#bleh

[whatifieatedpaperlol15]

yeh you’d think that until your pants look like the slaughter of a thousand lambs even when your wearing an heavy flow pad with the period underwear 💔💔💔

quick rant about period underwear cus i feel like people dont talk about that much and like

period underwear is great

like zero sensory issues, makes me as a trans person feel normal, washing can be a bit hard but in my eyes better than pads and tampons and shit, comfortable, hard to leak through

[james-is-here]

camboy!minho and cameraman! reader who records him so fucking perfectly, getting every pretty curve of his body….that's why Minho has so many fans…it's not just like…a "male gaze" porn. it's very beautiful, the way it's filmed. one day, fans are surprised to see Minho riding a dick instead of his usual dildos. his beloved cameraman's dick which he did not realize was so big.

thoughts?

My thoughts? Love it, here's a thing, I'm sorry for starving y'all.

Minho had always been the star.

Perfect lighting, perfect framing, perfect touch.

But behind every arch of his back, every breathy moan captured in crystal clarity, was Mn, the man who worshiped Minho through the lens.

Mn made sure the world saw Minho the way he did: something divine, too pretty to belong to anyone but still generous enough to share a glimpse.

His videos weren’t cheap. They didn’t look like every other shaky, pornographic mess flooding the internet.

Minho’s room was dim and golden, the sheets rumpled just so, the camera steady and low, catching the slow trail of his fingers over his stomach, the teasing grind of his hips. He always looked like he was making love to himself, not just fucking around.

Fans noticed.

They obsessed.

“The way this is filmed… it feels like he’s touching me.”

“Minho’s videos are on another level. It’s like he knows I’m watching.”

And in a way, he did.

Minho played directly to Mn’s camera, looking into the lens with half-lidded eyes, murmuring soft, broken sounds that felt like they were meant for the viewer alone. The illusion was perfect.

Until the night it cracked, gloriously.

The video dropped with no teaser.

Just a title: “Something special tonight.”

It started familiar. Minho was stretched out on the bed, lazy and loose, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder. His thighs were bare, skin kissed by warm, golden light.

He toyed with himself first, slow, lazy strokes, teasing the viewers the way he always did. His mouth parted in soft, deliberate moans, the tips of his fingers brushing down his chest, his stomach, trailing dangerously lower.

The camera was perched low, catching every ripple of movement. Mn’s steady hands kept the focus tight, intimate. It felt like you were right there, kneeling at the edge of the bed, watching Minho slowly fall apart.

Then...a shift.

Minho’s gaze flickered offscreen, coy, lips curling into a sly smile as he curled his finger off camera.

A large hand entered the frame, trailing along Minho’s thigh.

The chat exploded.

“WTF WHO IS THAT”

“IS IT THE CAMERAMAN?!”

“OH MY GOD"

Minho giggled breathlessly, voice pitched higher with excitement.

“Mm, missed this,” he purred.

And then- without ceremony, without warning - The hand pulled back and the camera moved as a body laid next to Minho and Minho climbed into a straddle as the camera settled to Minho hovering over a cock.

Not a toy.

Real. Thick, flushed, veined.

Minho rocked his hips experimentally, dragging his length over the bigger one under him, pretty pink lips parting around a shuddering gasp as he shifted onto his knees and guide the tip to his prepped hole. His thighs quivered with the effort of taking it all, the curve of his ass perfect in the low lighting.

Mn kept filming, the angle just right, focused on where Minho was slowly, beautifully, sinking down, his body struggling to take it all, even getting closer as Minho leaned back, braced on Mn's knees so the camera caught every inch sliding into Minho. Minho's breath hitched. His fingers clutched at the knees under his hands for balance as he gasps.

Minho moaned, high and breathy, throwing his head back before catching himself and giggling brokenly. “Fuck, it’s s-so much…” he whined, looking back at the camera like he was confessing a secret. “Fucking me so good…”

There was something so intimate about the way Minho whimpered Mn’s name under his breath, not loud enough for most to catch unless they listened closely.

“Can you hear it?” he gasped, voice trembling as he lifted up only to sink back down with a wet, obscene sound. “Can you hear how messy you make me?” He whimpered, rolling his hips faster, thighs quivering under the strain. “Feels so fucking deep…” Minho sobbed, sitting up as his hand splaying against his own stomach as if trying to feel it from the outside, other hand bracing himself on Mn's hip. “You’re so big… God, I- ngh~” he broke off in a moan, trembling.

“Fuck.” He choked out then, voice even breathier, even sweeter, he managed a soft, shaky, broken giggle and gasped:

"Shit, F-feels like you’re in my f-fucking throat…Ah~”

The viewers were absolutely feral.

“HE SAID WHAT????”

“I AM ON MY KNEES RN”

“IMAGINE BEING THE ONE UNDER HIM HOLY FUCK”

The angle stayed tight, mostly POV -- as if the watcher was underneath Minho, feeling his thighs tighten around their waist, watching him desperately grind down, trying to take more, more, more.

And then, a moment so raw it almost felt private.

Minho’s hand shot out and gently tilted the camera up and off to the side, just slightly. Enough that it caught the edge of his face as he leaned down.

For a moment, it looked like Minho was kissing the viewer -- lips soft, needy, desperate, slick -- but if you paid attention, you’d see he was kissing Mn.

