicated to our favorite sexual sacrifice, Emberlynn Pinkle, and why she is an important character even if we never see her again. Let’s buckle in for a crazy character analysis of someone we’ve only seen for 4 minutes.

There are many facets of this short that hold importance, including but not limited to the mysterious pendant, any potential foreshadowing, parallels between Emberlynn and pre-Ozzie’s Stolas, etc. What I want to talk about is the character of Emberlynn herself and what is truly represents.

Many anti’s of the show are foaming at the mouth over her, particularly the fact that Emberlynn is a caricature of the Hellaverse fandom that was created specifically to make fun of us. Funnily enough, many of us who have been in actual fandom spaces are not unfamiliar with people like Emberlynn, and at some point, a fair number of us admit to being like her, which is the main thing I want to touch on.

People watering Emberlynn and the short down to a cheap shot at fandoms and fans of the show is intellectually lazy. It can be seen as a critique of peoples’ own biases considering many of us that have been in fandom spaces have done so for a long time. And it’s funny, because these people have been threatening to doxx fans, harm them, send messages to their bosses to get them fired, to schools so they’d lose scholarships, etc. The kind of people that would order a hit on us in hell…Many anti’s and people who are against cringe culture often participate in it unwittingly. Take for instance, the anti’s of the Hellaverse shows who dedicate entire blogs to picking apart everything from character interaction to even three second frames. They take over the tags associated with the fandom just so they can pump bitter content out, and are actively hostile when fans confront them over their weird behavior. Because fans of Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel are normally not the kind of people who would watch entire seasons, keep up on content and lore, or interact with actors and fandom over something they hate. We would just…not watch it and not interact. And it’s that kind of strange behavior that is intrinsic in fandom. Fandom spaces have forever had a dark side, that much is undeniable, but now more than ever there has been an influx of people unaccustomed and socially unequipped to participate and interact in the spaces that have been infesting it.

I have been in fandom spaces since 2013 and my first fandom was Hetalia. If you know you know. Many people in these spaces have been targeted for being “freaks” for years, but the areas where we have thrived, made friends and enjoyed ourselves was relatively untouched by the “normies”. That’s definitely changed in recent years, especially when the pandemic forced people who would normally socialize in other spaces come to ours. We all remember alt fashion blowing up in 2020 just for people to be finding entire wardrobes of it at goodwill not even 2 years later. And when they came in, they started adding rules and stipulations. They would allow themselves permission to interact with us weirdo outcasts, but only in a way that could give them plausible deniability later when they knew the trend wouldn’t last. They would enter a space that was nerdy and when furry iconography would show up they would whine about furries “making it weird” when it was already “weird”. They would dress and call themselves punk but still think it was important to listen to “both sides”. And when it comes to the Hellaverse, it’s popular, and entering the mainstream via Amazon picking up Hazbin, but if you’re not willing to be critical of its unsavory parts then you’re complicit in things like rape, violence, drug use, etc.

These people have infiltrated our community, which sounds extreme but when I remember it from my teen years vs now, I think these people genuinely would’ve combusted on sight. Like I said before, I was in the Hetalia fandom for many years. If you don’t remember, people were cosplaying as Germany and doing the Nazi salute at cons and concentration camps. It was bad. It was equivalent to our new blackface Alastor controversy. Back then, the fandom handled it ourselves. We all agreed that that was unacceptable behavior, and people would express disgust, but they were also productive. Fans would post about how we needed to realize that there was real history behind this show and that we needed to be mindful when participating in that environment. I saw many cosplayers altering their costumes to be more mindful. Germany cosplayers would refuse to wear iron cross, which isn’t even technically solely fascisitic in nature, but did it anyway because it was seen as respectful. I’ve seen a resurgence of the fandom on tiktok recently and all of us are allowing ourselves to enjoy it, because for years we had to pretend that we were stupid weirdos for liking it to begin with. Fandom has to allow itself to be cringe again, as it has been affected by people that are in an echo chamber of self righteousness and acceptability.

Getting back to Emberlynn, I have hardly ever seen a take off of a character like this. Even when it was shown that Baxter was coming in season 2 of Hazbin I saw maybe a handful of fan arts and videos. But Emberlynn has EXPLODED. I watched the short when it had been out for only 26 minutes, and within the hour my feeds across all social media were full of her.

I genuinely think that it’s because she is the epitome of fandom, where all of our cringe has been rolled into one character. Her self insert name is literally a reference to old fandom. She’s a proshipper, a selfshipper, she gets into shipping wars and has been fighting with people online for almost a decade. She said the pendant was from an episode “569”, which is strange wording because episodes aren’t usually formatted that way in any sort of media, which could potentially mean that she’s watched over 500 episodes of Akuma no Otto. Her room is full of pornographic material, figurines, the BODY PILLOW. I mean come on. Her parents are fully aware that she watches hentai. She was upstairs moaning and crying while interacting with Blitz and being stabbed and her parents did not go up to check on her, nor think it was out of the ordinary. She is pastel goth, a subset of the gothic culture, and writes self insert fanfiction. She’s A MONSTERFUCKER. HELLO?? When everyone in the Hellverse is as hot as they are…come on. When she dies and goes to hell her sinner form has furry influences. All of us love her because even if we were never fully like her (ie stalkerish, obsessive), we’ve been like her in some way at some point, or even now. I write fanfiction. I’m part of alternative fashion and culture. I’ve been into cringe stuff for a while. I’m not necessarily super into furry stuff, but I love the suits, the artistry and even had an idea for an oc once. My profile pic is literally my Sinner OC.

Emberlynn is a return to form for the standard of fandom spaces and I think to those of us that truly embrace the lifestyle, it’s refreshing. She does not exist in the realm of acceptability; she’s fat, intense and unapologetic. And yet, she’s still super hot, funny, and entertaining. We don’t love her because she’s a respectable fan, we adore her because she’s insane. I’m a cofounder of a Facebook group about being fans of the Vees and we all agree that she would actually do well with Valentino, because that cutie needs some disrespectful eldrich cock ASAP lol. It’s refreshing, and even if we never see her again, I still find her completely relevant and interesting.

Emberlynn Light’ness Demonanya Pinkle, you are PRECIOUS.

[pan-withnoplan]

@lakewillowmerewraith let me tell you something about boundaries.

