#and what's on the other planets full book

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Bookworm

Summary: Clark Kent/Superman x Fe!Reader -> Clark surprises you with a library...of sorts. But that's not the only surprise in store.

Disclaimer: This is based in the 90s Superman series but I haven't finished it so no spoilers please. There aren't any spoilers in this, I don't think. I just fancied writing something for this era of Clark Kent. Mostly fluff, Reader works at the Daily Planet and has the nickname 'Bookworm'. Mutual pining, idiots in love, friends-to-lovers, a dash of angst/sad I guess, small mention/description of periods/cramps. Not Proof Read.

…Klara’s latest book provides a new light on what has been a dwindling sector for the publishing industry. In her very first interview for her latest novel, she said-

Typing away at your next article for The Daily Planet, you felt a small pinch to your side before the entire chaos exploded into your lower back, leaving nothing more than a deepening dull ache. 

For a moment, you lowered your head and pressed your hand to your lower back. 

“You okay there, Bookworm?”

You looked up and found Jimmy standing by your desk, a pile of papers in his hand. You tried your best to recover. 

“I’m fine. Just a little pain. What’s up?”

“Publishers called.” He handed you the note and the fax sheets. “They’ve got three new authors and they want you to write about their books. They’re not published yet but an early review from you means more people will probably read their books when they finally do come out.”

Taking the sheets from him, you nodded. “I’ll give them a read.”

You’d worked at The Daily Planet since you’d left University. You’d started out as Cat Grant’s assistant until Mr White needed someone to write an article on a book that had been sent to him. The author was relatively new but he’d decided to give them a shot. 

He had planned on giving the task to Cat, until you walked into the office and found the book on his desk. 

“For all I know, it’s another Cinderella romance but I’d like you to write a piece on it. 500 words? It doesn’t have to be too much.”

“It’s not.”

They both looked at you. It wasn’t often you spoke up when you were in meetings. More than anything, you were quiet and got on with your job. You also had the ability to avoid hitting people when you walked through the office, which made hiring you a lot easier for Mr White than it did hiring anyone else. 

“Excuse me?”

Your weight shifted from foot to foot. “W-Well, it-it’s not a Cinderella romance. I’ve read it. It’s about a woman’s journey returning home after a tragedy. I-I mean, it does have romance. She falls in love with her best friend of, like, ten years. But it’s mostly about her journey dealing with grief, past mistakes and new opportunities.”

Both Mr White and Cat looked at you stunned. But as they looked back at each other, they seemed to have a silent conversation. Then Mr White smiled. Looking up at you, he shook the book at you. 

“I want you to write me a piece on this book.”

“Sir-”

“You’ve clearly read it. Write me a piece. If I like it, and more importantly, if the public likes it…I’ll hire you as a full time entertainment journalist. I’ve got more books than I know what to do with. ‘Course, you’ll do more than just write about books, but…”

Cat looked at you with a kinder smile than you’d seen on her face before. 

“S-Sir, I-I don’t know if that’s-”

“She’ll do it.”

Leaving the office, you followed behind Cat. “A-Are you sure? I don’t know if-”

Stopping in her tracks with a sigh, she turned on her heels and faced you. “You didn’t apply here just to be my assistant. And I’ve read some of your work.”

“You have?”

“You sent in two articles, right? When you applied?”

You nodded. 

“You can do this. Now go and do it.”

Four years later, you’d gained the nickname ‘Bookworm’, you had your own desk and you spent most of your time reading and writing reviews. 

“What is it today? Romance? True Crime? Fantasy?”

Looking over your book, you found Clark Kent leaning on the wooden divider between your desk and Cat’s. You got a promotion, but considering you already had a desk, you didn’t need to be moved. 

You smiled. “You’re back. When did you get back?”

“Just now.”

“Did Lois get what she wanted?”

Clark nodded with a smile as he pulled a chair up to your desk. “And more. I think the janitor will still be shaking from her interrogation in a week’s time.”

You felt yourself laugh a little.

“So what are you reading?”

“Oh,” holding up your book, you showed him and he read it. 

“Any good?”

You shrugged. “It’s a non-fiction lifestyle. Right now I’d rather be fighting dragons on top of mountains.”

Clark laughed. “I’m sure I would, too.”

“But, it’s not too bad. It’s not as condescending as the last one. It’s got a little more science behind it than just someone’s opinion. Did you know the brain is the fattiest organ in the body?”

“I did not.”

“And that we need the healthy fats from fish to help stabilise the cell walls in it?”

Clark nodded, leaning on your desk a little. “Sounds interesting.”

“Those parts are. The others are just kinda…meh.”

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go and get some coffee or something. There’s something I want to show you.”

You studied him for a moment. “Show me what?”

“You’ll see.”

Looking at your desk. Your article was finished and you’d almost finished with your book. You could do with a break. 

“Okay.”

“Great.”

As you stood with Clark, you felt yourself lean forward and grip your desk. “Ow.”

“You okay?”

You just nodded. “I-I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Clark sounded worried. “Bookworm, you’re looking a little pale. Are you sure?”

Taking a few deep breaths, you stood up straight. “I’m okay. Just…that time of the month.”

“Oh…” Clark didn’t know what to say exactly. 

“I’m okay, let’s just keep walking. It’ll pass.”

Clark nodded and you grabbed your jacket from your chair before following him towards the elevator and out into the city. 

“You know, we don’t have to do this today if you’d rather just-”

“Clark,” you smiled. “Honestly, I’m fine. It’s not uncommon for me. It can just be abrupt sometimes. But I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

You nodded. “Promise.”

Clark gave you a smile and you felt your insides warm. 

It was often like that when he smiled at you. A warm feeling would spread through you, just after a swarm of butterflies had flapped their wings. In complete honesty, you hadn’t noticed it at first. It wasn’t until after the fifth guy you’d been set up on a date with by Cat and she asked you why, that you realised. 

The guy had been…okay. Out of the five, number three was probably the closest to who you’d dated in the past. He seemed a little more your type. But still…nothing. 

“Well, what are you looking for? I can’t keep sending men your way if you’re not gonna go on another date with them.”

“You could stop trying to set me up.”

“But you need life experience! You need someone who isn’t King Lancelot on Treasure Island.”

You smiled. “I think you mean King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. And Treasure Island is a separate book.”

Cat rolled her eyes. “My point is, you need someone who isn’t…fictional. You need someone who makes you feel something.”

“But they do make me feel something. Some books are actually pretty sad.”

A small groan left Cat. “You need someone who can actually touch you. Someone who isn’t just words on a page. Did you not feel anything? Not even for Roger?”

You bit your lip, scrunched your nose and shook your head. “Not really.”

“Not even a single butterfly?”

You shook your head. 

“But he was so cute.”

You nodded. “He was cute…to you. I-I just…didn’t feel anything. He was good looking. Just not my type.”

“Then who is?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know. Handsome. I can’t explain it.”

Cat sat back with a sigh but as she looked around the office, she seemed to have a glint in her eye. “What about Clark?”

“What about him?”

“Do you think he’s handsome? You spent a lot of time together? Is it him? Is he why you won’t go on a second date with Roger?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “I didn’t go on a second date with Roger because he spent the entire date talking about how to extract a rotten tooth.”

Cat finally dropped the subject. “Fine. But when you finally want a date, don’t ask me to help you find one.”

You smiled but her previous question played on your mind. Why would she think it was Clark? Sure, he was handsome. That wasn’t avoidable in describing him. And he was smart. And kind. Caring. Friendly. And maybe once or twice you’d wished you’d faked an excuse so you could have been at home, watching a movie with him. 

But was he the reason?

The answer was yes. 

By the time a week had passed from Cat asking you her question, it became apparent. You had feelings for Clark. You always had. Because your reaction was always the same. Butterflies – which you’d mistaken for nerves about being at work. Then he’d smile. A warmth would spread through you, settling the flapping wings before finally you felt your cheeks warm up, too. 

 And you were feeling that warmth again. 

Clark was smiling at you, leaning against a concrete post as he watched you take it all in. 

After grabbing two coffees from the cart on the corner of the street, you’d both walked for twenty minutes before you’d arrived at a warehouse. It looked beaten up, but the locks had been freshly broken. 

Inside, there were mountains of books. 

Old rickety shelving units lined the walls and slotted into places that health and safety regulations would probably disapprove of. In the very centre, there were piles of books. Some, looking at them, dated back centuries. A lot of them were still 20th century, but had enough dust on their covers that could easily tell its own story about the second world war. 

“How did you find this place?”

“A case Lois and I worked on last year called and said they’d finally finished processing everything. They didn’t know what to do with them since most of the libraries don’t have the space for them.” Clark explained. “So, they’re here until they find a new home. But I asked if a very avid reader I knew could have the first pick.”

You looked back at him, a wide smile still on your face. Clark lifted himself from the pillar and walked towards you. 

“I don’t even know…what to say.”

You tried taking a mental image of so many books being in one place. 

“I feel like I’m in Beauty and The Beast.”

“Does that make me the Beast?”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re too handsome to be the Beast.”

The comment slipped from your lips before you could think about it. Even if it was true, the clear embarrassment on your face only made you feel worse. 

You weren’t like Cat or Lois. You couldn’t recover from saying something, no matter how true, very quickly. By the time you had recovered from the initial embarrassment, more was likely to come because you’d then realise the person you’d just said something to had heard you and the meaning. 

Looking away, you heard a small chuckle escape Clark. Then his hands landed on your shoulders. 

“I think it might be best if you start in that corner.” Clark turned your attention back to the books. “I think every book ever printed is in here.”

With a smile, having let the moment pass, you walked over and into the far corner. 

“How was there a crime with this many books that I didn’t know about?” You asked after forty minutes of swimming in the books. 

Your coat had long since been removed and hung on a piece of broken shelf, along with Clark's own, that he had found. Somewhere in the middle of the pile, Clark was piling books together by genre. 

“I think you were away at that conference in London.” Clark told you.

“So what happened?”

“A group of guys had been robbing a few places in and around the city. Banks, jewelry stores, and a couple of storage facilities. Then they’d got wind of a storage facility holding diamonds,” he said. “Anyway, they went down there but when they opened the unit, they found books. Just piles and piles of books. But, they still thought there were diamonds but they’d been hidden. Just so happens, they didn’t realise how long it would take to look through so many books and by the time they’d gotten barely a quarter of the way through, a lady who was walking her dog across the field saw the door open and called the police.”

“So what happened to the diamonds?”