Soft and messy and full of want, hips still rolling against him, taking every inch deeply.

The camera, despite its new angle, caught everything. The tremble in Minho’s body, the way his hands fisted against Mn’s chest, the soft, broken whimpers between kisses. He moaned into Mn’s mouth or against his lips, thighs trembling from the stretch, his whole body alight with need as he practically squealed at the feeling of Mn practically in his stomach.

So fucking deep

It was so much more than just a performance now.

It was real.

Messy, sweaty, sweet.

Minho didn’t even bother finishing on camera the way he usually did, he honestly forgot about the camera cause he was so focused on Mn's cock rearranging him. He just clung to Mn, riding slow and needy, until he was gasping out Mn’s camera name, Director. Almost as desperate as if Minho called him "Master" or "Daddy", and shuddering through his orgasm, trembling all over.

Mn was steady the whole time. The camera stayed steady, trembling just slightly from Mn’s ragged breathing, moving to focus perfectly between Minho’s spread thighs.

Minho was wrecked and stretched wide.

Flushed pink, chest heaving, body still twitching from aftershocks as thick, sticky mess spilled out of him, leaking slow and filthy down his stomach.

The mic picked up everything. The soft, broken whines Minho let out, the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies still clinging together and Minho shifted ever so slightly before lifting off of Mn's cock with an obscene moan.

“Fu-uck-ing…Shit~ ” Minho breathed, voice cracked and sweet.

He shifted lazily, reaching a trembling hand down between his legs after he fell back down, Mn's thick length nestled behind Minho between his cheeks.

The fans would lose their minds.

He scooped two fingers through the copious amount of sticky mess dripping out of him, so thick and so much, lifting it up to the camera, letting it glisten in the low light.

“Made me so messy, Director…Made me so full, fuck~” Minho whispered, a slow, wicked smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, all breathless sweetness, all filth.

Still panting, he lazily stroked his dripping fingers down his oversensitive cock, smearing his own mess and Mn's mess across himself, making himself even slicker, even dirtier, stickier.

Another soft, high whimper left his mouth -- perfect, broken -- as his hips gave a tiny, involuntary roll and he sighs breathlessly as he unintentionally pushes Mn's cum out of him, spilling over Mn's abdomen.

And then, without breaking eye contact with the lens, Minho licked his hand clean, slow, languid swipes of his tongue, a slow suck as he pulled his fingers out, savoring it, showing off every second.

The camera caught it all:

The way his lashes fluttered low.

The way his thighs trembled, still dripping.

The way he murmured, half to himself, half to the viewers:

“Tastes so fucking good~”

Then after that, no usual playful, no purred out "goodbye~ Pervs". No wink to the camera. Just Minho, ruined and happy, finally letting himself be seen for real before the video ends.

The comment section lit up with chaos:

“He kissed the camera… no he kissed HIM…”

“You can see how much they love each other wtf.”

“I’ve watched this 10 times I’m not okay.”

“THE CAMERAMAN HAS A HUGE DICK I REPEAT-”

And Minho?

He didn’t say a word for days.

Just posted a cryptic tweet three days later:

“Might start filming from a new perspective now. Hope you don’t mind.”

I hope this is okay. Sorry I've been MIA 🥺 I swear I'm alive, I promise, just kinda been...bleh 😅

Tags: @succubus-hansol @forever-atiny @lemon--shark @leezanetheofficial @belladonna6-6-6 @heartbinn @yongbokkk @dontwannaexsist @r0manceuntold @leeyasuojihan @laviedemamere @dis-trict9

[boopiemadz]

hi! i don't know if you're taking requests at the moment but if you are id love to see something similar to 'crashing into you', purely in the sense that its a cm/yj crossover, where reader is a profiler and part of the bau and they have a bit of a thing going on with spencer and they get called on a case (to new jersey i guess) and they have to deal with one of the other yellowjackets, preferably travis, who is like a witness or something, but they used to go out/date and the feelings haven't really gone away or maybe they were just super close and its like reuniting with an old friend (even though there's trauma), either way i want their reunion to be really happy cause they haven't seen each other in years, but also a bit tainted by the memories of what they did.

sorry if your not taking requests at the moment!! i adore your writing and i haven't seen anyone else who does cm and yj crossovers, especially someone who writes for travis (i adore travis!)

These CM x YJ asks are so fun and hard at the same time. I wanted to add smth about reader being scared of going on the plane cus of the crash but it was too long already... Ended on a choice cus I cant choose between my huzz (plural) so up to you! Also thx sm for liking my stuff, means so much.

WARNINGS!

idk just dont read if sensitive ig?

[Murder or reunion]

The jet's engines hummed quietly underneath you as you and the team gathered around the small conference table, files and coffee cups across its surface. Hotch stood, arms folded, voice steady as he outlined the case.

"Paramus, New Jersey. Two men found murdered outside a rural bar, roughly thirty-six hours apart. Both victims had defensive wounds, blunt force trauma, and evidence of overkill."

You flipped open the thin case file in front of you, scanning the grainy crime scene photos. The killings looked chaotic. Personal.

"No obvious connection between the victims," Emily said, tapping her pen against her notepad. "Different ages, different social circles, even different neighborhoods."

"Which could mean a spree killer," Morgan added. "Or someone picking targets of opportunity."

