#spaced-out-reader

[lonestarflight]

I don’t know if this is right to ask, but do you have any thoughts on the current state of spaceflight?

While I keep up with the current state of things, it's hard not to get political about more recent turn of events. But fuck it, everything is political these days.

I've been following the development of the Artemis program since Orion and SLS were a part of the cancelled Constellation Program. (SLS was called Aries V back then.) The major problem with them is every time a new president comes in, they always want to shake things up or think they know better than what is currently being done. With the exception of the Aries I rocket, they are always wrong and only delay landing humans on the moon. Which is why it has taken them this long to get to the point of constructing Artemis II. If NASA could be left alone for a while, they will get us there sooner rather than later.

It's frustrating seeing Elon and Trump mess them again or even saying they could get us to Mars in 4 years (which could never happen, even with all of the money in the world). At best, NASA is 20 years from landing humans on Mars but there isn't even a Mars mission in serious development right now. And switching NASA's focus from the Moon is going to ruin the momentum they have built up since 2010. We are finally getting close to leaving LEO and it will piss me off to no end if Musk tries to take over and cancel SLS. His starship booster is nowhere near human rated and I doubt heavy falcon has the delta-V to get Orion to the moon. Which leads me to believe if he does mess with it, it's only to funnel more money into his pockets. Just like his tunnel boring company and his attempt to sink California's high-speed rail project.

Messing with Artemis will take years to get back on track after they are kicked out, at which point, China will get there before we do. So to say I'm very pissed about it, is putting it lightly.

But for other programs, I've been happy to see them come online. The JWST has been blowing me away with the photos it's returned.

One program I'm excited for is the Uranus Orbiter. (If you laugh, get your head out of the gutter.) It's early in planning but after the Galileo and Cassini probes explored Jupiter and Saturn, it's high time the ice giants get their turn. It's unfortunate the Neptune probe wasn't also selected as well but there wasn't enough funding for both planets. Maybe at a later time they will send one, I hope I get to live long enough to see it.

(I've started and restarted writing this over the last week as I'm watching the news about NASA getting gutted by Elon Musk and his illegal doge group. I've given up and am just going to post it as it is now before anything changes.)

[siryl]

Absolutely love your blog! Science fiction is my absolute favorite thing! Keep it up, my friend!

Thank you! Good to know this blog is appreciated.

[xinganhao]

not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (1)

✉︎ @maplegyu asked me if she could abuse her moot privileges for this smau, and ??? when was i ever going to say 'no' to my favorite gyuldaengie! her prompt: celebrity!mingyu x small business owner!reader would be cute AF— based on this (i.e. mingyu selling out a regnie pudding).

check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ not for sale by enhypen. love is growing by plastic plastic. 711 by toneejay. she wants me (to be loved) by the happy fits. like or like like by miniature tigers. like the movies by laufey. do you wanna do nothing with me? by lawrence. wall st by boys go to jupiter.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[adeptustemptations]

How do you think caleb or any of the others lads guys would react to their wife lactating? 👀 do you think that they'd be down to try it? I love your writing!! 💗💗

Honey, is that...? 🍼

(wc. 2.1k) How would the LADS boys react when they spot you, their wife, lactating?

featuring: rafayel x reader, sylus x reader, caleb x reader, zayne x reader, xavier x reader (all separate) warnings: mild smut, mdni.

a/n: first request down! i definitely think all of the boys would be down to try it LOL. i had so much fun writing this. hope you guys enjoy! c:

🧜 RAFAYEL:

At first, you think Rafayel’s being moody because of something work related. Probably just something about him not getting inspiration for his next piece.

He's quiet during dinner, pushing his food around with the fork, glancing at you between bites but saying nothing. Then he sighs. Dramatically. Like you’ve just told him the love of his life is marrying someone else.

“Do you need the tub prepared?” you ask, gently patting the baby's mouth with a cloth as your baby drifts off to sleep, full and milk-drunk in your arms.

He shrugs. “No.”

Another sigh. Even more dramatic this time.

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, what’s wrong with you?”

Silence.

You put the baby down in the bassinet, tiptoeing back to the couch where he’s brooding like a man personally victimized by your child. You sit beside him and poke his thigh.

“Rafayel. Talk.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just shifts in his seat dramatically, like you should already know why he’s in a mood.

You raise a brow. “Raf?”

“…Why does he get to taste it?” he finally mutters.

You blink. “What?”