“They were being held at a facility on the other side of the city. But, the cops couldn’t take their chances so had to process every book and make sure there weren’t any hidden pockets.”

You laughed as you looked over at Clark – that same smile giving you a warm feeling. There he stood, surrounded by books, even holding on in his hands, his shirt sleeves rolled, his tie loose and his hair a little dishevelled. But that smile on his face as he looked at you. 

You turned back to the pile of books. “You know, I’m probably gonna be here a while. You don’t have to stay. I’m sure there’s somewhere else you’d rather spend your day.”

Clark just shrugged. “I’ve not got any plans. Besides, I think I’d rather be spending my time with you, anyway.”

You laughed a little, placing one book down and picking up another. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. She might think you’re in love with me, then I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You didn’t see, but Clark looked at you again; a warm smile on his face, but a slightly defeated look in his eye. You said it as if it was a bad thing. Like he shouldn’t be in love with you. 

But he was. 

He had been since you’d turned up outside his apartment, to welcome him to the building, with a fresh apple pie. You’d seemed so much more confident than you had been at work. At work, he’d noticed you. But nobody else seemed to have done. You avoided their every step making sure not to physically run into them; something he himself was still trying to master. You were quiet. In staff meetings, you were the same. But you were always tapping your pen against your pad – until you noticed the noise. Then you’d hold it with two hands. But unconsciously, you’d bounce your leg beneath the desk. The pen would twist around in your hands as Mr White and everyone turned their attention on you. 

But the woman standing outside of his apartment seemed…more confident. Or maybe you just had a quicker escape since you’d been speaking in a hallway rather than a staff meeting with a dozen other people. 

“I-I don’t know if it’ll be any good. It’s a family recipe but my Granny still tells me it tastes different every time. I’m still trying to work out if that means something good.” You finally looked at him as you handed the pie over. “Anyway, I live directly above you if you need anything. Bye.”

You’d gone to run away and make your exit, but he called you back. He thanked you for the pie and invited you inside. If slightly awkwardly, you agreed. But with one conversation, Clark found you warming to him. 

After that, you both kind of became inseparable. It was a quiet friendship; the kind that doesn’t need a thousand conversations to know something. In a single look, Clark could tell what you were trying to say. In a single look, you could tell what Clark was trying to do. 

On more than one occasion you’d saved him from Cat’s grasp. And on more than one occasion, he’d helped you escape a large gathering of people. 

But it was one evening, just like any other, where he let himself accept his feelings for you. He’d rented the next film on the list you’d been given from Mr White. From new films, to older ones. 

“There’s a whole range of ages reading our papers, Y/l/n. Even if the movies have been out for years, I want a piece to put in the paper. Capture the kids' attention. Let them know about real movies.” Of course, Mr White had given you a list of Elvis films alongside the list from the local movie theatre. 

But, as you and Clark sat watching Annie, you’d fallen asleep. Laying beside him, your head on his shoulder, he lifted his arm behind you and pulled the blanket down over you. You’d had a busy day at the paper and seemed ready to fall asleep before you turned up at his apartment. But the feeling in his chest when he looked down at you, cuddling into his side…his mind thought, for a moment, that it was a routine. That you lived together, that each night would be the same. You by his side, him by yours. 

He couldn’t deny the feelings he had for you then. 

And he couldn’t deny them now. 

“Would it really be that bad?”

“What would? My mother?”

“Me being in love with you?” Clark waited to see your reaction. 

You laughed. 

Not mockingly. But you laughed. 

You didn’t believe him. 

“Funny,” you told him. Then you stood, holding another book in your hand. Clark watched as you stood and started completing the new obstacle course you’d accidentally laid out for yourself as you made your way over to him. “But seriously, my mother would never leave me alone. She’s convinced that if I don’t get married soon, I never will. You know, I think if she could, she’d hand my face out on a leaflet on the street to take auditions.”

As you climbed over the loaded pile of books, your foot slipped. But you never hit the ground. Some of the books slid to the floor, but you remained on the pile, Clark’s arms around you. 

Holding onto his arm, you looked down at the sliding books and back at him. 

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Clark gave you a light smile, his eyes scanning over your face. “What if I wanted the role?”

“What?”

“You said your mom would hold auditions.” Clark pointed out. “What if I wanted the role?”

It took you a minute before what Clark was telling you registered in your brain. 

Standing once more, but Clark still holding you steady, your eyes remained fixed on him. You shook your head. “Clark, you don’t…you shouldn’t date me.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Clark felt himself laugh. ‘Because’  has never been a real reason. “Because what?”

“Because…” You racked your brains for an answer he would accept. “Because you shouldn’t. You should be with someone…with someone…with someone like Lois. Or Cat.”

He tilted his head a little. “Please tell me you heard yourself, too.”

“Okay, maybe not Cat. But Lois. Or Jill.”

“From accounting?”

“She’s nice. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. Everything you deserve.”

“Y/n, you’re beautiful, smart and funny.” Clark told you. “And you’re kind and caring.”

“Clark.”

Clark felt something drop inside of him. “If it’s because you don’t want to, then I’ll understand.”

But you were quick to deny that. “No,” you shook your head. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

As you stood there, his hands holding your steady, your own on his arms, you looked at him. Clark had been the one person you’d been able to tell anything to. You trusted him more than you trusted anyone. Even from the beginning. 

So why couldn’t you trust him with the truth now?

“I’m scared, Clark. This…this scares me.” You finally admitted the truth to him. “I’ve had relationships before and they’ve all found a reason to leave. I don’t want you to leave, too.”

“I’m not gonna leave.”

“You can’t promise that.”

Then he said something that struck you deep into your soul. “Actually, I can.”

You looked at him as if he had two heads, but he just chuckled, holding you a little closer. “Anyone who has ever left you, have been complete idiots. You are truly incredible, Y/n. And I have been in love with you longer than I think even I realise. But despite that, you’re my friend first, Y/n. And I don’t want to lose that either.”

Looking at you, Clark told you the complete truth. 

“So when I tell you I can promise you I won’t leave, please know that I mean it. And I mean it, too, when I tell you I love you. In more ways than one.”

You smiled. 

In his chest, Clark felt a bright light shoot through him and warm his entire being. Leaning forward a little, you hugged him. And he hugged you back. 

Leaning back and looking at him again, you spoke. 

“Can we start towards the beginning?”

Clark nodded and smiled. “Y/n, would you like to go to dinner with me?”

“I’d love to.” 

Like a breath of fresh air was being kicked into his lungs, Clark smiled a little wider. But then you surprised him. You kissed his cheek. 

This time, it was his moment to slip a little. But in a rush, you gripped onto him as he caught himself. Then you got an idea. 

“You don’t suppose this could be classed as a first date, do you?” You looked around you before looking back at him. “I mean, I know it’s a warehouse and it’s filled with dusty old books, but I guess the lighting is kinda dimmed? And we’re surrounded by history so it’s kinda like a library-museum thing? Unless there’s classification for something to be a date. There’s gotta be a book in here somewhere that tells us.”

Clark chuckled a little as he watched you. “I think I’d like to class this as our first date, too. Besides, we can always get dinner after this.”

You nodded. “Though, to do that, we should probably get off these books.”

Clark looked down. “Right.”

Carefully, he helped you down the cascade of books before your heels finally hit the concrete ground and with a soft landing, he landed beside you. 

It was another two hours before you both got food – the pizza guy, it was safe to say, was rather confused to turn up at a warehouse but he appreciated the tip and the gift copy of one of his sister’s favourite books. 

Yourself and Clark spent most of the night inside the warehouse before he helped you place your reserved books to the side. The next day, you both returned with your car and a pile of boxes to help carry them away. You’d barely made a dent in the pile, but considering you had access to the pile until the local libraries needed extra copies, you could spend as long as you liked going through them. 

Picking out some of the multiple copies with broken spines or torn covers, you took home and fixed them. And, six months into dating, you came to find Clark’s unique strength had its advantages as working as a temporary clamp. 

“This is why you agreed to date me, isn’t it?”

You gasped a little. “You’ve discovered my secret. Well, now that it’s out in the open, you should know I also agreed because you gave me a historical library.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yep.”

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your lips but you pulled him back in for a second. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[welcometogrouchland]

I miss them so bad (Dick and Damian)

[mamawasatesttube]

if i'm being honest i have to admit. i think byrne's supergirl saga is... so incredibly stupid 💀💀💀

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 1

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Locked Tomb series (Gideon the Ninth, Harrow the Ninth, Nona the Ninth, and others) by Tamsyn Muir

Endorsement from submitter #1: "An extremely fun, humorous romp! A heart-breaking, soul crushing catharsis inducing tragedy! A thoughtful piece on imperial structures and trauma. On queerness, Muir flawlessly and without announcement, cracks gender open like an egg and spills its disproven guts across the page. The Locked Tomb does it all also bones, bitch."

Endorsement from submitter #2: "Lesbian necromancers in space. So many fascinating, sort of fucked up sapphic relationships going on."

The Emperor needs necromancers.

The Ninth Necromancer needs a swordswoman.

Gideon has a sword, some dirty magazines, and no more time for undead bullshit.

Brought up by unfriendly, ossifying nuns, ancient retainers, and countless skeletons, Gideon is ready to abandon a life of servitude and an afterlife as a reanimated corpse. She packs up her sword, her shoes, and her dirty magazines, and prepares to launch her daring escape. But her childhood nemesis won't set her free without a service.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House and bone witch extraordinaire, has been summoned into action. The Emperor has invited the heirs to each of his loyal Houses to a deadly trial of wits and skill. If Harrowhark succeeds she will become an immortal, all-powerful servant of the Resurrection, but no necromancer can ascend without their cavalier.

Without Gideon's sword, Harrow will fail, and the Ninth House will die. Of course, some things are better left dead.

Fantasy, science fiction, horror, mystery, humor, series, adult

The Javelin Program by Derin Edala (Time to Orbit: Unknown series)

When Dr Aspen Greaves signed up for the Javelin Program, humanity's first foray into colonising deep space, they expected to wake up to life in a thriving colony on a distant planet. Instead, they find themself five years away from their destination on a broken spaceship full of complex mysteries, dead astronauts, and a very unhelpful AI.

Aspen wasn't trained for any of this. But if they can't keep themselves alive, get the ship in working order, and find out what went wrong by unravelling a chain of mysteries leading all the way back to distant Earth, then neither Aspen nor the five thousand sleeping passengers in their care will ever see a planet again.

