You Guys Remember That Chaewon Video Where She Says I Love Mommyyy? So

you guys remember that chaewon video where she says “i love mommyyy”? so…

chaewon who has been such a good girl lately you can’t help but indulge her in a few things, taking a day to visit her favorite places, eating at her favorite restaurant and ending it with a build-a-bear date as you want to give her something extra special to remember you — and what’s better than a cute teddy bear that plays your voice when pressed?

she insists on getting one for you too, making a big deal of not letting you see what she will get you or what message will she record. being nervous while handing it to you, blushing, so unusual for herself, looking at you expectantly as you press on the teddy and smiles at her voice saying “i love you, mommy”. quietly asking if you like it, clearly a bit embarrassed because she rarely calls you that out of the bedroom, only to become so proud when you hug and kiss her, that “of course, i loved it”.

chaewon who had so much all day and is so tired, all she wants to do is get home and fall into her bed, but you have other plans, thoughts of her looking so adorable moaning and blushing under you filling your mind, your pretty girl.

whines when you lay down and begin kissing her neck, she’s so sleepy but still gladly turns and spreads her legs when you tell her you just want to make her feel good, it’s what she deserves. always so ready for you, slicky in seconds, the most beautiful thing with her furrowed eyebrows and mouth slightly open as your fingers play with her… but you have other plans.

chaewon who gets startled when she feels something softer against her folds, opening her eyes to see you rubbing the teddy bear she gave you on her exposed cunt, face twisting in a pout and muttering “noo, it’s going to get him all messy” but contradicting herself, already relaxing back on the pillows, eyes fluttering close because it feels so nice against her clit.

switching between how hard you press it just to edge her a bit, chuckling when she grabs your wrist to prevent you from doing it again, knowing she’s close. whispering “you love mommy so much, don’t you?” between kisses, her only nodding and moaning as the movements of her hips increase, the orgasm making her close her legs around your hand and the teddy bear so hard that it ends up activating the sound box, the muffled sound of her voice saying “i love you, mommy” making you laugh while she groans in embarrassment.

you don’t even need her to repay — seeing your pretty girl falling apart like that is more enough.

I’LL PEEL ALL THE ORANGES FOR HIM IDC😭

a/n: i love changbin. 240 words, no warnings.

“You know when I first met you, I was instantly attracted to you.” Changbin lets out a light giggle, then gently swats at your arm shyly. “There’s this theory about atoms and people.”

“Yeah?” He wants you to continue; his mind is elsewhere, but his heart always chooses to be yours attentively. “What is it?”

“So when the universe was created, there was a cluster of atoms, right?” He hums. He doesn’t get it but lets you continue. “So they say if the atoms within our bodies were near each other when the universe was created, we'd always be drawn to each other.”

Changbin lets it settle in his mind, “So it’s like how you say we’d meet each other in every universe?” You hum, grinning when he looks at you. “What else is there?”

“Well, there’s the orange peel theory.” He hums. “Like how I peel your oranges so your hands never have to smell like them.” He agrees. “You also suck at it.”

“I don’t!” He shouts, pinching your arm with a smile.

You nod your head, swatting at his hand when he goes to pinch you again. “You do, but that’s okay. You don’t have to peel oranges anymore.”

“What if I want to peel you an orange?”

You shake your head, and he realizes this is an argument he’ll never win. “I won’t let you. I’ll peel every orange we get so you never have to.”

“This is mine” YES IT FKN IS HSJAJ😭😭

warnings: pussy job, wet & messy, daddy kink, panties stay on during sex w mr. bang christopher chan!

you might just have to throw these panties out when chan’s done with you.

you’re wet.

you’re wet, and the tip of chan’s cock is leaking precum already. not to mention the lube he’s poured on the spongey head and the front of your panties.

he likes to do this sometimes, particularly when he wants to take his time with you and make you desperate for him. you’re in for a long night considering your boyfriend has the kind of stamina that needs to be studied in a lab.

chan spreads the lube over the front of your panties, and the baby pink cotton turns sheer quickly. it sticks to your pubic mound almost uncomfortably, and it already has you wanting to squirm. chan settles his gaze on you, eyes staying locked on yours, before his knobby fingers trail to the gusset of your panties, pulling it to the side to expose your swollen cunt to him.

his other hand remains on the shaft of his cock, and with his eyes still gazing into yours, he grinds its fat head against the slit of your pussy.

“o-oh, oh daddy,” you whimper. your legs threaten to close around his hips when the tip of his cock rubs right over your clit.

“baby, yeah?” chan tilts his head. he taps his dick on the crease of your thigh. “keep ‘em spread how daddy likes.”

your hands travel under your knees to keep yourself spread for him. just how he likes.