Spencer leaned forward, frowning thoughtfully. "Overkill usually suggests rage. Maybe the victims represent something to the unsub?"

"Local PD says there was a bar fight the night of the second murder," JJ chimed in, glancing at her notes. "Witnesses are spotty, drunk and unreliable. But there was at least one person they think might have seen something important."

You nodded, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "We should start with him. Try to establish a timeline and figure out if the victims knew the same people."

Hotch agreed. "When we land, Reid, Y/L/N, you'll take lead on the witness. Morgan and Prentiss will canvass the bar staff. JJ and I will work with local law enforcement to coordinate."

You glanced across the table at Spencer, who offered a small smile, the kind of simple, grounding thing you appreciated before diving into the chaos.

---

As the plane began its descent, you stared out the window at the sprawling New Jersey woods below, feeling that familiar pull in your chest.

You stepped out of the SUV, boots crunching against the cracked concrete of the bar’s parking lot. New Jersey in the spring had a way of clinging to you, the humidity, the smell of the woods, and today it clung harder than ever.

It felt strange being back.

You hadn’t set foot in New Jersey since you’d left for the Academy, eventually finding your place at the BAU. At first, you told yourself it was because of your career. In reality, it was the memories, memories of before, and everything that came after. Of the Yellowjackets, the crash, the wilderness...and the way you’d never really been the same.

You shoved the thought aside and focused on the case. Spencer walked a half-step behind you, the two of you crossing the lot toward a battered patrol car where a local officer was waiting.

“They said the witness is inside,” the officer said, jerking a thumb toward the bar. "Name’s Travis Martinez. He’s a regular, knows a lot of the crowd here."

Your heart stalled in your chest.

The name hit you like a jolt, a bright flare of something you hadn’t felt in years. You swallowed hard, trying not to let anything show on your face. Travis.

It couldn’t be your Travis...could it?

You exchanged a quick glance with Spencer, who didn't notice your sudden stiffness. He just nodded politely to the officer and gestured for you to lead the way inside.

---

The door creaked as you pushed it open, and the bar’s interior came into view, dark wood, dusty light filtering through grimy windows. Sitting at the far end, shoulders hunched, was a figure you recognized immediately. Travis.

Older, rougher around the edges, but it was him.

You froze for just a second too long, your hand still on the door. His head lifted at the sound, and when his eyes locked with yours, his face cracked open into something that looked a lot like relief.

And just like that, it all came rushing back.

The years. The crash. The promises made in the woods. The way you’d left, and the way he hadn’t.

Spencer’s voice broke through your daze. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, pushing down the storm inside you. "Yeah," you said. "Yeah. I just...recognize him." And before Spencer could ask, you were already moving forward, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

Travis stood up from the barstool, and for a moment you both just stared at each other, drinking it in, years of distance crashing together in one second.

"Hey," he said, voice rough, a little uncertain. You smiled, small, shaky. "Hey." And then he pulled you into a hug.

It was instinctive, bone-deep. Travis’s arms wrapped tightly around you like he thought you might vanish if he let go. You clutched the back of his jacket, squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden sting.

It had been so long. Longer than you realized. When you finally pulled back, you caught the way he studied you, like he was checking if you were real. If you were you.

"You look good," Travis said, voice low. "You too," you answered, stepping back to find your footing again. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you from a few feet away, curious, maybe a little confused.

And under that...something complicated.

You couldn’t blame him. Things between you and Spencer had shifted a few months ago, after a case in Boston, late night at the hotel bar, both of you cracked open and vulnerable. One kiss. Soft, hesitant, like neither of you were sure if it was a mistake or something inevitable. You hadn’t really talked about it since.

It had made being around him a little...messy. Tender. Fragile.

And now here you were, hugging someone else like you’d never lost a single day between you. You turned, clearing your throat. "Uh, Spencer, this is Travis Martinez. Travis, this is Dr. Spencer Reid, my... my coworker."

Spencer stepped forward, offering his hand politely. His smile was gentle, but you could tell he was cataloguing everything, the way Travis looked at you, the way your voice had softened when you said his name.

"Nice to meet you," Travis said, shaking Spencer’s hand. "You too," Spencer replied, ever the professional. The moment hung in the air, thick and strange.

You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to ground yourself. "We, uh, need to ask you a few questions about what you saw the other night. If that's okay."

Travis nodded immediately. "Of course. Anything you need."

---

You hovered nearby while Spencer conducted the interview, your posture relaxed but your mind razor-sharp.

Travis sat opposite him at a scratched-up table near the back, he looked every bit the ghost of someone you used to know, older, rougher around the edges, but still him. Still the boy you once survived hell beside.

Spencer flipped open his notebook, pen ready. "You said you got here around 8:30?"

Travis’s gaze flicked between you and Spencer, but it lingered on you. "I did. Had a beer, played a few rounds of pool with some locals."

"Did you notice anything out of place?" Spencer pressed.

Travis shrugged. "Not right away. But about an hour after I got here, this guy started pacing near the front door. Kept checking his phone. Didn’t order anything. Just...watching people."

You leaned in slightly, reading the tension in Travis’s voice, that old instinct you hadn’t needed to use around him in years. He was telling the truth.

Spencer nodded. "Can you describe him?"