Science fiction, mystery, series, adult

[winterthur]

I asked for bunch of books (sci-fi almost exclusively?) for Xmas/my birthday and one of my New Year’s resolutions is to read more this year, so yeah.. maybe I’ll blog about some books here this year :>

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni. Seriously, it gets feral in a way I didn't anticipate and I'm the pervert who wrote this.

Bucky sleeping naked. We're back to this again cause I'm a pervert and he's a cutie, I can’t help it. Why do I find it adorable. Sexy. So pretty. And the different of versions of this?

Imagine being Bucky’s roommate and having to deal with different types of Buckys. A shy, soft Bucky is always in the softest pj’s, cotton t-shirts and warm sweaters. He is truly the sweetest, more precious thing on the planet, always making you a steaming cup of coffee in the morning and hot chocolate at night.

You don’t think much of it when you slip into his room to return the hoodie you stole and you all but faint when you see him practically starfish on the bed, soft snores slipping past his lips, the bedside lamp still on along with the book his was reading half open on his chest but that wasn't what you were looking at cause-

You shouldn’t even be here, you should look away, you really should but it’s not your fault that he has the prettiest cock on full display with perfect, heavy balls in between plush thighs. You're not sure how someone so sweet and pure can look this sinful, nearly tearing the hoodie you're clutching onto the longer you wait by the door.

Idk why my mind went here but imagine he's soft but gets hard when he smells you. You're close enough in his room that your shampoo and something so distinctly you fills his senses. It's not his fault his senses are heightened. I mean imagine you see it happen. A cute little groan as all the blood rushes down between his legs, his cock now standing at full attention, stiff and begging. Leaking.

You're frozen on the spot, begging for your feet to move, just drop the hoodie and run, anything but no. He's still asleep, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his pulse starts to work a little faster, his hand coming down to soothe the ache, his book slipping off his chest.

You should definitely leave now, it's too intimate, you can't be here when he-

"mph" His sleepy movements are barely coordinated as he gives his cock a squeeze, his cheeks getting pinker by the second. He rolls over with his face now buried into the pillow, pressing his hips against the mattress for some relief.

I can't deal.

Innocent Bucky having a wet dream over you.

Innocent Bucky making a mess because of you.

Innocent Bucky acting normal around you the next morning, placing a steaming mug of tea in front of you while you stutter a thank you and he says you're welcome doll, like he always does.

Innocent Bucky still too shy to tell you that he jerks his cock off to you more times than you can count. That he adores you too much, he'd never be so crass to make a move on his roommate. He's still working up the courage to ask you on a date. Till then he's gonna fuck his fist and hump his bed and think of all the ways he wishes you were naked with him, your legs around his waist while he pounds you, filling you up while you scream his name-

-

Fuck boy Bucky shows himself off without a care in the world. You start to wonder if the man owns anything else aside from a few slutty pairs of boxer brief's. He's always manspreading and it's hard to act like it's an inconvenience when he's built like that. That being said, it's not like you've seen all of him. He leaves little to the imagination but it's not like he walked around naked.

You'd never openly admit you were a little curious.

You find out he's put your mug on the highest shelf again and you swear he does it on purpose just to mess with you. You grumble, ready to tell him off, walking right into his bedroom, his full legal name right at the tip of your tongue-

"Fuck-"

His chest rises and falls along with his soft snores, one arm propped under his head while the other is half one his chest. His thighs were spread apart without a care in the world and not a single piece of clothing covered his body, bed sheets also tossed aside.

Apparently the serum made him run hot.

Every single bit of him is on display, the only thing he's wearing are his pretty silver dog tags. You freeze, blinking, your tongue now tied, you were so annoyed with him and now-

"Y'like what you see angel?" His raspy voice makes you yelp as he keeps his eyes closed but the smirk that makes its way to his lips lets you know he's more than awake now. You have no idea when he woke up or realized you were there but you can't get your feet to move, voice caught in your throat.

He doesn't even bother trying to cover up, unbothered at the state you're seeing him in.

Imagine this cocky fuck going as far as giving his cock a lazy tug and he can definitely smell how wet you are. He knows you're getting wetter.

"Need something baby, cause I gotta take care of this or I won't fall asleep" He cocks an eyebrow, nodding down to his hard cock before looking back at you. He's not going to tell you yet that he'd been pining after you with the most desperate crush. That he keeps those mugs up high on purpose so you have to call him to get it for you.

"I-I

"Don't get all shy on me now princess, better lock the door on your way out unless you're gonna stand there and watch?" He gives himself another lazy tug, this one followed by a groan.

Fuckboy Bucky who loves the way you look like a deer caught in headlights.

Fuckboy Bucky who strokes his cock while you watch.

Fuckboy Bucky who lets out a deep, raspy, "Fuck baby, just c'mere" when he hears a desperate whimper slip past your lips.

Fuckboy Bucky who gets you naked with him, not wasting a second to get inside your pussy.

Fuckboy Bucky who runs his mouth too much and mumbles an unconscious "Fuck, i love you" when he starts to cum.

and cum.

and fucking cum.

Fuckboy Bucky who confesses his feelings.

Anyway.

Naked Bucky in bed.

That's all I want.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

I saw your post about Rafe and Reader on a family vacation, and I liked it! So could you maybe do another part to that, like maybe they are at the beach or shopping etc and Rafe and Reader are being really touchy etc?

thank youuuuuu

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Reqest: more rafe + family shenanigans

Warnings: Rafe being inappropriate, no smut,

—

‘’There you are!’’ Wheezie exclaimed the moment you and Rafe strolled into the cabin, twenty-seven minutes behind the rest of the family. ‘’We’ve been back for almost half an hour. Where did you go?’’

‘’We got lost,’’ Rafe said coolly, taking a long sip from his water bottle, as if it was no big deal.

Beside her, Sarah wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms and tilted her head, giving the two of you a pointed look. ‘’You got lost?’’ she repeated, her tone full of doubt.

You nodded, stepping in to back Rafe up. ‘’That’s on me. My lace came undone, and Rafe stopped and waited for me, but when we tried to catch up to you we took a wrong turn. Luckily we found our way back.’’ 

Rafe glanced at you, impressed by how you could lie on the spot so well. You even sprinkled some truth. You did take a wrong turn, but it wasn’t an accident. 

Being younger — and far more innocent — Wheezie was easier to fool with your lies. But Sarah wasn’t stupid, and neither was Ward, who was standing behind the kitchen counter and prepping for the barbecue tonight. He knew his son too well to be easily deceived. 

‘’Do you need help with the vegetable, Mr. Cameron?’’ you asked, your tone light and polite as you moved closer to the counter. It was an attempt to shift the conversation, redirect the attention away from your little detour.

Ward glanced up, giving you a small smile in thanks. ‘’Sure,’’ he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the cutting board. ‘’You can chop these carrots and the bell peppers.” 

You slid into place, picking up the knife and getting started. 

‘’I’m gonna go shower,’’ Rafe declared. He came up to you and kissed the side of your face, his hand lingering on the small of your back. ‘’You’re welcome to join if you get bored with the carrots and bell peppers.’’ 

Sarah wrinkled her nose, having unfortunately heard. ‘’You’re disgusting.’’ 

He didn’t say anything, but you could feel his smirk behind you. 

‘’Rafe, come on. Wheezie’s here…’’ Ward reprimanded tiredly for the umpteenth time. 

Fortunately, the younger Cameron had her nose deep in her book and didn’t pay attention to what Rafe had said. 

You were good for Rafe, but your relationship was very physical. And with that came Rafe’s unfiltered mouth — much to his family’s dismay. They were happy for him, but they could do without the constant smacking and grabbing of your ass or any other non-PG display of affection.  

‘’What? I just want to save water, like you said we should. The planet and all,’’ he defended, playing the innocent card and talking out of his ass.

Unfortunately for him, Sarah didn’t buy it. Rafe never cared about the environment. 

‘’I’ve been doing good things to help lately. We even stopped using con—’’

‘’Rafe!’’ you cut before he could finish, your cheeks flaming up.

—

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[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[ambros1an]

Hsr characters in a Soulmate au

warnings: sunday backstory, implied Gopher Wood being a bad father (Sunday), implied stellaron hunter Sunday, discrimination (aventurine, not said by reader), debt (aventurine), firefly backstory, 2.0-2.2 penacony spoilers

characters: Sunday, Aventurine, Firefly

a/n: it's so obvious who's my #1 fav in this

Sunday: writing

Throughout the world, everyone had the ability to communicate to their soulmates through writing on their own skin.

Sunday doesn't remember much about his childhood. His home-world was entrenched in war. The only constant in his life was his own sister, and the strange symbols on his wrists.

After being taken in by Gopher Wood, he would be taught that those symbols were words, and they came from his Soulmate. Excitedly, he'd take to the books to communicate with the person on the other end. At first it was little doodles, then broken sentences, and then full on conversations.

He wrote about his sister, the charmony dove, music and literature. One day, the writing stopped. You'd jot down messages in concern, so worried to the point your hand writing looked like illegible scribbles. He never did tell you his name after all.

After years, finally you got a response.

'Meet me at Dreamflux Reef, here, at 8 pm.' You couldn't help but notice that your soulmate's penmanship had improved after all these years. The once poor excuse for cursive wasn't just printed letters attached to one another, but font-like in it's neatness with broad loops. Despite the brief words written on your skin, your stomach rolled. Was it nerves or excitement?

There was a little hand-drawn map, taking up a portion of your forearm, with an 'X' on the location. You approached the streetlight ahead of you. It was five minutes before 8 pm, at the exact area he told you to be at.

There was somebody there. In the darkness, it was hard to see. The streetlight offered little brightness. Just a faint glow upon whoever it was. They were clearly halovian, a light bounced off their halo, providing a shine in your line of sight. Contrarily, they stood in dark clothes. And seemed to be fidgeting...as if waiting for someone.

As if on cue, the figure straightens up and turns to look at you. Those grey feathers and yellow eyes were unmistakable.

"Mr. Sunday?" The man hasn't been seen since the Order was chased out of Penacony.

"I didn't expect you to show up early," Sunday gives a halfhearted chuckle, then he calls your name, "you are them, right?"

"Yes, but-" You look towards your arm where the writing is located.

He sighs and shakes his head, "I...I'm the one who's been writing to you all these years." Sunday lifts his sleeve, on it is your reply to him, asking where he's been, and saying you'd be there.

Your soulmate was Sunday. The former head of the Oak Family. An MIA criminal. But also your childhood friend, who you never met.