I run a confession blog for a different fandom. It's mostly a positive environment, but as with most fandoms, there are also ship wars, people who thirst for "negative" characters, and occasionally rotten takes. Since the first day, I knew I had to set boundaries, but I also knew that I couldn't let those boundaries be about me and my personal preferences and dislikes. It wouldn't be fair if I deleted positive confessions about my notp/criticising my ships/depicting nsfw headcanons/shipping a beloved character with a hated character.

Because that was a blog that I made, but I made it for everybody in my fandom to feel welcome, not just those who I believed shipped/held the "correct, pure, unproblematic" ships/opinion, and it isn't fair to police real people because of fictional characters. What confessions I could reject, were those who actively hated on real people. For example: “This female character whom some people see as a transfem allegory canonically had a brief relationship with a black woman, so people who ship her with this white male character who was mean to her and "deadnamed" her are all racist, homophobic, and abuse apologists”. And “All X shippers are racist/misogynist/homohobic/etc etc” and “people who say [perfectly harmless thing] are gross/cringe. touch grass” and “stop being so damn [ableist slur]”. Those are the things I need to protect and shield my followers from, not the thirst confessions about the villain who manipulated and betrayed the female character. I also have an extensive tag system that allows people to avoid things they don't want to see. I get inbox that I don't like every day and still, as long as they aren't harmful to real people, I publish them all because it's not about what I want from my blog, it's about enriching my fandom and giving a voice to everybody. I've fucked up occasionally, but I am proud to say that mostly I have been praised for keeping a welcoming, safe, and positive space.

This is what I mean when I say that @elainarcheronweek's mods that have pushed for the decision to have certain Elain ships banned are partial, biased, and unfit to run an event that's supposed to belong to all Elain fans, not just the mods, not just the ones who they believe ship her with the correct character. It's not Healthy Elain Week, it's just Elain Week. And it's despicable that they can just decide to reject fanworks on which real people spent time and energy and feelings, just because they don't like the pairing or they make them feel icky. Because it's just that, right? You said it yourself. Not "fans feel uncomfortable about tamlain and beronlain", it's "the mods have the right to lead their event how they want to". And I say no, it's not only their event, it's Elain's event, Elain's fans's event, and no, they don't have the right to lead that event how they want to if that means punishing fans and creators because of a personal dislike. As I said, they didn't like the "icky" ships and decided to make it everyone else's problem. They "eliminated" the threat of big bad "toxic" elain ships, but they've done nothing to silence the people who accuse tamlain and beronlain shippers of being abuse apologists even when those works contain Tamlin and/or Beron redemption. This is not letting darkfic have the right to exist, it's purity culture. Denying those works a place on the platform out of a personal preference is quite literally censorship.

"But fans really have been feeling uncomfortable with tamlain and beronlain! What about them?" So use the fucking tag system. Make a post where you explain there will be works thay might trigger people and tell them to block the tamlain and beronlain tags. Ask people to suggest other potential triggers so you can update the list. Include the list of potential triggering tags in the master post. It's that simple and it would have saved the whole fandom a lot of drama and disappointment. It's always so baffling for me to think that grown ass people refuse to curate their own browsing experience or ignore the things that they dislike.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

While "the network wants an episodic kids show, the authors want an epic dark complicated narrative" would explain A LOT about ML's problems, I'd still like to note that there are kids' shows that can do both, going full range from "mostly episodic with a sprinkle of narrative" (Kim Possible, MLP), to "heavily narrative but with episodic breather/filler episodes" (Gravity Falls, WITCH, the Owl House), with many variants in-between.

Even the transition from "fully episodic" to "more narratively-connected" that ML attempted to do can be done successfully - the aforementioned Gravity Falls and WITCH were more episodic in season 1 and more narratively driven in season 2.

However, I'd say there are a few other key problems that can be inferred from what we have:

The show tries too many things at once - as you have pointed out repeatedly. Magical girl and rom-com, single-hero, duo and team stories, wacky comedy and serious trauma, even trying to give several characters a redemption and a damnation arc at the same time (and failing with either). Apparently, it's not just TF vs writers: it's writers severely disagreeing with each other (see Thomas and Vincent's opinions on Chloe), and also trying to one-up the fans. Also, simply thinking too much of the work, which leads us to...

ML's total lack of self-awareness. Another famous case of a show that was almost entirely episodic is Phineas and Ferb. They use the same formula (the brothers build, Candace busts, Doof makes an Inator and is thwarted by Perry) over and over for four seasons. And by mid-season 1, the authors have been making fun of the structure, lampshading it, spoofing and twisting it, playing with "What if" episodes and never taking itself too seriously. When ML tries to be self-aware, it becomes either insulting to the fans (Animaestro), horrifically dark (Chat Blanc) or plain cringe (Simpleman). This is exacerbated by Astruc's arrogance and inability to ignore critics.

Is it possible to make a highly complex, genre-busting, yet kid-friendly story and succeed? Yes. But it needs to be better thought-out - if not from the start, then at the moment the network allows one to deviate from the formula.

And if all else fails and the story becomes too complicated and too repetitive at the same time... Well, self-awareness and the ability to make fun of one's own work can turn a sad mess into a hilariously fun disaster.

P. S. Love your posts as always, you are the main reason I'm still in the fandom!

Thank you for the kind words! I'm so glad that you're enjoying my stuff and I agree with all the things you brought up.

A big part of the reason that Miraculous is so fascinating to me is that there ISN'T a single cause of the issues. There are so many valid ways to discuss the show's problems. It's a masterclass in bad writing and what not to do!

It's why I'm able to run this blog. If it was as simple as, "here's the single reason why it's bad and here's how you fix that" or if the show never had any potential, then there wouldn't be much to talk about. But it did have potential and there is no single reason why it's bad. The causes are multitudinous as are the potential fixes! It feels like investigating some complex wreckage or an elaborate murder mystery in order to understand what the hell happened, which is really fun if you like talking about writing.

I find it much harder to discuss writing in an informative way if you only have good examples to draw from because that path risks stifling creativity. Just because a popular story did a thing well doesn't mean that story showed us the only way to do the things or even the best way to do the thing, but that's often the lesson people seem to learn. They see a thing that they like or even just a thing that audiences liked and want to copy it without understanding the full nuance of why they liked it.