"White guy. Late forties, maybe early fifties. Scruffy, bad skin. Jacket that looked like it hadn't been washed in a decade."

As Travis spoke, your mind flashed back to the earlier reports: witnesses had mentioned a man loitering at multiple crime scenes. Same rough description. You tapped Spencer’s shoulder lightly. "This matches two of the other witness statements."

He nodded, already flipping through his notes.

"And this guy," you said, stepping forward, "...you said he left before anything happened?"

Travis’s eyes pinned to yours. "Yeah. About ten minutes before the fight outside."

A fight that turned into a murder. You and Spencer exchanged a glance, it was coming together.

Just then, your phone buzzed urgently. Another text from Garcia: - Got a hit on traffic cams. Ratty jacket guy spotted two blocks from the bar 15 minutes ago. -

Spencer shot up from his chair, already gathering his things. "Let’s go."

You turned to Travis, the old pull between you two tightening for a second, his worried eyes, your heart hammering too loud in your chest.

---

The SUV roared to life under Spencer’s hands as you navigated using Garcia’s real-time updates. "He's heading south," you said, pointing to the alleyway two blocks over.

Spencer swerved sharply, tires screeching against the curb. You both jumped out before the car even fully stopped, drawing your weapons.

The alley reeked of trash and wet concrete. Ahead, under the broken glow of a flickering streetlamp, you spotted movement, a hunched figure scrambling over a chain-link fence.

"FBI!" Spencer barked, taking off in a sprint.

You were right behind him, adrenaline burning through your chest as your boots pounded the pavement. The suspect stumbled as he landed, giving you the opening you needed.

You tackled him hard, slamming him against the ground as your knee pressed into his back. The man struggled wildly, spitting curses, but Spencer was already there, cuffing him expertly.

"You’re under arrest for the murder of Jamie Collins and Mark Jameson" Spencer said breathlessly, snapping the cuffs tight.

The suspect thrashed once, then sagged, defeated.

You both stood over him for a second, catching your breath. You grinned at Spencer, the rush of the chase making you giddy.

You flushed slightly but rolled your eyes, nudging him with your shoulder. "Teamwork."

Spencer just looked at you for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

---

Back at the local precinct, after turning over the unsub and giving a quick preliminary statement, you finally slumped onto a beat-up bench outside.

Spencer appeared a minute later, two cups of terrible vending machine coffee in hand. He handed you one with a small smile.

"You did really well tonight," he said quietly, sitting beside you. "Not that you don't always. "

"Thanks, Spence."

There was a quiet beat between you, not uncomfortable, but loaded with something you hadn't really let yourself acknowledge since that kiss a few months ago. It had happened after a particularly bad case, in the dim glow of the BAU’s parking garage. A moment of weakness...or maybe something else. But neither of you had really talked about it since.

Before either of you could say anything more, the door to the precinct opened with a creak, cutting the silence. You glanced up to see Travis standing in the doorway, his familiar posture tense but slightly relieved. His gaze met yours, and a flash of recognition flickered between you two, the same connection you always shared.

"Got him, just identified him in the lineup." Travis said, his voice low but certain.

You stood up, the tension from the night lingering as you approached him. His eyes softened when they landed on you, and for a brief moment, it felt like no time had passed since the last time you saw each other in the wilderness.

"Good," you nodded, trying to keep the professional mask on. "He won't hurt anyone else."

Travis’s jaw tightened slightly, and he stepped forward, his gaze lingering on yours a little longer than necessary. "Yeah," he agreed, then glanced at Spencer, who was still standing by the coffee machine, silently observing the exchange.

"I didn’t expect to see you back here, not after..." His voice trailed off, and you knew exactly what he meant. After everything.

You swallowed, not knowing how to answer. Travis had been a part of your life, for better or worse, during those months in the wilderness, and everything you went through there, together, and then apart, still felt like a tangled knot inside you. You and he had reconnected after rescue, but things didn’t last. The trauma, the guilt, the distance, it all kept pushing you both further apart.

You rubbed the back of your neck, unsure how to ease the sudden weight that had settled between you two. "I never thought I’d be back in New Jersey either. But here we are."

"Yeah," he said with a small smirk, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to make you think maybe this wasn't as awkward as you’d imagined. "Funny how that works."

Spencer cleared his throat from the corner. "Well, we’ve got our guy, and the case is wrapped up. I’m going to head to the jet soon."

You nodded absentmindedly, still focused on Travis. There was a long pause, the tension in the air thick and palpable, as if both of you were hesitating to say what you really wanted.

"How’ve you been?" you finally asked, voice quieter than you intended. "Really."

Travis studied you for a moment, his eyes a little sad, but there was a warmth there too, a familiarity you had missed. "I’ve been better. Trying to make sense of everything that happened... It’s...a lot. But I'm managing."

"Yeah, I get it."

He smiled faintly, his eyes glimmering with something unsaid. "I’m glad you’re doing okay... or at least I hope you are. It's good to see you again."

You hesitated, then spoke with more certainty. "You too." Travis shifted a little closer, his voice quieter this time. "We should catch up sometime. Just... talk."

You nodded slowly, heart racing. "Yeah. I’d like that." His gaze softened as he pulled out his phone. "Give me your number?"

You took a deep breath and reached for your phone too, entering your number into his with a lingering moment of contact. The simple act felt loaded, full of what-ifs.