Rafayel lifts his gaze, eyes narrowed. “Your milk. The baby gets all of it. Meanwhile, I, your husband, don’t even get to try?”

You stare at him, baffled, amused, a little turned on by how offended he looks.

He shifts closer suddenly, tone softening like he’s trying to guilt you.

 “You used to let me suck on them all the time,” he mumbles, voice pitiful. “Now I get nothing.”

“Rafayel Qi,” you say, laughing despite yourself. “You’re jealous of your own child?”

“He doesn’t even appreciate it,” Rafayel huffs dramatically. “He’s just... drinking. No compliments. No praise. No loving gaze. No eye contact.” He places a hand over his heart. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“You want to flirt with my boobs while I’m nursing?”

He nods solemnly. “And after.”

You blink. “Raf.”

“No, no, go ahead. Ignore me. That’s fine.” He gestures grandly, flopping back on the couch like a neglected kid in a drama. 

“I mean, I get it,” Rafayel huffs, gesturing vaguely toward the baby now blissfully passed out at the bassinet. “He needs it. It’s nourishment. Bonding. Blah blah. But like, what about me? A stranger in my own marriage.”

You roll your eyes. “Then ask.”

He freezes. Turns to you slowly.

“…Seriously?”

You nod. “If you’re that curious, then fine. Go ahead.”

Wasting no moment, he immediately latches onto you, and his reaction is instant. His eyes roll back. A full-body shudder.

He suckles on your nipple with the eagerness of a thirsty man who had just found water after days of being dehydrated. When a bit of milk manages to escape from the side? He immediately laps it up, wasting no drop.

He pulls back, breathless. Dazed. “...Fuck."

Then he smirks.

“Alright. New plan. Let’s have six more kids.”

You shove him off the couch.

🐦‍⬛ SYLUS:

Everyone in the N109 Zone knows that Sylus doesn’t kneel.

He doesn’t plead.

He doesn’t repeat himself.

He doesn’t need to.

He gives orders, and people obey. His name alone strikes fear into civilians and corrupt officials alike. He's the kind of man who takes what he wants, and everyone bends at his will.

But you?

You’re the one thing he never commands.

Because with you, he never wants to.

And right now? He’s at your feet.

Literally.

It starts when you’re in the privacy of your home, in a soft robe, curled on the couch with your baby fast asleep in the bassinet. You’re drowsy and glowing, eyes heavy from the feeding, your robe slipping just slightly to reveal a glistening patch where you’ve started to leak again.

Sylus was reading some documents, possibly just about a new batch of weapons shipped to one of his armories. All that boring stuff. When he looks at you, his eyes immediately zero to your chest.

He freezes.

The documents clattered to the ground. 

You glance at him, confused. “Sylus?”

But he’s already closing the space between you. You see it, the desire in his eyes as he kneels before you, palms on your thighs, breath hot and uneven.

“Please.”

His voice is hoarse. Ragged. Barely a whisper.

You blink. “Huh?”

“I need to taste you, sweetie.” He says it like it physically hurts to admit, jaw clenched. 

“Can I try? Please?”

Your breath hitches. “Sylus—”

“I never beg,” he murmurs, leaning forward, brushing his lips against the skin of your breast. “But I’ll get on my knees for this. For you.”

He doesn’t ask again.

Just lowers his mouth to your breast and licks. The moment the white liquid hits his tongue, everything changes.

His lips part in stunned disbelief. Then, he groans, deep and guttural, like you just unlocked something feral in him.

“You taste sweet,” he rasps. He’s already latching on you again, open-mouthed, greedy. 

“Fuck. You taste better than anything.”

You gasp, clutching at his shoulders as he begins to devour you. There’s nothing classy about the way he sucks at you–it’s messy, hungry, possessive. Like he’s waited his whole life for this and didn’t even know it.

You try to say something, to make a joke; “You’re worse than the baby.”

But Sylus growls into your skin, low and dark: “I’ll give you another one. I’ll fill you up again, if that’s what it takes to keep you like this.”

Your breath stutters. “Sylus—”

“No one else gets this. No one else gets to taste you like this.” He presses his palm to your womb. “You hear me? Only me.”

And you believe him. Because when Sylus Qin finds something he likes?

He gets it.

🍎 CALEB:

It starts with the panties.