A great example of this is Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender. He was such a well-written and popular character that all these properties started copying him even though the properties in question did NOT have a setup that worked for a Zuko. Praising Zuko won't really tell you all the ways that Zuko could have failed. Meanwhile, a case study of Chloe vs Zuko or even just a general discussion of Chloe lets you actually talk about the various styles of redemption arc and what you have to do to make them feel real. It's also far more interesting than talking how Zuko could have failed because Zuko didn't fail so why are we even talking about this? It's also far more interesting than talking about a bunch of properties that did redemption arcs well because that would require you to have seen all of those properties. But Chloe is from a single property and she did fail and people understandably have wildly different feelings about what the failure was because the writing was so bad, which means that digging into her writing is way more likely to hold your interest and teach you something.

This gif really does sum it up perfectly:

[Image description: scene from the movie Knives Out where the detective Benoit Blanc exclaims "It makes no damn sense! It compels me though" to explain his feelings on an ongoing murder mystery that he's trying to solve]

As does the old adage, "failure is the greatest teacher." Of course, no one ever said that it had to be your failure!

[aliens8n]

Nsfw ABCs [ Rollo Flamm ]

Hello! This is my first blog and writing so bare with me but I feel the primal urge to create such things! For now I’ll be taking requests for headcanons and Drabble only Twst only!  Anyway, time to feed the Rollo simps!

NSFW| Rollo Flamm x GN reader |

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Rollo is a proper gentleman and believes that follow ups like after care should be common sense for anyone. If you have sex with someone, you’re supposed to clean up your bodies as he would consider it filthy if not. Though he would rather you be self-sufficient enough to do it yourself, he will clean you up nice and gently if you’re too drained; though expect some minor insults to slip out as he wipes you down with a warm rag. Rollo wouldn’t admit it but he does take pride in a way when you’re too much of a mess to do it yourself. After all he does believe that one should clean up the mess THEY caused. On a small side note since he would be relatively new to pleasure another, the aftercare part he was always more one of since he found it the easier thing to do in a sexual relationship.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of their partner’s)

He would absolutely love your hands. Oh how soft and comforting they were to hold. He loved the way they loved when they squeezed around the sheets on the bed as he kept his pace nice and steady as your hole squeezed around him. Rollo would have the tendency to slowly slide his hands down your arms only to then intertwine his fingers with yours and give em a nice firm squeeze. Even out of the bedroom he would randomly take your hand when he could and give them a soft kiss along each finger if he has time.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Due to not liking filthy things he usually pulls out and cums into a napkin or cloth he had placed out beforehand. Though on a very rare occasion he might cum right onto your back or stomach depending on the position. His cum would usually be thicker than the average person’s due to not really masterbaiting or having sex too often in general.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Rollo secretly likes temperature play though he wouldn’t act upon this liking all too much. On special occasions when he does want to drabble in his weird sexual interest it would consist of you blindfold to raise your other senses as he holds a candle to your body and just inches the flame closer. Your reaction to the threatening flame would have him pretty rock hard. Don’t worry he wouldn’t let it burn you, the worst he would do  letting a few drops of wax drip on you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Absolutely not. He would of  been a happy virgin for as long as he lived if he hadn’t met you. He had a low libido though it would have raised up a bit once with you. You would need to guide him through it the first few times until he got how to please your body the way you like it. Rollo might have crossed some erotic scenes in his books but he would be keeping notes. What he knows is what is taught in sex ed so that is about it! At least he would be aware of the clit and the purpose of it, but don't expect him to blow your socks off the first few times.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Basic missionary is all he requires and likes. It is a simple position that allows him to see most of you and get the job done. He wouldn’t be too reluctant if you asked for a different one as long as it wasn’t too much of a hassle to do. The only other position he enjoys is doggy style, once again, it is simple and gets the job done.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Rollo is a serious man and wouldn’t understand why anyone would goof off during sex. If you were to try to make a joke during an erotic moment he would go soft and lose interest almost immediately and probably give you a cringed out look too.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He would keep himself very well kept! Anything you expected from his normal appearance would be the same down below, nice and tame. And he would expect the same of you as well. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

The first time would be more like you’re a teacher so it would go quite slow as he wants to make sure he is doing it right of course, as well as study your reaction to certain things he does if he goes off script. After a while once he feels confident in his ability,  the pace would be about the same as he wants you to feel every little thing he does to you. Rollo wouldn’t admit this openly, but  he cherishes your body and the fact that  YOU are allowing him, of all people, to do such things to you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Rollo doesn’t have the time nor feel the need to jack off. If he feels pent up he will come directly onto you or have you sent to his office to fix the problem head on.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

As mentioned in another letter,  he would enjoy temperature play and some very soft bondage. He isn't a very kinky man but he might discover he likes orgasm denial if you manage to get punished by him. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

 His office or bedroom. He will NOT do it any other place, and if you try to get frisky with him outside of those two places, he will end up ignoring you for the rest of the day and even cover his mouth with his handkerchief to hide his disgust. Thankfully, you are his lover so he wouldn’t be mad at you for too long- but definitely never try it again.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The simple things; such as the way your hips move as you walk, or how serious your expressions get when you’re determined or focused. What he finds most attractive is how you stand up to him and speak your mind; like you are the same level or better than him. Oh he can’t wait until he is alone with you to remind you of your place.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There’s a lot of no’s coming from this man. No heavy pda such as making out; a small kiss and hand holding for a bit is okay but any more than that going to get you shunned. No spitting or anything dirty. Rollo absolutely wouldn’t tolerate being degraded at any point during sexy time. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Rollo prefers to give as he finds it less dirty than to have his own dick sucked. Since he was previously an inexperienced virgin, it would take him a bit to get the hang of it and he would have an inconsistent tempo, BUT once he gets some practice you will be cumming- or get real close to an organism. Now, returning to the receiving end: you would have to practically beg him if you want to give him head. Though he does find it a bit gross…HE WOULDN’T SAY HE HATES IT!