"Thanks," he said, meeting your eyes once again. "Take care of yourself. And hey...I know it’s not always easy, but... don’t forget to live a little too, okay?"

A small, bittersweet laugh escaped your lips, though you couldn't stop the softness in your voice. "I’ll try."

As Travis turned to leave, he shot you one last look, then nodded a silent farewell. You watched him go, but as soon as he left, the weight of the decision settled on your shoulders. Spencer was still waiting in the doorway, his gaze unreadable as he gave you a half smile, clearly aware of the interaction that had just taken place.

You took a deep breath and walked over to Spencer, who raised an eyebrow at you. "You two seem...friendly."

You glanced over your shoulder at the door Travis had exited through. "Yeah, something like that."

Spencer didn’t push, but there was a momentary flicker of something in his eyes, something that made you wonder if he was seeing more.

But as you stepped into the jet to fly back home, your phone buzzed. A message from Travis:

-Let me know when you’re free. I meant what I said.-

---

And then there was Spencer, still in the background, still there, in his own way, someone who was beginning to mean more than just a colleague.

The airplane doors closed, leaving you with the choice you didn’t want to face yet:

Spencer - the steady presence who knew you inside and out,

or

Travis - the shadow of your past, full of history and unresolved feelings.

And you weren't sure which one you'd choose, or if you could.

But you’d figure it out, eventually.

[3nk1]

bleh :b

[cheesemushrooms]

OMG this is like the best thing to open Tumblr to I just spontaneously combusted TYSM

ᕕ( ՞ ᗜ ՞ )ᕗ you can eat the art ❤

The underworld doodle thingy (brush test)

I got the idea of polites holding the infant from @coquexari (aigshrdgidk u probably won't read this so I'm really sorry if I'm being annoying for tagging u)

[ghostly-tigers]

I love these two sm!!((also also this was my excuse to finally draw out and color in Terezi!!! Hahah))💙🩵

[amujica]

[ladyfarona]

Fun fact! Did you know that if you don't move around enough with chronic pain, that it will hurt just as bad if you move around too much?! So no matter what you do, there is only

pain˚✧ ﾟ.

[lampadions-pickle]

@falling-drops-of-ichor

The squiggly lines are dancing to a waltz, how lovely

[alleesaur]

and yet the days go by

[wikihowhowtoexist]

how can u live life without being cringe

[james-is-here]

Here's a little bonus of my recent post

The camera stayed steady even after they finished, catching the slow drip of cum leaking from between Minho’s pretty thighs, catching the way his chest heaved, flushed and gleaming with sweat.

Minho shivered, his whole body thrumming, overstimulated and trembling, but instead of pulling away, he whimpered softly under his breath.

“Need more~ S-So fucking good~”

The words were barely audible, just a cracked little whisper against the heavy air.

Mn’s breath hitched behind the camera.

In two seconds, he reached out with one hand, still filming, and brushed Minho’s hair back from his sticky, sweat-covered forehead.

Minho looked up at him, glassy-eyed, still panting.

Desperate.

Waiting.

That was all it took.

Mn clicked the camera off with a soft beep, tossing it aside onto the mattress without a second thought.

This wasn’t for the viewers anymore.

This was just for Minho.

Mn moved fast, grabbing Minho by the waist, flipping him easily onto his stomach knowing Minho loved when he was handled, manhandled, like Mn couldn’t help himself.

Minho whimpered again, grinding back instinctively, wiggling his ass, still leaking, still desperate.

“I got you, baby,” Mn murmured low against Minho’s ear, his hands already smoothing down his hips, spreading him open.

He didn’t need to ask what Minho liked.

He knew.

He knew the way Minho’s breath hitched when a thumb brushed over his fluttering rim, scooping the leaking cum up and pushing it back inside Minho.

He knew Minho wanted it slow at first -- teasing, stretching, making him squirm -- and then rough, deep, until he was shaking and crying again.

Mn worked him open with slow, slick fingers, dragging soft, high sounds out of Minho’s throat.

“S-so full…” Minho gasped brokenly, hips bucking back. “Need it- need you, Mn, please~”

Mn growled under his breath, switching to his middle and ring finger then pushing in deep and curling his fingers just right -- not watching personally the way he always saw Minho fall apart on camera -- and Minho sobbed, clenching around nothing after Mn pulled his fingers out.

“You’re so good for me,” Mn praised, pressing kisses down Minho’s spine. “Always so pretty, so perfect, fuck Min—”

Minho was already crying softly, pressing his face into the sheets, overwhelmed but greedy for it.

And when Mn finally lined his thick head with Minho's hole, he slid back inside -- firm, hot, steady, quick to the hilt -- Minho let out the sweetest, filthiest moan, arching back to take it.

“Theeere~ you go, baby, mm~” Mn crooned, setting a slow, deep rhythm. “Open up for me, slut. Let me fill you up again.”

Minho could only nod helplessly, gasping at every roll of Mn’s hips, every grind against that spot inside him Mn knew better than anyone.

It didn’t take long.

Between Mn’s dirty praise and his perfect, devastating pace, Minho was falling apart again -- so sensitive he couldn’t even move let alone stroke himself without whining.