“there you go. atta baby, ready? shit. ohhh my gosh.” his voice is so gruff; it pulls a whimper from your throat before you can think to hold it back. he’s still looking at you, not sparing a glance downward as he pulls the slimy-wet gusset of your panties back where it belongs, now snug over his cock. chan has to angle himself to the side slightly so he can bully his cock in the tight space between your hot cunt and your panties.

chan’s heavy gaze remains on your face when he gives his first slow thrust against your pussy. the lips of your cunt already hug him so sweetly, and the added feeling of your sopping wet panties over his cock has his top lip twitching.

your eyes are wild, lips parted wide in a silent scream that makes chan want to turn you over and fuck you into the mattress. but not yet, he’s patient; he can wait.

“pretty fucking face,” chan whispers. “this is mine.”

yes. you don’t even know what exactly he’s referring to. your face, your cunt, your body, your heart. it’s all his, and you both know it.

chan’s eyes finally leave yours so they can take in the sight below him. your eyes follow his too, to the bulge of his cock through your panties. he’s slowly fucking himself against your cunt, and he brings a small hand down to press over the head of his cock where it rocks against your clit.

the pressure of his hand makes you both moan, and you’re tightening your hold under your knees because your legs are shaking now. chan ruts harder now, faster, keeping the thumb and index finger of his other hand around the base of his cock to increase his pleasure while he uses your clothed pussy to get off.

that all too familiar feeling is swirling in your gut, and your hips start to fuck in tandem with chan’s so you’re meeting him thrust for thrust. he’s not ready for you to cum yet though, and he pulls that big, pretty cock from your pussy and strokes it in a strong fist.

“da-! daddy! c-chris, put it back! please, please put it back,” you want to cry, you want to kick your feet and scream about how much you need his cock back, but chan beats you to it.

he brushes the pads of his fingers against the wet fabric of your panties, the front completely sheer. it clings to the lips of your cunt, and chan presses a gentle thumb where he knows your clit to be. your legs jolt, and he pecks a slow kiss to your ankle that’s closest to him.

“close ‘em now for me, sweets. yeah, good good. that’s good. ohhh fuck, cutest cunt.”

you do as he says, pressing your thighs together tight and holding your legs to your chest. you know your completely soaked panties outline the meat of your cunt perfectly for chan, and you also know this is how he wants to cum.

he doesn’t bother lifting your panties so they can cover his cock again, no. chan works his tongue in his mouth and spits down onto your already soaked panties. it trails between the smushed together lips of your pussy, and his cock is quick to meet it there. with a grunt, chan fucks roughly against your clothed cunt and presses his hand down onto the head of his dick once more.

“yeah, gonna bust. ya want it? know you do…”

that’s how chan cums, pearly white shooting from his cock and seeping into the already ruined cotton of your little panties. his fingers are a mess with it too, and he quickly directs his soiled fingers to your readily opened mouth for a well-earned treat.

GRAHJTJJDJ😮😮😭 HE SO BABYGIRL LOOK AT HIM🥹

You can trust him, he's a good guy...

hi guys! this is such an odd post i never thought i'd have to make, but yk... might as well put it out there.

i'm sure by now it's common sense that the writers you see on tumblr are real people with real, busy lives. we are people with jobs or in school or both, and we are people who write because we like to, not because we have to. we are doing this as a hobby- unpaid, giving hours-- days, weeks, months, years-- of our time to present art that we are passionate about. for free.

so to come into a writer's inbox or comments being demanding and frankly, entitled, for them to write simply because you want them to is disrespectful and dehumanizing.

I took a break because i was tired and no longer found myself having fun writing. I really don't want to sound pretentious, but i've devoted a lot of time to this account, and posted really frequently; all because i wanted to, of course. it took me so long to come into terms with the fact that i needed a break-- because honestly, if i kept trying to push myself further and forced myself to write until i couldn't anymore, i would have reached a breaking point and would have probably ended up leaving instead. and while i have reached an overwhelming amount of support for my decision, there are others who simply seem to lack this common sense.

now in reality, i could care less about these people; i saw a rude comment this morning-- on a post related to my difficulties writing, no less-- shrugged it off, and moved on about my day. i only just now remembered it after checking my notifications. however, this is an unacceptable way to treat content creators on this app, and not everyone can simply brush things off. i don't care what intentions you have when sending such things; it doesn't matter if it was a joke or lighthearted or whatever, because the meaning is still the same. we are not robots, we aren't people who will satisfy your every whim, and we most definitely won't write because you try to command us to. entitled, selfish people who treat content creators as nothing but machines and refuse to show their support properly are the very reason why writers leave this website left and right.

now, if i ever see anyone leave such comments and inboxes on my or another creator's account, it will guarantee a hard block from me. it literally isn't that hard to be a kind person to people who are catering to your interests for free.

this is the last time i'll talk about this; don't even try to send anything rude in my inbox, because it won't get you the attention you so desperately crave.

thank you to my followers who have shown unwavering support to me and have left me reassuring words. you are the people i look forward to sharing my writing with.