Caleb thinks he’s subtle about it. Volunteering to do your laundry in the pretense that he 'just wants to help', setting aside a pair that smells like you, worn, soft, intimate. The design doesn't matter too, the one with lace? Spectacular. The cotton ones he bought with the apple patterns? Give him 14 of them right now. He tells himself it’s harmless, just something to keep close when you're gone on long shifts or too tired to stay up with him after work from the Hunter's Association.

When you've caught him in the act, all he does is raise an eyebrow, as if you're the one being strange.

“What?” he says, with that deadpan tone of his, nose still pressed into the fabric. “You smell nice.”

You should be flustered, but you’ve been married to this man long enough to know how weirdly intense he can be. It's part of the Caleb experience. When you tried scolding him because some of your pairs have gone missing, all he does is shoot you his signature puppy-eyed look.

But then after giving birth to your baby, everything changes. Your underwear drawer's surprisingly complete, and none of the pairs have gone missing. You'd think that maybe Caleb had just become too busy tending to the baby to even focus on his needs.

But what you don't notice is how his touches linger longer during nighttime cuddles, especially around your chest, or the way he glances at your shirt when it dampens just a little.

It happens when you’re fresh out of the shower. You're drying your hair, not noticing at first that the front of your shirt is damp. A few minutes later, you glance down and–

Oh.

You’re leaking.

“Caleb?" you call out, not thinking much of it, “I think I’m lactating again. I forgot to pump.”

You don’t expect a reaction. You expect him to say something like, ‘Want me to grab the pump?’

What you don’t expect is for Caleb to freeze in the doorway, eyes locked on the wet patch spreading across the fabric.

“...Again?” he says quietly.

You blink at him. “Yeah? That’s usually how it works.”

His eyes narrow, his jaw clenches, and before you can respond, he’s across the room, pushing your shirt up to your chest with eagerness, hunger glinting in those beautiful purple eyes.

“Let me taste.”

Your brain short circuits. “Wha–Caleb–?”

But he’s already there, lips closing around your nipple, hand firmly planted at your waist like he owns you.

And when he moans? You swear it’s the dirtiest sound he’s ever made.

He drinks like he’s been deprived. Like this was what he needed all along, and nothing else compares. Not the panties. Not your bath soap. Not even the taste of your skin.

No–this. This is divine. This is yours.

Later, when you're sprawled on the bed, dazed and breathless, he kisses your stomach and murmurs softly:

"Maybe we should have another baby. Just so you don't run out."

You laugh. “You're a freak.”

“I’m serious.”

He looks up at you, utterly sincere, eyes dark with something that’s not quite lust–it’s obsession, devotion, need.

And you know then: he’s addicted.

Not just to you.

But to every part of you.

☃️ ZAYNE:

You already knew Zayne had a problem with sweets.

The bakery receipts stuffed in his lab coat. The way he always “accidentally” wanders into the dessert section at the grocery store. The time he got bribed by Dr. Greyson with macarons.

But this?

You hadn’t seen coming.

It starts innocently enough; he’s helping you undress after a long day, brushing his fingers along the curve of your side as he unclasps your bra. You’re a few weeks postpartum, still sore and soft in all the ways he loves. He’s kneeling in front of you, peppering lazy kisses along your stomach when he notices the damp spot on your breast.

"Hmm?" He hums, brows furrowing. He leans in closer.

"You're leaking."

You sigh. “Yeah. I forgot to pump again. I’ll go get–”

“No,” Zayne cuts in, already cupping your breast in his hand. “Let me.”

“Zayne–!”

But he’s already latched on before you can finish, mouth closing around you like it’s second nature.

The first taste hits him like a drug.

His eyes widen.

Then flutter shut.

He moans. Actually moans. Like he just took a bite out of the best dessert of his life.

“Dearest,” he breathes when he finally pulls back, his lips still wet. “Why didn’t you tell me it tastes like this?”

You blink, a little dazed. “Like… what?”

He licks his lips. “Sweet. Warm...”

Then his gaze flicks up, dark and hungry. “Better than any dessert I've ever tasted.”

Your face flushes. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he says, already nudging you backward onto the bed, crawling over you with sinful intent. “But you married me.”

And just like that, he’s latched on again, slow, thorough, absolutely obsessed. Like he’s savoring every drop. Like you’re his final meal, and he’s a man who’s starved.

When he finally pulls away, lips wet and pupils blown wide, he looks like he’s come undone.

Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he mutters:

“…I think I need to adjust my meal plan.”

You raise a brow. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head, dead serious. “You’re my new dessert. Effective immediately.”