“Hngh~ so good- ah~ s-so good, Mnie~ Ah Fuck, Hyung, Shi—” he slurred, out of his mind, babbling sweet filthy nonsense as he rocked back to meet every thrust.

And when he finally came again -- clenching tight, crying out brokenly into the sheets -- Mn fucked him through it, filling him up once more, making sure the mess they’d make would drip down his thighs for hours.

Minho was wrecked, trembling, glowing.

Mn gathered him up afterward -- whispering soft praise against his ear, stroking his sides, kissing his flushed, ruined body — holding him close until the shaking stopped.

He didn’t need a camera to remember this.

He’d memorize it all.

Minho, ruined and radiant.

Minho, whispering for more even when he could barely move.

Minho, made to be his.

Mn stayed buried deep inside him, not moving, just holding him close, letting Minho ride the aftershocks, letting the heat and fullness lull him down.

Minho shivered once, whining softly under his breath, and Mn kissed his shoulder, murmuring low:

“Gonna keep you full all day, baby,” he whispered against his skin. “Gonna make sure you feel me every time you move.”

Minho let out a tiny, broken noise at that, cock giving a weak little twitch just at the words alone.

But he was too exhausted to do anything else -- body boneless, mind hazy and floating.

Warmth bloomed deep in his belly, not just from the fullness, but from the comfort of it.

Of being held, of being cared for, of being loved so quietly and completely.

And maybe it was the exhaustion.

Maybe it was the way Mn’s cock was still pressed so deep inside him, stretching him perfectly, heavy and thick and there.

But Minho’s eyes fluttered closed, and he let himself sink into the feeling.

The deep, comforting pressure inside him.

The lingering, messy warmth leaking around the thick plug of Mn’s cock.

The faint, obscene image flickered behind his heavy eyelids:

his belly stretched just slightly, bulging prettily around Mn’s size.

Exactly like he’d fantasized about late at night, long before either of them ever crossed the line.

Minho blushed faintly even as sleep dragged him under.

He would never admit it out loud.

Would never tell Mn that he used to touch himself thinking about this exact feeling — about being stuffed so deep and full he could see it, feel it, dream it.

No, he would keep that secret tucked away, even as he drifted off with Mn’s cock still seated inside him, perfectly filling him, keeping him safe and warm.

Exactly the way he always wanted.

Tags: @succubus-hansol @forever-atiny @lemon--shark @leezanetheofficial @belladonna6-6-6 @heartbinn @yongbokkk @dontwannaexsist @r0manceuntold @leeyasuojihan @laviedemamere @dis-trict9

[unstable-cucumber]

I shall now do homework

* Flowey ran away

oh no!!

Who or what is flowey?

[toabstter]

I am so normal about Bill Cipher (lying)

[boopiemadz]

could you write a travis Martinez x fem reader where they’re having fun while drunk while van is telling the yj story at the start of s3 and they get yelled at for interrupting van’s storytelling……

I didnt write exactly that scene from S3 but wanted to make up a new story Van tells the group still going along with the prompt!

!Fem reader (reader has female anatomy)

WARNINGS!

Nudity, Alcohol

Basically just a silly and fun fluffy write to combat my angsty trauma filled fics...

[Take my hand and take off your shirt]

---

It was one of those nights, the air growing colder and spirits losing their grip on hope. Everyone had gathered in Natalie’s hut, well everyone except for Shauna and Mellissa off doing god knows what... 

The group had decided to have a little party, though there was nothing to celebrate about. It was an idea proposed by Nat after Gen brought back a large deer, they weren’t short on food but to Nat with the gloomy weather starting to roll in, she felt it was about time to do something to raise morale.

After scarfing down dinner dressed in ridiculous garments made of scraps, Travis nudged your shoulder with a playful smirk. “I want to show you something” he said motioning for you to follow, as you walked only a few feet away from the main camp, Travis leans down and starts digging at the ground.

“What did you find a hidden treasure?” you say teasing, “haha very funny” he turns around with a jar in his hand, “I made this awhile ago, should be ready by now.” you pause.

“Wine? your seriously suggesting we should all toast to what? our newfound democracy?” you let out a hearty chuckle. “Actually I was thinking we don’t share this with anyone, we deserve it.” 

For one second you look in the boys eyes, deep brown and wide and sense the genuineness of his statement. “Yeah. yeah i’d like that”

---

After an hour or so the two of you walked back to the camp to join the rest of the group who were all huddled in Nats hut gazing up at Van telling a wild story.

Well actually let me rephrase that.

After a few hours of drinking (and making out) on the forest floor, the two of you stumbled back to the camp to crash into the hut in which everyone had been peacefully enjoying Vans storytelling.

Van stood in the center about to recite a monologue.

“...and so,” she declared, voice rising theatrically, “our tale begins on a cursed Wednesday. The sky wept. The wind howled. And the man in the trench coat… appeared.”

You flopped down onto the ground beside Travis with a little too much enthusiasm, landing partly on his thigh. “Ow,” he muttered, chuckling. “You’re ow,” you whispered back.

He leaned in, barely hiding a grin. “Don’t make me kiss you again.” “That would be a tragedy,” you said, deadpan, and both of you burst into muffled laughter.

Van didn’t flinch. She pressed on. “The man was soaked. A wanderer with no name. He approached the woman, her arms full of groceries, her soul full of secrets, and he said: ‘I know what you did in Albuquerque.’”