Making Tamales with Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x FemaleReader

Summary: You make the first batch of tamales for the season with Miguel.

Word Count: 1,909

Warnings: Reader knows or at least understands Spanish; Reader knows how to make tamales; Miguel talks in Spanish a bit but translations will be provided at the end (italicized); teasing and smug Miguel; It's alluded Miguel and reader did it at the end

🍂 🕯🍂 🕯🍂🕯 🍂🕯 🍂 🕯🍂

As soon as Miguel feels the first chill of the season, he tells you it’s time to make tamales. You agree with him, of course, so the two of you plan an afternoon to make them. Miguel and you prep the kitchen. You have all the ingredients and supplies out from the leaves to the masa, the filling that the two of you prepped, and other items like the big pot where they’ll be cooked.

Miguel takes charge of preparing the masa. It only seems right as his large hands can get it just right and much quicker than you and your smaller hands. Of course, it also helps that this man is like a walking furnace, which means his warmth is perfect to help the melted lard mix in with the masa. His playlist is playing in the background, which is composed of music that he grew up listening to and that will help keep both of your spirits up as you make the tamales because he knows how exhausting it can get after twenty minutes of working. Thankfully, he has upbeat songs like those from Joan Sebastian such as “Tatuajes,” Bronco’s “Que No Quede Huella,” and Los Angeles Azules’s “Como Te Voy a Olvidar.” You notice Miguel bopping his head as he prepares the masa, his lips moving as he sings silently to the songs, which you can’t blame him for because he’s playing iconic bops.

Meanwhile, you prepare the leaves. You soak them in warm water in a large bowl, making sure to sink them with your hands so the top ones get covered, too. You dump the water out a few times, making sure the leaves are clean before you leave them to fully soak. You prep the pot and the containers you’ll be putting the tamales in as you make them before you put them in the pot.

At last, Miguel tells you the masa is ready so the two of you start. You’ve seen other methods on social media, but Miguel and you stick to the traditional method using spoons. The two of you take a seat and start and well, this is where the peace starts fading because the two of you start to get competitive. If you grew up making tamales with all your family pitching in to help “para terminar más pronto,” you know how competitive it can get with who prepares the most leaves. And of course, for you and Miguel, it’s no exception as you both grew up competing with your relatives.

Neither of you say it but you can tell. Miguel casually looks at the stack of leaves with masa you have ready. He grins to himself, knowing that he has at least three more than you when he looks at his taller stack. You notice his grin and force yourself to hide a frown, thinking it’s unfair. With his large hand, Miguel can cover more ground. He doesn’t have to turn the leaf on his hand so many times like you to cover the same amount of space even if the leaf is the same size.

You speed up, casually, of course. You don’t want to tip Miguel off. You want to win this, even though it’s silly, especially when you see his little grin like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“With this speed we’ll be done in no time, preciosa,” he says, trying to sound neutral but oh, you know when Miguel is teasing and he’s definitely teasing you right now.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him, knowing that will only give him more satisfaction. So instead, you nod and smile.

“I hope so. You know how the first batch of the season always hits different,” you reply as you pick up another leaf and quickly grab a spoonful of the masa. Your movements are fast and experienced as you spread the masa over the leaf evenly, but it still takes you double the time it takes Miguel to get one done.

And you’re not as slick as you think you are. Neither of you are. You both know you’re in an unofficial competition with each other now. The playlist Miguel has playing in the background is kind of forgotten at this point even when a song that you both enjoy is playing. You’re both focused on beating each other, though Miguel isn’t really worried, and you can tell. He feels so comfortable with his progress that he slows down, preparing the leaves in a calmer manner, unlike you.

It just makes him grin as he steals glances at you. And just when it looks like you’re about to tie up with him, Miguel picks up the speed again, whistling as he does so to whatever song is on now. It gets on your nerves, but you keep a neutral face despite knowing he’s doing it to annoy you. You pick up another leaf and grab a spoonful of the masa once again, wincing as the spoon makes contact with the finger you’ve been supporting it with this whole time. You can already feel the skin tender and sore, a sign that tomorrow you’ll have a full-on blister if not by tonight before you go to bed.

Miguel’s eyebrows furrow as he notices you wince. He puts his leaf and spoon down and walks around the table to you. You continue to spread the masa over the leaf, still trying to beat him when he takes your hand, the one that’s been holding the spoon the entire time. You begin to protest but he hushes you as he leans forward, bringing your hand to his face. You sigh agitated and look at him. Miguel is looking at your finger before he rubs his thumb over the sored area gently. He meets your eyes and gives you a small grin as he does so.

“How about I take care of the rest, preciosa? You can start on the filling with what we have already,” he suggests quietly.