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He is in between both fast and rough and slow and sensual. His speed is a moderate one. He wouldn’t be dreadfully slow, but he wouldn’t be  ramming in and out either. Rollo’s main goal would be to please you,  so he wouldn’t be in a rush to finish. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are a waste of time. He doesn’t have time for them and if he did he would fill that time with something he deemed more productive. Rollo believes that  if he feels horny,  he will save that feeling for a time when he can have a full session with you. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Nope! Safety first! He would always be sure to have condoms, and if you don't like that then that's fine since sex would only be in the safety of his office or bedroom- nowhere else; and during times he has NOTHING but you scheduled.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

As many times needed until both parties have cummed at least once. Rollo has a decent stamina due to the lack of masterbaiting, and the use of his energy in general.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No toys for this strict, used to be a mega virgin,  man. Toys are of no use as he has you if he wants pleasure. Now he wouldn’t say no if you brought one and requested him to use it on you. Of course, after you explain how and show him how it works, but he would never seek them out himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

At first, he would barely tease as these were learning sessions. Once comfortable, he will get a bit more adventurous and branch off from following your lead; he likes the foreplay more than the actual action of the deed. Rollo will plunge his fingers in and out of you until you beg him to just fuck you,  but you better be good at begging because a simple please and a few tears won’t satisfy him enough to actually fuck you. There will even be times when all he will use is his hands and possibly a toy if you request it. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

For the most part he is trying to keep his normal poker face, but if you get lucky enough you might look up to see a small scowl with his cheeks a light flush of pink. As for noise, he keeps it all in but you can catch a groan or two slip  as he thrusts in and out.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Though he may not say it, it would be clear that after a while you will notice he seems to like power play as long as he gets to be the one in charge. Even during the first few times when you are teaching him, he would act  as if he was the one demanding you to show him- as if you were no more than a mere little puzzle for him to toy with.

[webcorelino]

what you like [2/2] | lee know. 

After your roommate walked in on you and offered a helping hand, you couldn't quite get him off your mind. Soon enough you would find out that avoiding your attraction to Minho will only result in bubbling it's accumulation up to the surface.  

Roommate!Minho, female reader. ~3.1k words  

WARNINGS: smut, fingering (female receiving), minho calls reader bunny (he's projecting), tiniest bit of orgasm denial, mention of reader being in sub space. MDNI.  

Author’s note: this was requested!! thank you anon, i hope you like it :) as always, thank you for reading!! reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated c: also, i just moved accs! please follow this one if you'd like : ) 

Don't interact with my work if you’re a minor or have a ageless/default/empty blog. 

Golden hour paints the living room of your shared apartment. Minho was too lazy to get up and close the curtains, and you ignored the man's advances to try and get you to do it for him, "you should be the one to shut them if it's bothering you so damn much" you'd say, a thin veil of fake annoyance covering your lovesick gaze. Both you and your roommate aren't fond of sunlight, but ever since that afternoon in your bedroom you've been leaving curtains open on purpose–just to get the chance to see him bathing in a warm, engulfing, comfortable feeling. Maybe it'll remind him of something, you'd think. Maybe if he allows the sun to linger on his skin for a bit, it'll take him back to that day, to an overwhelming feeling of heat taking over his skin, to an epiphany. Maybe he likes me back.  

His light brown locks shine blond in the sunlight and it's impossible to look away–he sits directly parallel to the window, manspreading on the couch with his head thrown back–you were laid on your back beside him, his sole hand on your ankle providing double times the heat the sun ever could.  

It's been a couple of months since your encounter, since your dirty mouth wouldn't settle for his hands on your throat and shamelessly verbalized you craved him elsewhere. "I love that you're into dirty talk, but I can't help but wonder how it's like when your mouth's busy." You'd cringe at your words if they weren't responsible for getting Minho on his knees, making you cry later that day. He had gotten up from your bed, kneeled beside it, and guided your hips towards it's edge–your thighs spread open over his shoulders.   

As expected, at first, Minho was experimental. He started with gentle kisses along your slit, wetting his pouty lips in your arousal and gently sliding them through your core. You saw stars every time he kissed your clit, allowing his tongue to touch your bud the slightest bit as he sucked it into his mouth. With time, when Minho was satisfied with your whispered pleas, he eased his tongue into you. He'd lap your wetness and smudge it all over you for hours on end, you begged for his fingers multiple times but he didn't comply–said he liked to watch how greedy your cunt was, squeezing around nothing, begging for his sympathy. The sun was still beaming through your bedroom window when Minho walked in on you, but by the time he left you sweaty and breathless and alone in your bed, the moon hanged high in the sky.   

Needless to say, Minho didn't leave your mind since that day. You were too spent and embarrassed to leave your room after he left that night, and by the time you joined him for breakfast the morning after, he acted as if the ghost of his touch on your neck was nothing but fruit of your imagination. For a while, you convinced yourself it really was. It was easier to live in a reality where your roommate didn't drive orgasm after orgasm after that orgasm out of you, not only beating your own record but spoiling you so bad that bringing yourself to climax never felt quite right again. That was only until a few weeks later–he threw a quick joke about how his knees were still ruined after "that one time", complaining about not being able to keep up with his dance routine–a daring smirk and raised eyebrows adorning his always so teasing countenance before walking out of the living room, leaving you to deal with the fact that that night did happen, and you were no longer able to gaslight yourself into believing that it didn't. If only Minho allowed you to doubt your own reality, you wouldn't have to sit with a twisted stomach and increasing heartbeat as you watch him watch TV–the bright sun darkening most of his features but highlighting his striking profile.   

You wish you could blame the butterflies solely on lust, but the swell of your heart objected infatuation. It has been happening for a while, if you were honest. No one could quite get on your nerves like Minho, no one understood and bounced off of your sense of humor like he did. The tension always grew thicker with each snarky remark of his, an unspoken battle of who would land the last blow. Maybe it would've been fine if he allowed you to pretend that was all your relationship was–a fun, superficial build up of tension, annoyance hiding desire. But of course things couldn't be so simple. Minho had this thing of being able to read you like his favourite novel–he became a master of interpreting each bait and switch of your gaze in your otherwise (to people not fluent in you) neutral expression. You liked it the most when he simply knew you were feeling down, albeit you tried your hardest to not let it show. Like a emotional support cat, he would sneak in your room if he noticed you've spent way too long in isolation and sit at your desk. Sometimes on the floor. Sometimes he would even fold the pile of clothes by the foot of your bed and store them back in your closet. He wouldn't say a word–not until you started the conversation. Minho would cook your favourite meals and shit talk every single one of your favourite shows. He always binge-watched every single one of them with you, though.   

"I'm sitting here watching the most bullshit show in existence because of you and you can't do me the favor of getting up and closing the blinds?" He groans, slightly shaking your ankle.   

He forces you to stop eyeing him when his attention switches from the TV to you, your eyes instantly glueing to the screen when you replied. "Well if it's so fucking unbearable why don't you spare yourself a few seconds of torture and actually get up and close the curtains?" Your voice is laced with false sweetness, "I'm really enjoying this episode."  