There was so much to say, but the only thing you could think to ask was, "Why? You've been gone for so long..."

"I'm sorry. My fa-the dream master, prevented me from reaching out to you. He wanted me to be 'the chosen one' for The Order. I'm sorry that it took so long for me to-"

Gently, you put your arms around him.

"I was so worried. Please, talk to me. About everything."

He would, but now, all he wanted to do was rest in your embrace.

Aventurine: eye color

Everyone has one of their eyes the same eye color as their soulmate’s, until they meet.

It’s something that’s so arbitrary and meaningless to most people. There are only so many colors in the universe after all. But not yours.

“Sigonian.” Disdain.

“Poor child.” Pity.

“Whoever your soulmate is, you’re better off not meeting them.” Disgust.

Sigonia. A far off planet somewhere in the galaxy. Lightyears away. Where a people known for their unique eyes resides. Or used to reside.

Looking into the mirror, your right eye looks back at you, it’s a purple tinged with blue. You wonder what your soulmate’s would’ve looked like. You’ve long since accepted that any possible soulmate would’ve died years ago. Not even baseless rumors could settle any feelings of loss.

Knock Knock

Debt collectors.

The gentle knocks turn into bangs. The person standing outside takes a full walk around your house, peering inside any windows in search of you. The IPC was relentless when it came to debt. They'd make constant calls, tell your neighbors, blackmail their debtors, tack on more and more money, all to collect as much money as possible.

Just as your nerves calm down your phone rings. It's from a family member.

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm calling from the IPC." That's not them. The voice is male with a smoothness to his voice. He disguised his number.

Just when you're about to hang up, "Don't hang up yet, I have a proposition for you." He instructs you to open the door.

You follow his instructions. Each step you make, the pit in your stomach gets wider. The door creeks as you turn the knob.

Two purple eyes, with a blue ring around the pupil. Sigonian. His eyes mirror your right one. But, within his reflection you see your own two regular colored eyes. Wait-

The man's mouth drops in shock, but instantly pulls into a grin. He hangs up the call.

"I see what's going on here. This time, the charge is on me," Aventurine insists. He's covered in designer clothing from head to toe, with golden rings lining each finger. You know right then and there that anything you say will get you nowhere. You're just glad he seems to be on your side.

"...Thank you."

"Mmm, but I never said it was without recompense." Shit. "In return, I'll provide you with a better place to live. This place is a bit...run down," he takes a glance around your home, and you can't help but feel embarrassed.

"Thank you, Aventurine, but that just sounds like I'll be in your debt."

He waves you off. "Debt? No, friend. What kind of partner would I be to let my soulmate fend for themselves?"

Firefly : timer

Every person across the galaxy has a timer leading up to the meeting of their soulmate.

4,000 years. Approximately 35,040,000 hours.

That was what Firefly had.

When she first awoke in her incubation chamber, it felt like she could wait forever. Their purpose was to devote their entire being to Glamoth. She did not dream. Not of the warmth of someone’s hands in theirs. Not of someone telling her that she was more. That was not a right of a weapon.

Yet, under the ashen sky and fields of smoke, not a single light shone through. Glamoth would never see the sun again. That was no place for a firefly.

For the last time she broke all protocol.

They unfurled their wings and chased the light. Finally, Unit AR-26710’s heart fluttered for a purpose that wouldn’t destroy.

24 hours = 1,440 minutes = 86,400 seconds.

They’d be landing in Penacony soon. She looked at her wrist, where the countdown was located. 1 day. She could feel her heart beat in her throat; she was so nervous.

Love. Kafka taught her that emotion. She’d never felt it before. Not that way.

Her eyes never left the window.

5 minutes = 300 seconds.

299, 298, 297, 296… Thinking in seconds was faster than minutes. It made time go faster. Minutes felt like eternity.

120, 119, 118, 117… Were they standing in the same area? Could she be looking at them right now? How far apart were they? Would they be tall or short? Would they be the time to put milk before cereal? Would they even like her?

10, 9, 8, 7… She watched the time tick away. She didn’t dare to look up least she burn up from the inside. It felt like her propulsion accidentally activated.

4, 3, 2, 1—

A figure crashed into her from behind. “I’m so sorry!”

0

She turned to look, and there you were. Yet, there was no celebration like she imagined. No hugging. No holding each other in an embrace. Instead, your face was pulled into grimace. Your arm gently interlocking with hers. Your posture was tight and hunched. All the signs of an uneasy person. Two Bloodhound members trailed after you.

“Did we do something wrong?” Firefly moved to stand in front of you

“That’s classified information,” one of the bloodhound guards say, gaze shifting off to look at you.

“I really didn’t do anything.” You look at Firefly with a pleading look.

The girl looks back at you and nods. She grabs your hand, the one the countdown is located on and charges for the alleys.

You hear the slap of their shoes against the concrete. The hurried pants of the guards. The footsteps behind you get louder and closer. In spite of the danger, all you can think about is the girl whose fingers are intertwined with yours. It brings a rush to your cheeks that only a breeze can soothe.

When your soulmate rounds the corner of the alley, her warm hand laced with yours turn a cold metallic. Her other hand placed around the small of your back in support. The suit of the armor is cold against your skin, but there’s a heat that radiates from the chest of the mech. It soothes your nerves. The lack of heat from her hand interlocked with yours may be replaced, but it was welcome.

When she unwraps her wings from behind her suit, a warm air erupts around you. Suddenly, you’re in the sky. The wind ruffles your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when it dawns on you that you’re in your soulmate’s arms.

‘How would the other hunters react if they knew she blew her cover? Kafka was definitely going to tease her."

a/n #2: aven's was so hard to write. he feels like such a sleazebag in this but its only because he's in work mode I promise !! I want to do more of these bc it was fun.

[daisukitoo]

I am 40% of the way through Gideon the Ninth. There are no plot spoilers below.

What is refreshing about Gideon as a protagonist and POV character is that she is a jock. She fundamentally does not care about all this nerd shit going on, i.e. the entire setting and plot. She misses exposition, background, and other explanations because, as one person who starts explaining how magic works observes, "right, you're not even pretending to pay attention."

Most writers are writers, so this is not a common perspective for a book to hold. Plot-relevant details can be sprinkled freely because Gideon's narrative will see them and not even shrug before moving on.

GIdeon lacks the emotional and mental maturity to be a good person. She is not evil as such, just apparently unaware of the existence of moral implications. When we meet her, her motivation is to get out of this hick town and join the military, because fighting is glorious and cool and this hick town sucks. She likes weapons and fighting and working out and hot chicks. She fantasizes about leading military charges that bring death to new worlds and fuel necromantic rituals because that would mean hot goth babes would see how cool she is and be grateful. She does not dwell on the thought of worlds that apparently have never known death and her plan to look cool leading imperial invasions and killing enough people to fuel necromantic rituals. She does dwell on the thought of that prissy bitch from her high school having to see how cool and hot she is now that she's a war hero who gets medals and hot babes.

You as the reader can be carried along very quickly by this incurious perspective that does not think twice about things. You as the reader may want Gideon to backtrack and dwell on something or explore it further. The weirdness of the setting is more or less swept under the rug by Gideon's not noticing it. 98.5% of the children on a planet gone (died?), but Gideon doesn't devote a second sentence to boring backstory like that. What was that about galactic conquest, in a setting where the main weapons are swords and necromantic magic? How little advancement has there been in technology or magic in 10,000 years, despite a possibly continuous civilization that whole time? Or some references to what sound like dark ages? Damned if Gideon cares or even notices.

The necromancers are dying to talk shop about their powers. Gideon rolls her eyes and wants to talk to that woman about the cool flip she did, because Gideon wants to look cool doing flips during fights and have girls notice how cool she looks. Also her biceps. Gideon cannot pay attention for a full sentence on necromantic magic, but she does have a half-page to dwell on girls noticing how big her biceps are.

[76l0]

i probably complained about this exact content before or maybe not i will say it over n over u kno i sound repetitive cuz im repeating myself

ppl post shit like thiiiiis and then also ppl post shit like LONELINESS KILLS mebbe none of the ppl are posting both of those but idc both of those friggin suck i just want [redacted cuz its embarrassing but its not even like that]

(umm no offense meant to the user whos blog i linked LOL idk her but it just came up on my dash)

[withleeknow]

Lee Minho/Know + “quit it or i’ll bite.” + “do it. i dare you.” + suggestive

Thank you if you take this request!!! Up to you who's doing the biting :)

feline tendencies. (m)

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, suggestive (probably a teeny bit more than suggestive), minors dni; practically dry humping, biting kink??, mimo's pecs (yes they deserve their own warning) word count: 0.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

"quit it or i'll bite," minho grumbles, wriggling away from you in an attempt to ward your paws off him. "jesus, what's gotten into you?"

"i wish you would," you mutter, crawling toward him again to lay your head on him once more. the man is reading his book, just trying to enjoy his saturday afternoon and yet there's a menace quite literally in his lap, making grabby hands at him. disrupting his peace and quiet, though that's not really anything new.

"insatiable," minho tsks, his fingers carding through your hair, lightly massaging your scalp as he makes an effort to appease you. his attention is then promptly returned to the pages in front of him.

that's how your weekends are usually spent - lounging about, being lazy together, relaxing by each other's side.

you're just acting up today.

your twitchy fingers have a mind of their own. they dance up his stomach, over his abs until they reach their desired destination.

you place your entire hand over one of his pecs and squeeze, giggling to yourself when you feel his skin under your palm. this earns you a glare though it doesn't faze you.

minho may be scary to other people, but never when he's with you. it's just physically impossible, even if he wanted to.

"seriously, what is with you?"

you give his chest another tender squeeze. "boobs," you say simply. you think that's a pretty good explanation.

maybe you're no better than a man after all.

so it started a couple of weeks ago.

minho rarely skips going to the gym and while you are eternally grateful for it, you must admit that sometimes it drives you a little crazy. you respect his commitment, the consistency of his workout regimen (this could never be you, but that's beside the point); it's one of the traits that you admire most about him - he sees things through and adheres to the schedule that he makes for himself. minho doesn't half-ass the things he does or ditches them when he's feeling a little lazy (unlike you).

however...

it's this same dedication to his routine that's been sending you into a frenzy. lately, your boyfriend has been focused on working a particular area of his body and honestly? it's making you spiral more than you have ever spiraled.

chest. who knew it would be your downfall?

when minho came home last evening straight from the gym, you swear you almost passed out the second he walked through the door. his pecs looked especially good even under his shirt that you practically salivated, shamelessly ogling him like a hungry wolf.

minho sighs as if he's at his wits' end with you, though this time, he lets you continue feeling him up. "you wouldn't like it if i did the same thing to you, now would you?"