You’re about to decline but he brings your hand to his mouth, kissing the tender and sore skin of your finger, while meeting your eyes. You shut up and sigh. You’re competitive but you know when to admit defeat. You nod.

“Fine. I’ll do the filling,” you mutter and retrieve your hand after he kisses your finger again.

“Muy bien,” Miguel replies, giving you a grin and kissing your cheek before he returns to his spot.

So, you finish making the tamales by putting the filling in them as Miguel finishes using the masa. And yes, you’re a little upset. Just because you know when to admit defeat doesn’t mean you aren’t a little sored about it. You always beat your relatives growing up, so you’re not used to losing this competition.

After putting the tamales in the pot together, Miguel and you clean the kitchen. You head to the living room and lie down on one of the couches once you’re done with your part, knowing it’s going to be about an hour before the tamales are ready. You turn on the tv, still feeling upset as you switch channels. Not long after, Miguel walks out of the kitchen drying his hands with a towel since he volunteered to wash dishes, which just made you feel crappy because he always volunteers to wash dishes to spare your hands from the harsh dish soap but especially today due to your sored finger; his kindness is like salt to the wound, and yeah, maybe you’re being a little dramatic but who cares.

He approaches you, throwing the towel over his shoulder before he stands behind the couch. He peers down at you, noticing the pout as you switch channels, and grins. He knows you’re sored over losing even if it was a friendly competition. He leans down on the couch and caresses your face with the back of his hand.

“Sigues enojada, preciosa?” he asks in a whisper.

Your pout becomes more noticeable as you turn to look up at him, meeting his red eyes. You stare at him, unable to stop yourself from feeling a little breathless at the sight of his face. You cuss internally because it’s so unfair for this man to look this good after making tamales. Some strands of hair hang over his forehead and he has a bit of powder flour on his cheek from when he was first prepping the masa. You lift your hand to his face and wipe it off gently.

“I wasn’t upset,” you reply, clearly lying, as you retrieve your hand from his face but Miguel grabs it before it’s away from his reach. He brings it to his face.

“Ah, okay,” he answers with a grin. “That’s good to hear. I thought you were a little sore back then. And not just from your finger.”

You snatch your hand from his grip and turn away from him, facing the tv and ignoring him. Miguel chuckles lightly at your reaction, clearly amused. He walks around the couch to the front and before you can protest, Miguel is over you. He has no problem moving you to his liking, placing you between his legs before he lies down on you.

“Miguel! Seriously?” you say trying to move but your efforts are useless when it comes to Miguel, who settles on top of you with ease. You sigh annoyed even though you’re in no discomfort because Miguel knows exactly how to position himself to avoid crushing you.

So, you just lay underneath him and turn your face to the tv as an effort to at least ignore him, though that’s a very challenging task because the man is on top of you and now his mouth is on your neck, peppering your skin with kisses.

“Andale, preciosa. Don’t be upset with me. We have a whole hour before the tamales are ready. You can’t avoid me. You can’t even leave the house. You know the rule. We both put the tamales in the pot, and you know what they say,” Miguel says, planting a kiss on your neck at the end of each sentence. “No queremos tamales pintos, verdad?”

You try very hard to ignore him but his warm breath, his lips on your neck, the weight of his body over yours keeping you in place always does something to you. And Miguel knows it. So, he uses it to his advantage. He continues to kiss your neck, eventually escalating to biting your neck gently, which instantly has you closing your eyes and whimpering underneath him.

Needless to say, the tamales weren’t the only thing that got a filling, and thankfully the two of you remembered to check on them once the hour passed by. You concluded the evening by eating some delicious tamales, definitely needing the energy after so much work.

As the two of you eat tamales, Miguel leans closer to your face and pecks your cheek.

“The first batch of the season definitely hits different,” he whispers with a grin, causing you to roll your eyes at him but now that you have food in your system and took out your annoyance on him, you grin back.

“I don’t know how but I’m beating you next time. So be ready,” you answer.

“Preciosa, I’ll help you win as long as I get to have you and tamales at the end.”

🍂 🕯🍂 🕯🍂🕯 🍂🕯 🍂 🕯🍂

Translation for italicized words: Masa - dough para terminar más pronto - to finish sooner preciosa - beautiful muy bien - very good sigues enojada, preciosa? - still mad, beautiful? Andale, preciosa - come on, beautiful No queremos tamales pintos, verdad? - we don't want painted tamales, right?; "pintos" is used here in place of "raw" (there are several myths (my family and I have never tested any) about tamales getting "painted," which means that some parts are cooked and others uncooked for different reasons, one of them being that the person who prepare the dough or the people who put them in the pot can't leave the house). _____

My family and I made our first batch of tamales this week and I just got inspired by it. Imagining Miguel mixing the masa got me in my feelings. 🥺 This is just based on my experience but other people who make tamales may have a different method(s)!