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I love this one.”

“Is this real?” Travis asked, eyes wide in fake awe. “Shut up,” Mari hissed from across the circle. Van lifted her hands, commanding silence. “The woman, startled, but bold, dropped her plums.”

You lost it.

“Her what?” Travis wheezed.

“She dropped her plums,” Van repeated solemnly, eyes closed like this was Hamlet. “Why is that the funniest thing I’ve ever heard?” you whispered through laughter.

“Because you’re drunk,” Taissa muttered, annoyed. “And they’re not even trying to hide it,” Akilah added. “I’m invested in the story,” Misty said, defensive. “Please respect the performance.” Van powered through, undeterred. “The plums rolled. The trench coat flared. He whispered, ‘Your secrets are ripe.’ And then... thunder.”

You clapped, grinning. “Ten out of ten. Drama. Suspense. Fruit.”

“She deserves an Emmy,” Travis whispered. “Or at least a fruit basket.”

“You’re a fruit basket.” He laughed, eyes crinkling, and leaned into you so your foreheads touched. “You two are so annoying,” Mari snapped. Natalie sighed. “Seriously. If you’re gonna be like this, take it outside.”

“We’re quiet now,” you promised. “Super respectful,” Travis echoed. Van gave a long, theatrical sigh. Everyone groaned. You two giggled.

She lifted a hand to the firelight and continued: “The woman turned. Her heart beat like war drums. She asked, ‘Who sent you?’”

You whispered, “Probably the plum council.”

That was it.

Travis broke into wheezing laughter, grabbed your arm, and muttered, “I can’t. I can’t. The plum council. stop.” Van finally snapped. “OUT.”

“We were appreciating,” you said, hand to heart.

“You were heckling.”

“You’re just threatened by our art,” Travis added, wobbling to his feet. You linked arms dramatically. “Come, my tragic prince. Let us exit.” You leaned into Travis, breath white in the cold air, both of you laughing under your breath.

“She dropped her plums,” you whispered again.

“Legend,” he said.

---

The forest had grown quieter around you, the sky above laced with stars. You and Travis had wandered far, too far from the huts, but you didn’t care. The cold bit at your skin, but the wine buzzing in your bloodstream made you feel untouchable.

Your shoulder bumped his as you both stumbled forward, giggling like you were thirteen again.

“I can’t believe you think parrots are the standard for love” Travis said, breath fogging in the moonlight.

You let out a snort. “It sounded poetic in my head, okay?” He glanced sideways at you, eyes heavy-lidded and warm. “Everything sounds poetic when you say it.”

That made your heart skip a beat, but you played it cool. “You’re just drunk.”

“So are you.”

You stopped walking. “Wanna do something stupid?” you asked suddenly, that wildness in you flaring. Travis perked up. “Stupid how?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you let your hands slide down to the hem of your shirt, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. You hesitated for a second, just one, but the night felt infinite, and you didn’t want to think anymore.

You lifted your shirt and pulled it over your head.

Travis froze.

Your fingers fumbled slightly as you undid the rest, shedding your pants, your bra, your underwear, until you were completely bare under the moonlight, your chest rising and falling with adrenaline and cold air. Your arms hung by your sides, chin tilted up like a dare.

Travis stared like you’d punched the air out of him.

His eyes ran over you, slow, stunned, reverent. Not just ogling, seeing you. His breath caught audibly, and he blinked, like he wasn’t sure you were real.

And then, he stepped forward.

Wordlessly, he placed his hands on your waist. Warm palms on your cold skin.

His thumbs pressed gently into your sides, as if he was grounding himself with the feel of you. You swore he was shaking a little. Not from the cold, but from awe.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

His eyes met yours. You felt something pass between you, electric, raw, honest. “You’re so beautiful it’s unfair,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You laughed, breathless. “You’re such a sap.”

“You’re a miracle,” he said without missing a beat.

You couldn’t breathe for a second. Not because of what he said, but how he said it, like it wasn’t a joke. Like he meant it. His hands slid a little further around your back, pulling you against him gently. Chest to chest. Your breath hitched.

And then, without a word, he stepped back and started undressing too.

His shirt hit the forest floor first, then the rest. And before you could even mock him for doing it so dramatically, he stood there, as naked and vulnerable as you were, grinning.

"Now we match," he said, voice playful but eyes still serious. You stared at each other for a moment. Then, impulsively, you grabbed his hand.

“Let’s go,” you whispered.

And together, you ran.

Through the trees, past the brush, barefoot and exposed to the cold and the chaos of the world. But it didn’t matter. You were screaming and laughing, wine-drunk and high on adrenaline, twigs snapping underfoot and leaves brushing your arms. Your breath came in ragged bursts, and his did too. The forest echoed with your joy.

You were alive.

You slowed finally, gasping for air, and dropped to your knees in a clearing, Travis right behind you. He caught you in his arms, and you both collapsed into a heap.

“God, that was insane,” you wheezed.

“You’re insane,” he laughed, forehead resting against your shoulder.

The cold started to creep in again, making your teeth chatter. Travis wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbing warmth into your arms with slow, deliberate strokes.

He looked down at you, something unreadable in his expression.

“You know I love you, right?”

Your breath hitched. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” he whispered, then kissed you softly, slow, without urgency. Just warmth and wonder.