"Doesn't look like it." He mutters, getting up from the couch and making his way towards the window.   

Your eyes follow him back to the couch. "What do you mean?"  

"You spent the last forty five minutes staring at me."  

You laugh as if he's wrong. "Your ego is getting way too big."  

"And your little crush is getting way too obvious."  

You eye him up and down from your spot on the couch, furrowed eyebrows and a challenging smirk plastered on your lips. "Says the one who got his knees fucked up because he couldn't bring himself to stop eating me out."  

He shrugs as a chuckle leaves his lips, bored eyes fix on the screen before you. "Says the one who was screaming from just getting my tongue. You came like eight times."  

"You were going at it for hours."  

"You were begging me to keep going."  

"Whatever. Shut the fuck up." Laughter echoes through the room when you playfully push him with your feet, Minho quick to cage your legs on his lap again.  

Minutes of comfortable silence settle in the room, the low volume of the show you both seem to be engulfed in barely covering Minho's low voice, his words getting muffled by their breathiness.   

"I haven't been able to get it off my mind, you know." His gaze follows the patterns his thumb draws on your skin. "How you were begging for me."  

You humm, heart thundering in your chest as your tired eyes fix on the screen–they didn't budge, but you couldn't tell what was going on in the show to save your life. You let him sit on his words before replying. "I think about that day too." A sigh escapes your parted lips, "All the time."  

Minho's eyes turn to you, holding a gentle spark that seemed foreign to them–it reminds you of a spider slowly approaching it's prey, watching it struggle to escape it’s web. You wonder if he knows how long you've been patiently tangling yourself in his strings, waiting for him to swallow you whole.   

"All the time?" He asks, tilting his head to the side. You nod, watching as Minho spreads his thighs, tapping the space between them. "Come here, then."  

You feel your heartbeat in your cunt as you crawl to sit between his legs, relaxing your back on his chest. Minho's hand wastes no time finding it's way under your spaghetti strap shirt, palm caressing the awakening goosebumps on your skin as his other hand moves your hair, exposing your neck to him. His tongue leaves a wet trail from your collarbone to just under your ear, Minho humming lowly when he chooses a spot to suck onto. You shudder in his hold, resting your head on his shoulder as your eyes began to loose focus, eyelids fluttering shut. "Missed your mouth so much."   

He chuckles, "Could've ask for it. Didn't I mention how much I like it when you beg?"  

You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat when his palms find your breasts. It's the first time you've felt his touch there–lightning running through your veins as Minho moans on the skin he sucked into his mouth, your hand instinctively pulling his soft roots. Still, your eyes roll at his remark. "I don't even know what I liked the most about that day..." He grinds against you, making you trail off to a moan. "If it was how good you made me feel, or that you couldn't say anything the entire time."  

His teeth bite into your skin and you can feel his smirk against you. "If you like it so much when I'm quiet you should try keeping my mouth busy."  

You pulled Minho's hair harsher than you intended, but his loud moan when his lips clash into yours indicate you shouldn't worry about it too much. He feels lightheaded when you pull it again, lust slowly blinding his senses as your tongue pries his mouth open, his hands groping your breasts rougher each time your ass massaged his cock–your hips moving in slow, circular motions on his lap.   

Saliva mounds in the corner of Minho's lips when one of his hands make their way down your torso, your sigh giving him a quick moment to inhale before your hunger envelopes him again. The constant moans of both parties fill the room, Minho's cock growing harder in his shorts the more you press against him. He smirks against your lips when his fingers find the soppy spot on your underwear.  

Your shudders mess with Minho's mind as he presses his palm to your cunt, rubbing you throughly through your underwear. He inhales your warm pants against his mouth when his middle finger nudges your clit. "Where did all that attitude go, huh?"  

Suddenly, your brain found it difficult to grasp words to your sentences. "Still have it." You moaned out, unable to break eye contact with the man.   

"You better lose it if you wanna cum." His thumbs hook on each side of your shorts, swiftly pulling them down as you raise your hips off the couch. Minho wastes no time in throwing both your legs over each of his knees, promptly spreading you out for him. You don't even think of the fact that he's still fully clothed when he raises your shirt, resting it above your breasts–one of his hands palming your needy cunt being more than enough to distract you from the embarrassment.   

You're too addicted to Minho's kiss to reply, seeking his mouth as soon as oxygen fills your lungs again. He swallows each of your loud moans, the restricted sounds lighting his skin on fire. His other hand spreading your lips open, giving him space to properly massage your clit–tips of his fingers dipping in your entrance ever so slightly just to circle back to your nub.   

Your hips uncontrollably raise off the couch, your hands gripping the cushion for support each time his fingers flicked rapidly on your cunt. With your climax so close your eyes were already squeezed shut, you can't help but whine loudly on his face when Minho takes his hand completely off of you. Helpless, you're unable to hold yourself up when your knees stutter, falling back on the couch with a thud–Minho's hand immediately cupping you again, palm massaging it thoroughly as he chuckles at your whines.  

"I was close, Min." You whine, mindlessly, rolling your hips to meet his hand.  

"Hmm? Were you, baby? I'm sorry, I didn't know." His voice sounds so sweet, so genuine it melts your heart a little. Even after you open your eyes and take in his smirk, you can't help but being putty in his hands when he knows how to use them so well.  

Minho's hips stumble back to life when he rolls them, pressing his erection against your ass and moaning into your mouth–tongues growing hungrier for one another with each sound leaving your lips.  

Minho's entire body lights up in flames–he's sure every inch of his skin is burning red with the way you're grinding against his painful erection, your loud moans right next to his ear, and your soaked core ruining his hand–his palm so wet the sounds of his skin against yours were audible even if the loud moans demanded his full attention.  

He knows you, and he can tell when you get too lost in it. You get into sub space rather easily, at least with him, and you get so whiny and squirmy it makes Minho's heart thunder in his ribcages, swelling with the need to have you all to himself. You would think the awakening of this feelings would make Minho go easier on you, but you're just too cute when you don't get what you want for him to cave so easily.   

It's really out of your control at this point–your mind is no longer with you when goosebumps spike all over your skin, hips instinctively lifting off the couch again, seeking Minho's hand, seconds away from release. He entertains you for a few more seconds, moaning back in your mouth before sliding his hand off your core to your inner thigh, spreading your wetness through your skin as he kneads the soft flesh. You whine his name, throwing your head back on his shoulder with a grunt, grinding harshly against him.  