"actually, i think i would like that very much."

"i will bite you, no joke."

you have no doubt that he actually would. but again, that isn't something that you would been entirely opposed to either. you might be one of the only people on planet earth who can handle lee minho.

"your feline tendencies are jumping out," you comment, your hand still on his chest, alternating between playful pokes and full on kneading his pecs like dough. "do it. i dare you."

minho bares his teeth at you in the cat-like way that he sometimes does. it's cute, oh so cute.

before you know it, the book is haphazardly flung onto the carpeted floor (bookmark be damned) and your boyfriend is forcing a yelp from your lips when he practically pounces on you. your head is no longer on his lap; instead, he's got you pinned underneath him, his hips flushed against yours.

you can feel him through his sweats. delectable.

minho leans in until his lips ghost over yours. "stop testing me," he murmurs.

"stop tempting me," you shoot back.

"but i'm not though?"

"your boobs are."

"my god." he lowers his head to your neck, his soft lips brushing against your exposed skin as he chuckles. "that's not what they are."

"they might as well be. they're gonna be bigger than mine one day."

the sound coming from his mouth morphs into a laugh, airy and completely defeated by your words. "god, you're just so..."

"i'm so what?"

"weird," minho says.

you smile. "perfect for you then, aren't i?"

"mhmm."

then he's closing the gap between his mouth and your neck, lightly sucking on your skin as he rolls his hips against your body, spreading your legs open so he could slot between them more comfortably, so he could fit against you perfectly.

"oh," you gasp when he ruts forward, presses himself into the warmth between your thighs, over your shorts and his sweats. you weave your fingers through his hair to keep his head close to your neck as if he has any intention on moving elsewhere. minho continues to kiss and lick at your skin, nibbling on it gently in alternation.

"i thought..." you breathe out heavily, your body starting to move against his too, "thought you promised to bite me."

"promised? it was more of a threat, wasn't it?"

"same difference."

you can't see him, but you can just bet that minho is rolling his eyes. then, you feel his teeth graze the skin of your neck like he's deciding where the best spot would be. he presses his hard pecs tightly against yours as his mouth closes in. you almost fall apart right then and there.

well, this certainly awakened something in you, didn't it?

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 palindrome969

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 20.01.2024]

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

slowly, i'm going down

access full masterlist here!

pairing: song mingi x reader (no pronouns mentioned, reader has female anatomy)

au/genre: college!au, tutor!reader, mingi does not give a shit about studying, smut

word count: 4816 words

warnings: voice kink (AHHHHH), oral and fingering (reader receiving), reader is a little mean, kitchen sex, anime references, cringe, a joke about adhd, dirty talk... um..., oh right Mingi has a big dick (wbk), everyone's a little silly, unprotected sex (boo ‼️👎🏻), premature ejaculation almost, creampie, cum eating... (not reader...), i think that's it. NOT PROOF READ YET!!

synopsis: mingi hates studying, but what he hates way more than that is being perceived as stupid. what mingi loves on the other hand, are pretty people getting flustered about his voice

or

mingi shows you exactly what he hates and loves.

a/n: i was almost ready when i saw this tiktok and it completely blocked my mind because it's SO FUNNY, but at the same time, it's men being dudes, dudes being bros, and that kind of made it hard for me to continue. i apologize for the 24h delay ���

taglist: @byuntrash101 @goquokka @ashwoodforest @choisansnotsolegalwife

Mingi is not one to sit there and look at books. Or papers. Or anything that doesn't move and feed his brain with bright colors and his ears with noises, really. He prefers to vibe, and studying is definitely not the vibe. Sadly, studying is a part of his life as a university student. Yes, he chose this path for himself and yes, he was aware that it would involve studying. Still, now that it's really happening and is not just an obstacle to overcome in the far, far future, Mingi kind of wishes he'd chosen something else to do with his life. It's just exhausting, why would he waste the precious time he has left on planet earth on something that doesn't get the serotonin floating? He's pretty sure he has some undiagnosed ADHD simmering up there, but who is he to judge that? He's certainly not studying to become a doctor or whatever.

Anyway, given the fact that Mingi doesn't like to study, he's not had much experience with it in the first place. He's barely gotten his way through school, but uni is a different level. Hence, he needs someone to 1) teach him how to study and 2) make him study, or rather: have a judging eye on him while he is supposed to study, so the fear of being called out on it may light a fire under his ass and force him to bury his nose between the stinky pages of an old library book (on that note: he also needed someone to show him how to check out books from the library).

And that's why you are here, every Thursday afternoon, sitting at the sad excuse of a kitchen counter slash dining table in Mingi's scandalously expensive apartment given its size, growling next to him every time you catch him analyzing the bumps on his wallpapers instead of the letters on the pages.

Mingi generally likes you, even though you are a bit scary, he has to admit, or maybe that's the appeal. You are polite, but you have a way of looking at him that makes him feel like he's getting mansplained by your eyes. Your taunting gaze on him makes him feel small, and he doesn't like that at all. It makes him feel like all these years of drinking milk to make him stand at the 1.84m he is at today were in vain. You always have that one expression on your face, and maybe that's just Mingi's subconsciousness telling him to STUDY HARD FOR GOD'S SAKE, but in the way your eyebrows would scrunch together just the tiniest bit, he reads: God, he is fucking stupid.

He doesn't know which (since he did not pay attention in biology class, nor is he even sure they teach that in biology class) chemical in his brain suffers an allergic reaction every time you look at him like that, but there has to be one. There is nothing that Mingi hates more than being called stupid. Well, except for studying, maybe.

Call him lazy, call him a scalawag, call him witty for being able to get through all of school without reading a single one of the set books if you must, but do not call him stupid.

The only problem is that you haven't, well, called him stupid per se. It's just how Mingi interprets your stares. Also, he desperately needs you because he doubts there will be many other contestants that are okay with getting paid as little as you are (which is all Mingi has left by the end of a month full of Pokémon trading cards). So Mingi just has to sit back and relax and simply take it because, apparently, that's what he gets for not studying his entire life.

A loud ringing wakes Mingi from his peaceful afternoon nap - one that he has really earned this time around, he managed to look through his study notes for a full 20 minutes during his lunch break!

Disoriented, Mingi raises his head to make out his location and what year he is in. It rings again. Slowly, Mingi recognizes the shrill sound as his door bell. He slowly gets up, a quick glance in the mirror tells him that his hair is an absolute mess (which is really a crowning achievement given his buzz cut length) and he has imprint marks from his blanket all over his right cheek, but his sleepy mind doesn't even take it in. Mingi furrows his brows and shakes his head. Who would dare to disturb his peaceful slumber at this ungodly hour (4pm)?

The answer, of course, stands right in front of his door. With your arms crossed and the tip of your shoe drumming a dent into Mingi's "come in if you're a silly baka"-door mat, you raise an unimpressed brow at the sleepy shell of Mingi that blinks one eye after the other.

A few seconds pass until Mingi finally realizes who you are, and his mouth forms an 'o'-shape. Immediately after, he furrows his brows once again, his body slumping forward a bit because: why on God's green earth are you here? Then, it hits him like a truck, the aftermath of the collision blowing the remaining sleep out of his eyes: it's Thursday afternoon!

"Sorry," he says and sheepishly scratches the back of his head, then steps aside to let you enter.

"It's fine, it's only freezing cold outside," you stare at him before stepping in, shudder as you kick your shoes off, slip into Mingi's guest slippers and hurry inside. Mingi's brain does not register the sarcasm drenching your words.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" You ask as Mingi finally manages to follow you into the kitchen. You sit, take out a few sheets of paper from your backpack, then look over questioningly as Mingi has not even moved a millimeter, but instead started yawning like his life depends on it. Your eyes drift down his body. "Or maybe after you've put on some pants?"

Mingi freezes, looks down to confirm that, indeed, he's not wearing pants, but Naruto boxer shorts, then covers his crotch with his hands and buzzes off into his room.

Minutes later, Mingi reenters the kitchen, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips that, yes, he checked twice if he's wearing them the right way around. As mentioned, he is generally unable to properly focus on his studies, but today, it's exceptionally bad. Of course, you'd notice.

"Mingi, are you okay?" There's worry in your eyes – a sight Mingi has not seen. Ever.

"I'm fine, just tired," he mumbles, eyes unfocusing as he stares ahead.

"Yeah, you are? Why?" Mingi's tired mind cannot question why you suddenly seem so interested in his well-being. He also doesn't put any meaning into why you're scooting closer to him, your forearm accidentally touching his.

"I studied during my lunch break," Mingi informs you, a little, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something tingles inside his chest as you carefully place your hand on his arm. As he looks over at you, you smile at him, and he notices your gaze flickering down to his lips for a second.

Hold on. Mingi's mind suddenly snaps out of its hazy state and works on overdrive. He might be the type to vibe, the type to just let things play out, but he'd be damned if he didn't notice when someone likes him like that. He suddenly notices the way you started creating skin-on-skin contact with him, the way you want to be closer to him, eyeing him even more than you ever did before. Just... why? Is it because you saw him in his Anime panties?

A few moments pass, and you sit back, then pat your pencil against the book to remind him of the reason why you're actually here. Mingi groans, admittedly a little dramatically and unreasonably erotic, brushing a hand through his hair to flex his biceps right in front of your face. You seem unimpressed.

"Well, fuck me," he chuckles deeply, the rasp in his voice more evident than usual due to his nap. It's then when you tense, he notices from the corner of his eye. Oh. Okay. So it's the voice?

"I'm really glad you're tutoring me, you know?" He purrs, throwing in a little praise to get you extra bothered, and you simply breathe out nervously.

"Heh, no worries," you brush him off. Mingi decides that, for now, he's made you suffer enough and keeps quiet. Instead, he focusses on his studies, although he's already planning his next step to terrorize you with the sultry rasp his vocal cords are gifted with.

"Mingi, focus-"

"No, I get what I have to do, the contents just won't stay in my head." Mingi reasons, his voice unusually, but not by chance, high pitched, eyebrows scrunched as to why the hell he has to do this before doing that only to do whatever next when it wasn't like this for the other exercise he had to do minutes prior. He is not stupid (!), he does understand how this works. It's just that it doesn't make sense, and that is surely not his fault.