Eventually, you wandered back to your clothes, barely putting them back on, you putting only your shoes, underwear, and his flannel on over your shoulders, him putting back on his shoes and boxers, carrying the rest. You then stumbled toward the camp, exhausted and still a little buzzed.

As soon as you stepped into view, the whispers started.

Lottie glanced at Shauna. Mari's mouth dropped open. Van froze mid-sentence. The whole camp went silent.

You were still holding Travis’s hand, you wearing just your underwear and the open flannel shirt fully exposing your chest, and him wearing only his boxers and nothing else. Your skin was marked with twigs, leaves tangled in your hair. You looked like feral children returned from the wild.

“Okay. What. The hell,” Van finally muttered.

No one said it outright, but the glances said everything. You caught Taissa lifting an eyebrow, Lottie refusing to look up, and Mari making a gagging sound.

“They’re literally... God, put a shirt on,” Mari said, shielding her eyes.

Misty winced. “Do I want to know what happened?”

“Nope,” Van said quickly. “And I don’t want to be told either.”

You and Travis exchanged a glance, trying to hold back your laughter. “We’re gonna be legends,” he whispered in your ear. “We’re gonna be talked about,” you corrected, smirking.

You collapsed into the nearest pile of blankets, not even bothering to fully dress. Travis curled around you, still shirtless, his arm draped over your waist, pulling you close. You pressed your face into his shoulder.

“You warm enough?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair off your face.

“With you?” you murmured. “Yeah.”

And slowly, wrapped up in each other, laughing, aching, still a little tipsy, you both fell asleep.

---

The morning broke over the treeline, casting a soft glow over the clearing. Inside the small hut you shared with Travis, the air was heavy with warmth and the lingering buzz of the night before.

You stirred beneath the tangled blankets, your bare legs half-draped over his. Travis was already awake, blinking up at the ceiling like he was still somewhere between dreaming and remembering. His hand rested on your hip, unmoving but present, grounding.

“Morning,” you murmured, voice hoarse from laughter and cold air and a little too much wine.

His head turned toward you, a grin already forming. “Hey.” You buried your face in his chest with a groan. “Oh my God. What did we do?”

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling through you. “We became legends.”

“We became cautionary tales,” you muttered.

Outside, the camp was already awake, muffled voices, footsteps, someone tending to the fire. You tensed instinctively, knowing that stepping outside was going to be a social execution. And sure enough, the first voice broke through the quiet.

“Are they even awake?” Mellisa called, just outside the hut.

You and Travis froze.

“Don’t open the flap!” Mari snapped immediately. “Seriously. I saw enough last night to haunt me until I die.”

Travis clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh, while your face went red. You whispered, “We’re gonna die. I’m gonna die.”

Tai chimed in, deadpan: “I swear if I see Travis’s ass again, I’m throwing myself in the lake.”

Nats voice rang out “Gotta admit, her tits looked amazing though, wouldne mind seeing them again.” She says with a half serious ahlf joking tone.

There was a beat of silence, then groans all around.

“Can we not say the word ‘tits’ right now?” Mari begged. “I’m trying to scrub my brain with snow.”

Inside the hut, you buried your face in the blanket, horrified. “This is literally the worst day of my life.”

Travis leaned in, kissed your bare shoulder, and murmured against your skin, “I don’t know. It might be the best one of mine.”

You lifted your head, squinting at him. “You’re delirious.”

“I’m serious.” He sat up a little, propping himself on one elbow. “Look, I know we were drunk. And yeah, stripping down and running through the woods in the dead of night wasn’t exactly subtle. But when you, when you looked at me like that, laughing, completely free? I fell for you all over again.”

You blinked, heart tripping over itself. “Travis…”

“I meant it,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Last night, when I said I might be in love with you? That wasn’t the wine talking. That was me finally saying what I’ve wanted to say for a while.”

Your breath caught.

“You looked… wild. Alive. Beautiful,” he continued, his voice low and steady. “And not just because your shirt was off, though, I’m not complaining,” he added with a soft smirk that made you swat his arm. “I mean it. I love the way you laugh when you’re past the point of caring who hears you. I love the way you jump into things, even when they’re dumb or reckless or terrifying. I love you.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest like it didn’t know how to respond to something that real.

“I love you too,” you finally whispered. “Even though you have no survival instincts and apparently think freezing to death naked is romantic.”

He grinned. “Only if it’s with you.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and curled closer to him beneath the blankets. “We’re never going to live this down.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his arms tightening around you. “But I’d rather have everyone see me like this, with you, than not have this at all.”

Just then, someone knocked on the side of the hut with a stick. “PUT CLOTHES ON,” Van shouted. “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.”

Travis groaned into your shoulder. “And there goes the moment.”

“Yup,” you said, laughing softly.

“Okay, okay,” he called out. “We’re dressing! Stop harassing us!”

You pulled a shirt over your head, cheeks still burning, but now with a warmth that came from something deeper than just embarrassment. Travis was still grinning, watching you as he got dressed too.

“You really meant what you said?” you asked quietly.

“I really did,” he replied, eyes soft. “You’re everything to me.” You smiled, nervous and giddy and a little shy. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

As you stepped out of the hut, fully clothed and holding hands despite the awkwardness of it all, the others all very clearly looked away.