"Minho, be nice to me, please."  

"I'm being nice, bunny. Are you not feeling good?" The fact that his condescending tone seems to be going right over your hazed head entertains him. Dumb little baby's feeling too good to keep up with his teasing.  

"I'm not feeling good enough." You argue, eyes now on his. He can't help giving a quick peck to your pout.  

"Hmm? Not good enough? Look down, bunny." You both do. It just hit you that you're doing this in broad daylight, right in your living room. Your cunt, your inner thighs, the couch beneath you and Minho's hand all glistening with your arousal. The sight makes embarrassment catch up to you, hiding your face on his neck.  

"I made a mess, sorry."  

He lets out a soft chuckle, hand leaving your breast to massage the nape of your neck, his other palm gently rubbing your core. "Don't take full credit now, pretty. I made a mess out of you. Isn't that right?"  

You nod against him, hips shyly beginning to move again.   

"Are you gonna come for me now?" That makes you open your eyes and look at him, nodding with purpose. He wonders if his gaze looks as lost as yours, pupils blown with desire for him.  

His hand leaves your hair and snakes down your body, spreading your lips with his pointer and index fingers as his other hand finds your clit. You start moaning as soon as his wrist starts moving, setting a fast pace with clear purpose.  

You seek his lips again and he relents to your urgency, open mouths clashing with one another. Minho uses his hold on the hand that's spreading you open to try and keep your hips still, you grow more and more restless the closer you get to your climax, your moans getting louder and goosebumps violently creeping their way back under your skin, your hips trembling uncontrollably under his hold. Minho's movements screamed experienced.  

"Tell me whose is it." His voice is low, breathy, as if he was as close as you were.  

You struggle to reply, voice sounding shaky through moans. "It's yours. Yours, yours, Minho."  

"This pussy is mine?" You nod, lips hanging open and eyes squeezed shut. "All mine? I can have it whenever I want?"  

"Fuck, please, yes, Minho. It's all yours."   

Your limbs shake in his hold, pleasure running hot through your veins as your walls pulse around nothing. Minho's fingers move in an addictive pace–overwhelmingly numbing you to the feeling of anything else besides his touch on your abused bud. The buzzing in your mind is so loud it desensitizes your ears–all you understand is your mouth is hanging open, you have no grasp over how loud your moans have become, too drugged to try and hold them back.  

"Sweet little cunt. Miss your taste so bad." He purrs against your mouth, lips touching yours. "Come on, come on my fingers so you can clean yourself off of them. You want that? Hmm?"   

It takes a while for your orgasm to ride off completely, the man behind you keeping his hand leisurely playing with you until your body relaxes on him. You stare, eyes sleepy as you watch Minho licking your arousal off his fingers. When his eyes bore into yours, you lips open instinctively.   

"Tastes good, hmm?" You nod, looking at him as you swirl your tongue around his fingers. "Can't be too selfish, gotta share with you too."   

Your body is buzzing with satisfaction, low humming settled in your throat as Minho stares into your eyes. Both his hands now soothe the goosebumps in your skin.  

"Hi." You laugh at him, pretty smile plastered on his lips.  

"Hi." Your reply grants a quick peck to your lips.  

Minho hugs your waist, inhaling sharply before hiding his face on your neck, mumbling against the skin. "D'you wanna go out sometime?" 

[hyacinthleaves]

Could we also get some Hayden and Olric bf ratings/headcanons? We love a himbo👀👀

Hayden please save us Hayden 🙏

Hayden:

I talked about this briefly on my other blog but I do think that helping each other out on your farms would take a largeee spot out of y'all's time everyday

Which is exactly why I think his most evident love language is acts of service

If you're a workaholic you might not notice but he does try to take up as much work as he can just to make your life easier

I'm pretty sure I said Ryis is touchy, right?

Ryis cannot compare to him, I'm not even joking

If he doesn't have a hand on you and he's not doing anything that would prevent him from doing so, something is up

Unlike Ryis, I can see a large majority of his touches being more platonic (ex: putting his hand on your shoulder)

Anyway in return of all of these good things, you must deal with his jokes and attempts at clichés

Sometimes particularly terrible ones still get you to cringe and it makes him laugh

I feel like he prefers being the one to cook in the relationship

While he wouldn't mind you helping, he is a bit clumsy (I mean I think that just comes with someone being that big) so the situation is an entire hit or miss. As long as you don't move too fast then you should be fine!

Lowkey when he talks to other people about you, it seems like y'all are married already instead of dating

Anyway, he's amazing, 10/10 (ty for giving me food Hayden 🙏)

Olric:

Whatever I've said about March ever, he's the opposite

Like what else do I say guys...

General bf hcs are hard with him because I can't see him acting too differently from when you're friends with him

Also you are the only reason he allows himself to go back into the mines... Hopefully nothing goes wrong this time

I know you said that these two are himbos but I think Olric is just unaware sometimes

A tad bit forgetful and that can be annoying...a little too optimistic at times...

I mean that's okay right? But March...

You have to go through a lot, you're stronger than me 😔

I feel like his main love language is quality time

This guy is literally everywhere, so I feel like the little time you get together is cherished

I can see this cause you to pick up seemingly random activities too

But this also means he's very adaptable

I can see him being so willing to help with your farm because of it

Anyway he's a solid 7/10 bf. Love him but idk if I could actually deal with him fr

[dailydegurechaff]

Sometimes half way through making something I find myself self-conscious about it like "Oh, this is so far diverged from canon. People are gonna hate this. It's cringe, don't post it." And then I remember this is my blog that I can do whatever with and I don't have to be a people-pleaser.

Anyway, Very Very Post-War Degurechaff family tree:

Warning for yapping under the read more.

I think perhaps its more accurate to call this AU instead of headcanon, purely because of how much I'm diverging from a realistic sequence of events. Honestly, it's not meant to be canon compliant, it's meant to be me playing with the characters like dolls lol

So, to start. Ursula is a canon character introduced in the manga chapter 50 and we do see an image of her, but I don't care for it so... fan design it is. Her name is revealed later in manga chapter 81.5 (The second part of the story about Grantz's letters to home). That chapter also introduces Doris and her unnamed mother & father (Ursula's daughter & her son-in-law).