"Are you stup-" you start, but shut your mouth before you're even able to call him the dumbest fucker you've ever crossed paths with. Mingi inhales sharply. Oh, oh, you're lucky he is patient, and you're lucky he knows that as soon as he growled a few dirty words into your ear, you'd slam your upper body on the counter without regards of caution, pushing your panties down under your skirt and begging him to take you right there - or at least, that's what he imagines.

Yes, Mingi is super patient, that's just what comes with the entire vibe-personality package, so he does not dump your cute sorry ass on his baka-door mat, but simply closes his pen, lays it on the table and looks at you. A fabulous idea plops into his mind.

"God," he groans as deeply as he can, stretching his arms over his head, "I guess I'm just a little" - he throws in a little moany sigh - "a little distracted today."

"A-are you?" You nod, biting your lip subconsciously. Mingi looks at you without moving his head. "Why?"

"Well, just stuff, you know?" Mingi enjoys how the rumble in his voice makes his throat and - obviously - you feel. "There's just a lot, going on. Like big... big stuff. Stuff that just keeps coming and coming, in and out, just like that. Ugh, I wish I could just let all this frustration out you know, all this pent up stuff." He watches for your reaction.

Unmistakably, your hand holding your own pen in a relaxed manner mere seconds ago now desperately grasps the poor objects until your knuckles turn white, your breathing is uneven and loud as if you'd just ran the entire way from Mingi's place to the next convenience store (seriously, why the fuck is he paying so much for this godforsaken apartment?). And - Mingi's favorite reaction to him ever: you're pressing your thighs together.

Oh, how Mingi loves himself a good reaction like this.

"Big stuff, huh?" Your voice trembles as your nervous eyes search for his. "H-how big?"

"Oh, really big. Just really fucking big," Mingi confirms with a slight smirk. He loves how you just fold easily like that. One second, you're over there feeling superior on your little throne of knowledge that Mingi lacks, and the next, you're making a little mess in your panties just because Mingi so much as spoke. Absolutely incredible. People should start calling him "the rizzler".

"I think-" you clear your throat, "I think I should head home then?"

Mingi smiles to himself as soon as you turn away to pack your stuff into your backpack. His hands automatically reach out to play with his pen, his long, slender fingers toying with the object, inevitably drawing your attention to the movements. "Already?"

"Mhm." You stare a second too long, gulp, then hastily stuff your belongings into the big compartment of the backpack, Mingi listens to the sweet melody of stressed breathing and papers crunching.

As amused as he is, he decides that it is time for the big reveal.

"Keep it in your pants, baby" he looks over, his eyebrow halfway raised, and stops rocking back and forth and fiddling with the pencil as you freeze in your tracks and stop packing. "What?"

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. "So you know?" You manage to squeak.

Mingi smugly pushes his tongue into his cheek. He loves how you're basically vibrating out of nervousness. "Oh, I know."

You sigh, hands finally letting go of your stuff and motioning defeat. He wonders what's going on in your mind right now. Are you afraid he's going to call you out? That he's going to make fun of you? That he's going to call you a needy slut and send you home? Or are you wondering if he's going to give you what you want? Mingi loves this game.

That's why he decides to make your situation a little more miserable.

"I also know that you think I'm stupid," he explains calmly, trying his best to no longer show any excitement, smugness, or any emotion whatsoever on his sharp facial features to really confuse you. Well, that's what you're getting for (almost) calling The Song Mingi stupid. Just a little payback, is all. He's not going to go so far and make you cry. No, no, Mingi can't handle when people cry, much less so if it's because of him.

Nevertheless, your breath hitches. Oh, you're fully aware that he didn't like you calling him that at all. Oh, how the gears are turning behind your forehead as you're trying to figure out what's going on, and what's going to go on in the next minutes.

"Thought so," Mingi deadpans. Yeah, that's right. Look how smart he is now! Super smart! He's got you all figured out. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you feel - and, fuck, does this feel like redemption - stupid.

"I'm sorry-" you start, back facing Mingi's form, but Mingi is not here for it. Mingi has gotten what Mingi wants. Mingi feels as powerful as he imagines a lion to feel, like, every day.

"Dumb fucks good," he simply states, just putting it out there, throwing it into the room for you to do with that statement whatever you like. Mingi's mind is already satisfied, his ego stroked because he's just proven that he isn't dumb. Although... he wouldn't mind a little diddling because, if he's being honest, you're hot as fuck and seeing you react to him in this way- well, he's also just a man!

"What?" You probably think you must've terribly misheard him as you whip your head around to face the confident Mingi smugly leaned back in his chair. Your eyes meet his, and he is sure that you now realize that, no, you definitely did not mishear him. That was exactly what he said.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi feels your presence on his lap, a last final look into his eyes before he feels your lips against his, desperately chewing away the remaining air separating his spit from yours. It's messy, lips colliding, too much teeth and tongue, but it's all raw and desperate. Mingi gets the vibes that you may have had some pent up want for him, but that's honestly the last clear thought he can muster before you grind your hips against his.

A deep groan escapes Mingi's lips, inevitably echoing against your own quiet gasps that just turn louder with every movement of your hips, your hands frantically trying to touch him everywhere at once to the point where he has to grab your arms and pull you back. Your eyes, wide. And confused, but somehow lidded and hazy at the same time struggle to take in Mingi in front of you. Yes, Mingi is aware of the effect of his siren eyes.

For another moment, he simply enjoys seeing how destroyed you look already, but honestly, there is just one thing on his mind.

"I'm gonna eat you out," he informs, waiting for you to nod frantically, whine and scramble off his lap for him to keep his promise. And you do, allowing Mingi to grab your waist with his large hands and lift you onto the counter. Of course, he can't resist getting another taste of your lips, almost losing himself in the soft pillows that frame your pretty mouth, but the hardness creating a tent in his sweatpants reminds him that he should possible attend a little lower.

Hence, he kisses his way over your cheek towards your jaw, then over your neck and down your collarbones. Mingi is not sure what your opinions on love bites are, so he just hopes you can remember him being right here and here and here even without visual proof, he can save that for next time.

Okay, Mingi admittedly was not able to hold himself back completely, his teeth only gently nipping at your skin on his way down. He simply hopes for the best, but your sounds seem to imply that you do not mind him one bit. Instead, you sound as if you wouldn't mind him taking a few bites more.

Impatient as you are, you assist Mingi in pushing your shirt out of the way, the straps of your bra automatically falling down your shoulders to reveal more of you to his hungry eyes.

And as much as Mingi would like to spend hours playing with your chest, he keeps it down to a minimum, kissing the soft flesh while gently pushing the remaining material out of the way for better access. His lips wrap around a nipple, his hands meanwhile busy with massaging the other and carefully holding your waist. God, Mingi loves boobs. But he might love the way your fingers comb through his hair and gently pull on it a bit more even.

Finally, the time has come, and Mingi kneels down on the floor. Pushing your skirt up, hands caressing your thighs, he creates eye contact with your eyes glazed over by lust and want. It doesn't even faze him that he hasn't cleaned these floors in weeks, honestly, he is in so deep he probably wouldn't even realize if the stove was on, lighting his study notes on fire.

He wants to tease you more, make you wait, maybe make you beg even, but he just feels too hungry to keep waiting. His fingers hook into the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs as quickly as possible before spreading your legs and groaning in anticipation.

Throwing your thighs over his shoulders, he pulls you forward a little further, chuckling as you almost lose balance and smile at him. Okay, maybe Mingi feels a little tingle, and maybe that is not a horny tingle, but that's something to worry about later, if ever. Right now, he has a mission: dive in.

So that's what he does, obviously, planting a careful kiss right on your clit to wait for your reaction. And you do not disappoint, gasping slightly at the first sensation before getting louder and bolder the more Mingi tastes you.

His tongue gently parts your folds, getting a first taste of your juices. You basically cry out as his tongue prods at your hole, carefully easing its way inside to caress your walls.

Automatically, your hands fly to his hair, gently pulling at the roots to find a way to ground yourself, the feeling assumingely overwhelming, Mingi thinks, not to brag, but-

Mingi's eyes roll back at a particularly hard tug at his hair, paired with the way your hips grind closer until you're basically riding his face. Fuck, how are you so hot? Mingi's fingers grab hard at your thighs, loving the way the soft flesh feels in his hands.

To experiment a little more and, first and foremost, to get more rewarding reactions out of you, Mingi lets his mouth wander back up to your clit, gently sucking the nub between his lips, his tongue carefully flicking as not to overwhelm you. At the same time, a fingers sneaks its way over to circle your entrance.

Your throat coughs out a broken moan at this, your eyes switching between looking at Mingi's eyes and his mouth, and closing completely. Mingi loves taking in the pleasure written all over your face. He might not admit it, but he loves this kind of praise much more than verbal praise because your body really can't lie. He can literally taste how good he is at this.

He finally pushes his finger inside, loving how the wetness and muscle contractions are basically pulling him deeper and deeper until past his second knuckle. He feels around a little, trying to find the spots that seem to appeal to you the most, watching carefully how you react to each and every flick of his wrist.

Although, he feels that one finger is not enough to prepare you for the rest of him, so he adds another, massaging them into the spot that seems to be making you see stars with the way you grip his hair even tighter and mutter something he interprets as a warning that you're about to cum.

Keeping his pace, he successfully sends you over the edge, letting you ride out your high on his tongue before removing his lips, only getting his fingers massage the last clenches out of you.

Looking up he realizes you look, respectfully, wrecked, with your chest heaving, your hair a little messy and your eyes hazy and glossy, parted lips asking for his. And who is he to deny them, as he leans in to allow you to taste yourself. You seem to like it.

Pulling back after a while, he looks at you. You look so happy and relaxed like he's never seen before. For some reason, it reminds him of the weight in his pants that he suddenly feels the need to inform you about.

"You make me so hard," Mingi says lowly, carefully taking your hand to prove it to you, "feel." It's more your hand guiding his with how fast you reach down to feel him, eager to touch the outline of him through the sweatpants. And as if you're getting paid to stroke Mingi's ego even more, you gasp at his size.

Mingi can't help but smirk, of course, who wouldn't?

"Big stuff, huh?" You repeat your words from earlier, but this time no longer nervous, but cheeky as you bite your lip playfully. Oh, how Mingi would love to make you choke on his dick right now, just a little, and in a loving matter, but he's honestly waited long enough and he really just needs to be in you right now. And besides, Mingi is more in his giving > receiving era.

Instead, he grins. And he feels like there is something more.

Impatiently, you tug at his pants, successfully moving them a millimeter. Mingi helps you push his pants further down until it pools around his ankles. You giggle.

Damnit, Mingi. Why couldn't you've changed your underwear? Mingi mentally scolds himself, a good amount of his previously earned smugness flying out the window. Instead, he gives you kind of a sheepish look.

"I don't mind," you assure, tugging at his anime boxers next, "it's actually relieving to be reminded that you're still the cute, dorky Mingi and are not possessed by a sex demon."

"Incubus," Mingi points out.

"I don't fucking care. Just get this hideous thing off and have sex with me!"

Mingi does not need to be told twice, although he makes a mental note to scold you later for calling the one and only Naruto printed on a piece of fabric shielding his balls from the outside world hideous.

"God, fuck," you let out, and Mingi chuckles at your reaction to his naked lower half, "come here. Please."

You pull him closer, wrap your legs around him and beg him with your eyes. Mingi wastes not another second, aligning himself with your hole and slowly pushing forwards. Your eyes roll back as he enters you, causing you to hold onto him for dear life as he inches inside, filling you completely.

God, must your walls hug him so perfectly? Must you be so unbelievably wet just for him? Must you make these sounds? Mingi feels like he doesn't want to be inside anyone else ever again.

"I feel like I don't want to inside anything else ever again."

How did that get out there?

You chuckle, and have the nerve to pinch his cheek, as if he wasn't balls deep buried inside you right now. "You're so cute."

Cute?!

Mingi will show you cute. He grabs your jaw, admittedly still gently, and makes you look at him as he pulls almost all the way out until his tip catches at your entrance. "Cute?" And he pushes in all the way all at once. You moan, the feeling too much, too intense for you to still keep your eyes open. Helplessly, you cling to Mingi's body as he repeats the action 4 more times before setting a steady rhythm, angling his hips in a way that should stimulate the spot you liked so much earlier.

With your mouth hanging open and your eyebrows scrunched, you look like the prettiest thing Mingi's ever seen. He wants to see you drool, watch you completely lose your mind over nothing else but his cock. At the same time, he is surprised how good it feels. Well, not surprised that it feels good, but that it feels abnormally good, like he's about to nut in the next minute or so. Hopefully, he's able to coax another high out of you before that.

"What was it that riled you up so much earlier? My voice?" He growls, and you as much as whimper in return. "Yeah, like it that my voice is so deep?" You nod pathetically. "Cute."

"Mingi- 's so good."

"Yeah, am I fucking you good?" Mingi grins and you nod weakly, struggling to keep your eyes open. Mingi really shouldn't be the one talking big because honestly, he feels like if u moan one more time, if ur walls clench around him one more time, he is going to lose it. Something about this entire situation is just super surreal to him, or maybe it's simply you that is the reason for his premature high that is coming for him with fast steps.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, kissing your cheek before whispering, "can I please cum inside?"

"Shit, y-yes," you confirm, nodding quickly as you fight your hardest battle to keep your eyes open, focused and on the man that's currently grinding his tip into your sweet spot. Mingi feels like he loves you.

Mingi also feels like he's loosing his grip on reality, which is why he grabs your hips harder than before, using his strength to really slam his hips into yours with force, drowning his thoughts with the sounds of your moans. There is nothing on his mind except for you, you, you, and the primal need to make you his.

"Please," he groans, not quite sure what he's begging for, but it doesn't really matter in the end, does it? All that matters is that Mingi's ears catch the way you're begging him to cum for you, to fill you up, to please, please finish inside. He is not going to deny you that wish.

His hips stutter, his mind goes numb as he feels his muscles tighten and contract, releasing deep inside you. The feeling spreads in his body, feeling high and happy with such a forceful orgasm like this one.

Everything after is just a blur in his mind, he just remembers realizing that you didn't cum a second time, and he wouldn't be Mingi if he kept it that way. That's why he found himself back on his knees seconds after pulling out, sucking your clit back into his mouth, tasting his own release that's threatening to drip out if it wasn't for his fast fingers pumping in and out of you to push you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until you do, orgasm fueled by the lewd action of Mingi eating his own cum out of you, he assumes. Somehow, you two end up in his bed after, mostly because Mingi is a cuddler, partly because Mingi is not able to let you go yet. Or ever. Who knows.

© 2023 YUTASBELLYBUTTONPIERCING all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works.

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret ☆

A MANDALORIAN SERIES MASTERLIST

[ COMPLETED ]

✩ a bodyguard!din x princess!reader fic ✩

series summary :

Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

18+ mdni

do you like kitschy, campy romance novels? if you're reading this, I hope so.

behind the scenes & chapter notes + other extras (spoilers) :

chapters 1-5

chapter 6-15

spotify playlists

Lysa & Elaine information

the bks screen adaption

bks q&a

bks what if's

reader is generally not described past being picked up a few times, and having hair long enough to be put up

✩ chapters containing smut!

chapter one : honeymoon (6.7k words)

[ Absurd.

That is the only word that comes to mind as you stare at yourself in the mirror. “His favorite color is blue.” ]

chapter two : silent treatment (7.4k words)

[ Something is wrong. You bolt up from the pile of blankets that you call a bed and your eyes dart around the closet as you furrow your brow trying to discern why you feel so much different. ]

✩ chapter three : the smitten paladin (4.6k words)

[ You’re starting to think the planet isn’t the reason you’re so hot all the time.

You had woken up this morning feeling a bit better than you thought you’d be, your stomach is full of butterflies but you're still standing and considering the night you had you’re gonna take that as a win. ]

chapter four : sarad'ika (6.8k words)

[ Sarad'ika. 

You won’t forget it this time, you can’t. So you write it in your book, just under Mando’s favorite color you write the two little words that have been keeping you up at night. ]

✩ chapter five : lunar interlude : just a man (5.0k words)

[ Absurd.

It’s absurd how much the job pays. Din’s not even sure he should take it at this point because it’s too good to be true. ]

✩ chapter six : torment (5.1k words)

[ Okay, maybe you didn’t think this through. 

You didn’t think he’d actually come in and now suddenly the door is shut and you’re alone with him. ]

✩ chapter seven : just friends (3.1k words)

[ Maker it feels like it’s been an hour and you’re both just laying here. He was just inside of you; it shouldn't be so hard to find something to talk about at this point. ]

chapter eight : solar markets (5.3k words)

[ It’s nice to wake up excited again. 

You wish you could say that it happened more often but hopefully it will from now on. It’s going to be your first time leaving the castle grounds since you got here. ]

✩ chapter nine : shuk'la rules (5.6k words)

[ You need sex.

Normally you would be satisfied for quite some time after getting off but for some reason with Mando it was different. But it’s only been two days and you need more. ]

✩ chapter ten : lunar interlude : briikase gote'tuur (4.1k words)

[ He’s grateful for the break from you, even if brief. 

That’s not to say that he doesn’t enjoy every moment he gets to be in your presence but the more time he spends with you the harder it gets to remember that this isn’t real. ]

chapter eleven : he loves me not (4.6k words)

[ Something is wrong. 

All day it’s been wrong. 

He’s different. Distant. ]

chapter twelve : pretend (4.4k words )

[ Two days.

That’s what you’re willing to give yourself. Two days to get over it. One to get it all out of your system and one to pull yourself together. ]

chapter thirteen : lunar interlude : vercopa (3.5k words)

[ He did it.

He did exactly what he knew he needed to do.

So why does he feel worse than ever? ]

chapter fourteen : condemned (4.9k words)

[ You’re having trouble sleeping. 

You have no problem falling asleep, it’s mostly staying asleep. There’s a million different things that consume your thoughts and everytime you drift into unconsciousness you find yourself jolting awake, barely able to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. ]

chapter fifteen : two tea parties (5.4k words)

[ “What did you do to her?”

Her voice breaks through his sleepy haze as he sits up properly. 

“Excuse me?” ]

chapter sixteen : absolution (4.6k words)

[ There’s a visceral sense of dread when you wake up, for several reasons. 

The glaring obvious culprit of your discomfort would be the fact that today’s your husband's birthday. ]

chapter seventeen : the apostate’s cabin (3.5k words)

[ Just Din. 

It’s sinking in as you walk in silence, holding his hand tightly as he pulls you towards his home. ]

chapter eighteen : portrait of a man (5.4k words)

[ It’s deliciously warm when you wake. You can feel his heartbeat and you can feel the soft traces of sunlight dancing along your back. You stretch in his arms slightly but freeze up as you feel him nuzzle his chin into your hair, planting a kiss against your hairline. ]

✩ chapter nineteen : reverence (7.3k words)

[ You really want to. 

You couldn’t possibly want to more than you currently do. 

It’s actually a bit mean. That he’s left you here in this state. ]

✩ chapter twenty : like real people do (8.4k words)

[ Mando and Din. 

All you can think about right now is how there must be two of them. 

You’re playing with his curls. ]

✩ chapter twenty one : te mirci't (9.0k words)

[ “It means I love you.” 

You aren’t entirely sure how long you stare at him, looking rather silly with your jaw practically on the floor. ]

✩ chapter twenty two : it’s you that i lie with (11.3k words)

[ Naboo has several trading ports. 

You could get him on a cargo ship. That would be the most inconspicuous form of transport. It would help if he was willing to ditch his armor. ]

✩ chapter twenty three : lunar markets (15.0k words)

[ Sneaking out of the castle gets easier every time you do it. 

It only takes a few minutes and you’re walking outside towards the forest trail, Din’s hand in yours, still giddy. ]

✩ chapter twenty four : lunar interlude : riduur (7.8k words)

[ He doesn’t deserve this.

How could he possibly be deserving of you? Yet somehow you make him feel as if he is. With your soft touch and the way your eyes get just a little bigger when you see him. ]

✩ chapter twenty five : wedding bells (11.7k words)

[ Four days of Leo. 

You were upset that Din was leaving you but you got over it rather quickly with the promise of his hasty return. ]

chapter twenty six : crucifixion (12.7k words)

[ “My room is too big.” 

He bursts into genuine peals of laughter and you gently smack his arm.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious issue! My room is enormous.” ]

chapter twenty seven : the apostate (6.0k words)

[ Silence.

That’s all there is in his brain. 

It’s hard enough as is for him to hear. It doesn’t help when he’s been beaten half to death. ]

✩ chapter twenty eight : a place for us (8.4k words)

[ You’d spent the better half of the day trying to get on top of him. 