Interestingly, it's mentioned that Doris' father married into the family which means that in order for Doris to have the last name Grantz, both her father and grandfather would've had to have taken their wives' last names. Based of them really.

Grantz also takes his wife's last name because I want him to. Something about it makes sense to me. He's a wifeguy.

I considered passing the Lergen name down too. So it'd be Tanya von Lergen, her husband Warren von Lergen, and their son Theodore von Lergen, but somehow it didn't seem right. So they keep Degurechaff. That doesn't change that Tanya is technically a member of the Lergen family still.

Speaking of the Lergen family, if I allowed myself the indulgence, I would've gone into the extended Lergen family tree but I held off this time. I might update this one day to include them, but for now the main thing to know is Lergen has a married older brother and a niece (younger than Tanya). Also his two parents of course.

I want to also update this with names and designs for Grantz's parents someday too. For now we'll live with the only fan character on this tree being Theodore.

I don't have much to say on Theo because I'm undecided on what I want to do with him (Or even if I want him to exist...). What I will say is that he's definitely at least a year or two younger than Leonie. Yes, their names were specifically chosen to match each other.

He too can make scary faces and say disconcerting things like Tanya, but he gets away with it because he's cute. Yes, Lergen is completely blind to these same traits that he found worrying in Tanya.

[deadhumourist]

I'll take care of you

Pairing: Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: You're sick and an unexpected source of help shows up.

Word count: ~2400

Rating: M, but there's no spice. This is a strictly 18+ blog, no minors.

Warnings: No pronouns used, no physical description of reader or mention of age. Nicknames used - Sweetheart and baby, self-indulgent fluff, fainting, mention of painkillers, let me know if I missed something.

A/N: I originally wrote this for my bestie when she was sick, and she kindly allowed me to adapt this into a fic. Love you @just-here-for-the-moment

------

You knew when you woke up with a pounding headache and a stuffy nose that your day was going to go downhill. Fast. 

Not being someone who got sick often, this sensation of your head weighing twenty pounds felt overwhelming. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you had been woken up by a loud banging noise during the night - loud enough to make you jolt awake - from neighbours who had been out late and were now returning with a raucous group of friends. The shot of adrenaline from the fright didn’t leave your system for a long time and you tossed and turned until you heard birds twittering in the trees outside. 

Now awake and groggy, you rolled over and grabbed your phone. You were supposed to have brunch with your friend later that morning but at this rate you couldn’t even breathe through your nose. Blearily you unlocked the phone and shot her a text. 

“Hey, I’m down this morning, could I please take a raincheck? ” 

A few minutes later your phone beeped. “Yeah hon, no problem. I hope you feel better. Can I bring you anything?” 

You sent her back the green-faced emoji. “I would kill for a Netipot and some painkillers”

She sent you back a thumbs up emoji. 

Slipping the phone back on the table, you laid back. Your eyes felt like they were going to drop out of your head every time you moved. 

You dozed off for the better part of an hour, and was then awoken by a sharp rap on the door. "Coming!" you called weakly from your spot on the bed. Throwing on a robe, you shuffled to the front door, thankful that your friend (and painkillers) were here.

The door swung open and your eyes widened in shock…In front of you stood Frankie, armed with a bag of things and his phone in his hand, earphones hooked into the neck of his t-shirt along with his sunglasses.

Frankie was a friend who you knew through other friends. Specifically the one you spoke to this morning. Who you had told about your crush on him. The one who knew, in no uncertain terms, that you felt he was out of your league and that there was a big, unromantic DNI slapped to his forehead in your mind. 

You instinctively closed up your robe further and shrugged into yourself. 

"Oh, hi Frankie. I…uh..I was expecting someone else."

You immediately cringed at how unfriendly that came out.

He seemingly ignored it, a frown forming on his forehead as he took you in.

"You look terrible."

Sighing deeply, you failed to stop a little cough from skittering out of your throat. 

"Yeah, thanks. I feel that way. Good morning to you too, by the way.” 

Frankie had been told you were sick but when he saw you standing in the doorway…it was so much worse than he imagined. You didn’t have your usual spark or smile, and the way you shrunk into your bathrobe like an injured little bird made his heart squeeze painfully. He was originally only meant to drop off the supplies, but seeing your tired, worn-out frame changed his plans immediately. He didn’t even think about it, the words just seemed to leave his lips of their own accord and all he could do was keep up. 

With the corner of his mouth lifting at your quip, he invited himself in, gently ushering you back inside and closing the door behind him. 

“Uhm…at the risk of sounding ungrateful, what are you doing here?” You eyed him as he walked into your living room. 

“A little bird told me you were sick so I brought supplies over. I’m going to take care of you.” he replied matter-of-factly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"I don't know about this" you wheezed.

Ignoring your protest, he busied himself unpacking the items from the bag before turning around and quipping. "You want me to get a nurse's outfit? Will that make you feel better?"  His smug little grin did nothing to dispel the idea of him in scrubs that you could peel off. 

Before you could fantasize any further you went into a coughing fit, which doubled you over. Frankie sped over and took your hand to help you back upright, little cough aftershocks still shaking your ribs. 

He was suddenly very close, concerned eyes looking into yours. His hand traveled up your arm and squeezed your shoulder gently. 

In a low voice, he murmured "Get on the bed, Sweetheart."

In a slight daze you went, obeying him. He’s never used that particular nickname with you before, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t make something delicious preen inside of you. You wanted more of it. Frankie had always just been kind and sweet but something in his voice made your skin flame. 

He switched the kettle on and prepared some herbal tea. Then he extracted the thermometer from its packaging and set it by the bedside table. You watched with wide eyes as he went about his business in your space like he was at home there. 

Finishing the tea, he set it down and took a seat by your side on the bed, one leg casually slung over the other. He seemed to slide into the role of carer effortlessly and you would have been amused were you not feeling like you were on the brink of death. Taking the thermometer, he flicked it a few times before bringing it to your lips. 

"Open for me" he asked softly. 

When the thermometer beeped, he slid it from your lips and looked at the reading. 

"Mierda, it's high”. He never cussed in front of you, but the distinct tone of worry bled through the words as they hung in the air between you.  

"We need to cool you down, otherwise you're going to feel worse. We gotta break this fever, okay?"

“We?” you asked, aiming for a teasing tone but failing miserably short due to the weakness in your voice. He continued as if he didn’t hear you. 

He got up and motioned to you. "The robe's gotta go. You need to cool down."

"But" you started to protest but his plush lips settled into a disapproving line and you knew it would be pointless to argue. Frankie wasn’t one to argue but you knew when he had drawn a line and would not be moved from it. 

You shrugged it off, revealing your favourite pajamas underneath - it was mismatched and well-worn but comfy . He took the robe and hung it on a nearby hook, then proceeded to take his shoes and cap off. It gave you some time to swallow two painkillers with your tea.

Then you just laid back and watched him, too tired and wrung out to argue. He rummaged in the bag then walked to the bathroom where you heard the water splash in the basin. 

The cool air on your heated skin was nice but your lungs were becoming sore from the constant coughing. “What are you doing now?” you grumped at him from your nest of blankets. 

He smiled to himself over the basin; you were a grumpy patient and instead of irritating him, it just made him soft. But being soft with you wouldn’t necessarily get you better, especially not if you kept resisting his help. 

So when he spoke to you next, he was a little more stern. 

"C’mon, stop arguing with me and scoot down."

Your fever-addled brain didn't immediately comprehend.

He repeated the request, clarifying.

"Scoot down so I can sit behind you."

"Whuu…why?"

"Please, just trust me."

You did as he asked and he slid in behind you, framing your torso with his knees so that you rested back onto his chest, your head nestled close to his neck so he could easily reach down to talk to you. 

He produced the cool washcloth and gently held it to your forehead and cheeks, pressing it to you a little firmer to tilt your head back onto his collarbone. 

"See how good it feels when you don't fight me on everything?" he murmured lowly, close to your ear. The way his stubble barely skimmed the shell of your ear made goosebumps erupt down your arm. 

Worrying the sudden goosebumps were a reaction from the fever, he resolved to finish up quickly and get you closer to cool water.

If only he knew what was really causing it. 

“Okay, new plan, we need to get you to cool water. You’re still burning up.” 

“You sayin’ I’m hot?” you grumbled.

“I’m saying you have a fever and if we don’t get it down, things will go south.” 

He moved off the bed and helped you up. Carefully, he kept his hand on your lower back as you shuffled to the bathroom, where he opened the faucet and positioned you in front of the basin. You splashed your face and then suddenly felt a wave of nausea wash over you. 

"I feel a bit dizzy" you murmured, hand coming up to your face. 

Frankie uttered a worried "hmmm". Perhaps it was a mistake getting you out of bed, but he desperately needed to get your temperature down. A split second decision made him run the shower cold, and shedding his t-shirt and socks, grabbed you by the waist and dragged you under the spray with him just as you started to lose consciousness. 

He hugged you close to him, your back pressed to his front. In an urgent, fervent whisper he rocked you under the cold water, counting down the seconds.

"Sweetheart, stay with me. Come on, baby, I've got you. I've got you, you're okay, I'll take care of you. C'mon baby."

Anxiety squeezed the lungs in his chest until it felt like they would burst. He tilted your head back slightly to allow the cool water to run down your neck and chest. 

Frankie could feel his pulse rabbit as the seconds ticked by. In the shower cubicle, the steady stream of water and whispers against your skin slowly pulled you back from the edge. 

You felt a chaste kiss being gently pressed to your temple, followed by another whisper. 

"Stay with me, please."

And then barely audible over the spray.

"Please be okay."

He sighed into the small space where every second felt minutes too long. 

You felt yourself coming back from the brink of the fevered dark quicker now, shivering at the pelting spray on your heat-sensitized body. 

Frankie noticed the small movement in his arms and he could have wept right then. 

He grabbed your hand from thankfulness, threading his fingers though yours and bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. Slowly you also became aware of his bare chest pressed to your back, evidently not caring about cold shower tiles. 

"I thought I lost you for a minute there" he scoffed, relief bleeding through the words. 

With one hand feeling around above him, he managed to turn the shower off, and helped you into a towel. Wrapping the fluffy white towel around you, he rubbed gently, making sure to wick as much water as possible. He lead you back to the bed, and helped you sit down on the edge of it.

You slumped once you were sat, with Frankie kneeling in front of you. 

"You can't sleep in wet clothes. Let's get you changed." he intoned gently. 

"I don't have the energy, Frankie. Please." you whined, hanging your head low. You felt vulnerable after almost fainting in his arms and didn't want to repeat the performance. 

He placed a hand gently on your knee. 

"Sweetheart. Let me help.”

You looked at him, your frown lines forming like thunderclouds on a sunny horizon. He tried to make you smile. 

"Think of me as Doctor Frankie just helping a patient." he said with a lop-sided grin.

Your frown line softened and you prodded. 

"Did you just promote yourself? You were Nurse Frankie when you came in.

He squeezed your knee and smiled boyishly. “I’ll go so you can change.” 

A few minutes later, he came back into the room, pleased to see you in bed and under the covers. Sheepishly he stood around until you piped up with a small voice. 

“Will you lie with me until I fall asleep?”

He grinned at you, and without a word, went to hang his wet jeans over the bath tub. You realised that Frankie, having been in the shower with you, would have no dry clothes of his own here. You threw him a lifeline.

“Uhm…Frankie, there are some old swimming trunks from my brother on the second shelf. They were left here months ago, they’re washed, so…” you trailed off. 

You heard more shuffling and then he appeared in the doorway. From your cosy place in bed you tried really hard not to look at his broad chest and the dusting of dark hair that trailed down under his navel. 

As the bed dipped under his weight, he swung his legs inside the covers and laid back into the large pillow. He looked over at you, his focus soft, a few curls air-dried  falling over his forehead. 

"Come here, beautiful." He husked, and lifted his arm up. 

You looked at him for a moment, incredulous at the offer. A small part of you was still grumping inside and needed comfort so you gingerly moved closer to him. As you shifted, you laid your head on his chest, snuggling into the corner of his arm and shoulder. 

You wriggled a little to get comfortable, and once you settled, his scent was right by your nose; the fresh, cinnamon-like cologne he had applied hours before. Something really sexy but comforting emanated from him, something uniquely male and you nuzzled a little further into him, swinging a leg between his own two.

He made room for you. 

Then he reached over with his other hand and gently cupped the back of your head, holding you close. It made you want to purr. This wasn't just comfort, it was heaven. 

Frankie felt content for the first time that day. He had always skirted around you to avoid facing what he already suspected he felt.

He would nurse you back to health before he asked you out, he resolved as his eyes slipped closed.