Every time you managed to get close he’d simply set you down on the nearest surface with a kiss on the cheek and go back to doing whatever he was working on. ]

chapter twenty nine : the best kept secret (epilogue) (6.1k words)

[ The morning sun is warm against your face, you bask in it, unmoving and only half awake until you feel a tiny hand slapping your cheek. The illusion of tranquility is immediately shattered as you softly laugh. ]

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 1

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Murderbot Diaries series (All Systems Red, Artificial Condition, Rogue Protocol, Exit Strategy, Network Effect, Fugitive Telemetry, System Collapse, and other stories) by Martha Wells

Endorsement from submitter: "Asexual and agender main character. In later books side characters are revealed to be in poly relationship."

"As a heartless killing machine, I was a complete failure."

In a corporate-dominated space-faring future, planetary missions must be approved and supplied by the Company. For their own safety, exploratory teams are accompanied by Company-supplied security androids. But in a society where contracts are awarded to the lowest bidder, safety isn’t a primary concern.

On a distant planet, a team of scientists is conducting surface tests, shadowed by their Company-supplied ‘droid--a self-aware SecUnit that has hacked its own governor module and refers to itself (though never out loud) as “Murderbot.” Scornful of humans, Murderbot wants is to be left alone long enough to figure out who it is, but when a neighboring mission goes dark, it's up to the scientists and Murderbot to get to the truth.

Science fiction, novella, series, adult

Hunger Pangs series (True Love Bites) by Joy Demorra

In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more...

Captain Nathan J. Northland had no idea what to expect when he returned home to Lorehaven injured from war, but it certainly wasn't to find himself posted on an island full of vampires. An island whose local vampire dandy lord causes Nathan to feel strange things he'd never felt before. Particularly about fangs.

When Vlad Blutstein agreed to hire Nathan as Captain of the Eyrie Guard, he hadn't been sure what to expect either, but it certainly hadn't been to fall in love with a disabled werewolf. However Vlad has fallen and fallen hard, and that's the problem.

Torn by their allegiances--to family, to duty, and the age-old enmity between vampires and werewolves--the pair find themselves in a difficult situation: to love where the heart wants or to follow where expectation demands.

The situation is complicated further when a mysterious and beguiling figure known only as Lady Ursula crashes into their lives, bringing with her dark omens of death, doom, and destruction in her wake.

And a desperate plea for help neither of them can ignore.

Thrown together in uncertain times and struggling to find their place amidst the rising human empire, the unlikely trio must decide how to face the coming darkness: united as one or divided and alone. One thing is for certain, none of them will ever be the same.

Fantasy, romance, paranormal, series, adult

[p0orbaby]

In the Wake of a Hurricane

summary: your hormones are driving you both increasingly insane

warnings: pregnancy stuff, suggestive ish, leah being a saint

a/n: request

word count: 1.6k

-

Leah has started to develop this twitch in her right eye. It comes and goes, like her patience. It’s not a permanent fixture, yet, but you suspect if she survives the next few weeks without needing a psychiatric evaluation, it’ll be nothing short of a miracle.

You're sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket that could double as a small tent. Leah’s across the room, keeping her distance. She’s reading, or pretending to read, one of those pregnancy books that’s the size of a dictionary but probably less useful. It’s full of terms like Braxton Hicks and perineal massage, which you’re pretty sure are just euphemisms for you’re going to suffer, and there’s no escape.

You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes, silently stewing. She hasn’t noticed yet, which only makes you more annoyed.

“Leah,” you finally snap, like it’s her fault you’ve suddenly decided she’s the most irritating person on the planet.

She looks up, all innocent blue eyes and confused frown. “Yeah?”

“Why are you all the way over there?” you demand, even though five minutes ago, you’d told her to stop hovering because she was “being clingy.”

She hesitates, like she’s weighing her options. You can practically see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out which answer will result in the least amount of yelling.

“You said you needed space,” she says carefully, like she’s explaining to a particularly volatile bomb why it shouldn’t go off.

“That was ages ago,” you huff, even though it was more like twenty minutes. “Now I want to be held”

She blinks, clearly surprised by the sudden shift. But she’s up and moving toward you before you can throw a fit about how slow she’s being. When she finally sits down next to you, you immediately nestle into her side, nuzzling your head into the crook of her neck. You sigh dramatically, like you’ve just found the meaning of life in her collarbone.

Leah relaxes, thinking she’s successfully navigated another hormonal minefield. Poor thing. She’s so blissfully unaware of what’s coming next.

Her arm wraps around you, and you’re content for all of thirty seconds before something in you flips, like a switch being flicked by a very cruel god. Suddenly, the feel of her skin against yours is unbearable. It’s like you’re being hugged by a furnace. You’re about three seconds away from ripping off all your clothes and throwing them out the window, which is probably not the most rational response, but hey, pregnancy.

“Ugh, get off,” you groan, pushing her away like she’s made of cactus.

Leah pulls back immediately, her eyes wide with confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Too hot,” you mutter, flapping your hand at her like a cat that’s just had a bath. “Go away”

She hesitates, her hands hovering in the air like she doesn’t know what to do with them. You’d feel bad if you weren’t so irritated by the fact that she exists in the same room as you.

Leah stands up, clearly unsure of what the hell just happened. You’re in a huff, staring daggers at the TV because it’s easier than admitting that you’re not actually mad at her—you’re mad at your body, which seems to have its own agenda these days.

“I’ll, uh, go check on the washing,” Leah mutters, retreating to the relative safety of the utility room. You watch her go with a blend of annoyance and something that feels suspiciously like guilt.

When she’s gone, you sit there for a moment, glaring at the blanket like it’s personally offended you. Then, like a switch flipping back the other way, you realise you miss her.

A lot.

You want her back. Right now.

“Leah!” you call, your voice bouncing off the walls.

She pokes her head back into the room, looking like a cautious meerkat. “Yeah?”

“Come back,” you say, trying to sound casual, like you didn’t just shove her away like she was a sweaty footballer who’d lost a match.

She walks back in, taking tentative steps like she’s entering the lion’s den. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you snap, though you’re really not. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

Leah looks at you, then at the sofa, probably trying to figure out the safest place to sit. You feel a pang of guilt because, honestly, you’re being a bit of a nightmare. But it’s not your fault. It’s the hormones. Or maybe it’s the baby. Yeah, let’s blame the baby.

She sits down next to you, but this time she doesn’t immediately try to touch you. Smart move.

You stare at her, trying to decide what you want. It’s a simple question, but lately, it feels like every answer is wrapped in layers of confusing emotions and unpredictable desires. Do you want to be touched, or do you want to punch something? Or maybe both?

“Can you, um... maybe... rub my back?” you ask, trying to sound as innocent as possible, which isn’t easy considering you’ve just done a complete 180 in the span of three minutes.

Leah stares at you for a second, clearly wondering if this is a trap. But then she nods and starts rubbing your back, gently, like she’s afraid of setting you off again. You sigh, melting into the touch, the irritation quickly replaced by something much warmer.

“That’s nice,” you murmur, your mood lifting almost instantly. Leah’s hands are magic, soothing the tension in your muscles. You close your eyes, practically purring under her touch. It’s heaven.

But, of course, your body has other plans. As soon as you start to relax, your brain—helped by the wonderful cocktail of pregnancy hormones—decides to take a sharp left turn into horny territory. Because why not?

Suddenly, Leah’s hands on your back feel less like a comforting gesture and more like a teaser for the latest blockbuster. Your skin tingles, your mind goes from zero to sixty, and now you’re wondering why she’s still rubbing your back when there are other, much more interesting places she could be touching.

You shift, turning to face her, eyes heavy-lidded and lips curving into a mischievous smile. Leah’s still rubbing your back, completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve mentally jumped from cuddly to carnal.

“Hey,” you say, your voice dropping into a lower register. Leah freezes, her hand stilling as she catches the change in your tone.

“What’s up?” she asks, clearly unsure whether she should be worried or excited.

“You’re really good at that,” you purr, leaning closer, letting your hand trail up her thigh. Leah swallows hard, her eyes flickering with confusion and interest.

“I, uh, thanks?” she says, her voice cracking just a little.

You smirk, enjoying the way she’s trying to keep up with the sudden shift in your mood. “You know what else would feel really good?”

Leah stares at you like a deer caught in the headlights of your hormones. “What?”

“Kissing me,” you say simply, giving her your best come-hither look. It’s not your finest work, but considering the circumstances, you think it’s pretty damn effective.

Leah blinks, clearly trying to process the fact that you’ve gone from not wanting to be touched to wanting to be thoroughly touched in about sixty seconds flat. But bless her, she’s a fast learner.

She leans in, pressing her lips to yours, and for a moment, everything is perfect. You’re lost in the kiss, your frustration melting away as your hormones do their job, flooding your system with endorphins.

But then, because the universe has a wicked sense of humor, something feels... wrong. The heat that was so welcome a second ago suddenly feels overwhelming. The tingling sensation turns irritating, and now you’re acutely aware of the fact that your skin is too tight, your clothes are too constricting, and you’re not sure if you want to keep kissing Leah or throw her out of the window.

You pull back, your mood crashing faster than a toddler on a sugar high. Leah looks at you, concern etched into her features, her lips still tingling from the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, like she’s bracing for impact.

You huff, frustrated with yourself more than anything. “I don’t know. I just—” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “Everything feels weird!”

Leah looks at you, trying to figure out the best course of action. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” you snap, then immediately soften. “Maybe? I don’t know”

She stares at you for a moment, then does something that surprises you: she laughs. Not a mocking laugh, but a warm, affectionate chuckle that’s so disarming it actually makes you smile, despite everything.

“What’s so funny?” you grumble, even though you’re starting to feel the corners of your mouth twitch upward.

“You,” she says, shaking her head, her smile only growing. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

You want to argue, but instead, you just sigh. “I know. I’m a mess”

“Yeah, but you’re my mess,” Leah says, pulling you back into a hug. This time, it feels just right, like maybe, just maybe, the storm of hormones has passed for now.

You lean into her, letting the comfort of her embrace wash over you. “Thanks for putting up with me”

“Always,” she replies, kissing the top of your head. “Even if you do change your mind every five minutes”

“Every three,” you correct, snuggling deeper into her side.

Leah laughs again, the sound vibrating through you and chasing away the last remnants of your irritation. You know you’ll probably be back to snapping at her in another hour, but for now, you’re content.