⭐ XAVIER:

It’s still dark out when Xavier stirs beside you.

He wakes like he always does. Quiet, warm, arms automatically reaching for your sleeping form. He pulls you close, breath brushing on your neck, his hand splaying across your waist under the covers.

That’s when he notices it.

A damp spot on your shirt. Right over your chest. You’re on your side, curled towards him, unaware.

He blinks once. Then twice. Brain still foggy from sleep.

But then he leans closer, nose brushing against the fabric, breathing in the scent that’s distinctly you. Warm and milky. Sweet.

Something stirs in him. Not lust, something gentler. Deeper.

An ache in his chest he can’t explain. Like he wants to be closer, somehow. Like he needs to feel it. Taste it.

He shifts beneath the blankets, carefully nudging the neckline of your shirt down. He presses a kiss just above your nipple, reverent, before wrapping his lips softly around it.

You stir, eyelids fluttering. “...Xavi?” you murmur, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Mm,” he hums against your skin, mouth still lazily suckling. “Just helping.”

You blink blearily at him. “That’s… not how the pump works.”

“Don’t care,” he whispers. “Tastes better this way.”

You huff a soft laugh, too tired to scold him, too warm to care. “You’re unbelievable.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark hair tousled, eyes still heavy lidded. 

“It’s comforting,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re comforting.”

And with that, he tucks himself back into your arms, head resting on your chest, one hand lazily cupping your breast. You feel the occasional soft suckle as he drifts off again, slow and rhythmic, like a baby himself.

You close your eyes.

The room is quiet. The baby’s still asleep. And for now... just for now, there’s no need to move.

You both fall back into sleep, tangled together, Warm, safe, and full.

—

[MASTERLIST]

[hatethysinner]

Papa remmick oh lord my heart…more hcs with an older daughter maybe??? Like tween-teen age

ᴘᴀᴘᴀ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ᴘᴛ. 2

ᴀ/ɴ: PART 2 OF MY 3-PART PAPA!REMMICK SERIES WOOHOO (part 1 here)! I love writing headcanons so please don't stop requesting them y'all, whether they're more of this or something else. I don't have many more ideas in the tank but I'm gonna work my ass off on that third part!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Just more of the most sickly sweet papa!remmick headcanons, tween edition! Minor exploration of hybrid physiology too, but nothing crazy.

she, just like everybody else, can not get a lie past this man. ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ can literally hear heartbeats, so he'll simply listen to her make up a whole story to explain something and once she's done he'll simply say:

“ya wanna try it again with the truth this time?”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ was patient zero of the sassy man apocalypse. don't let her try to backtalk him cause he will shut it down with EASE.

speaking of, if she ever says “you just don’t get it, papa,” ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ will turn around and unload a millennium's worth of “getting it”. after the first few times of an hour long lecture, she just stopped saying it. yapper ass 😭.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ still does her hair every sunday morning. she groans about it now, tells him it takes too long and all that jazz. but she never once asks him to stop, and he still ends it with three kisses and compliments galore.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ takes every single one of her tweenhood rants very seriously. plot holes in her favorite book? he's nodding along. complaints about homework? arms folded and agreeing with every critique. she's wrong more than half the time, but he just loves hearing her talk.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ is THAT parent who checks to see if she's sleeping multiple times a night. he's literally the warioware mom but if the game was entirely rigged and not winnable.

“mmhmm. i see them eyes movin’. hand me the book, baby.” “i was just-” “you was just stallin’. now gimme. ain’t no story better than sleep.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ still sings to her, and now she sings back. she's way better, but he'll never admit it. they've been getting really into this one irish jig recently...

when she gets a compliment, she always turns to ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ first.

“they said my dress was pretty!” “i told you it was. papa always knows.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ keeps a running mental list of the little things she likes. favorites snacks, books, clothes, colors. updates it daily, and he will turn the house upside down if her preferences change.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ wakes her up soft, always. even when they're in a rush, he will never wake her up with anything but a kiss to the forehead and a gravely “mornin’, baby girl.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ starts planning for her birthday at least six months in advance. theme ideas, guest lists, menus, gifts, he's got everything in a secret folder. and when the big day comes, the whole house transforms overnight. do not come out of your room while he's preparing though because his ass will be looking like a madman.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ spoils his daughter constantly. new shoes? hers. favorite dessert? made fresh. saw something cute in the window a week ago? already wrapped and waiting. but she never expects it and always, ALWAYS, thanks him and gives him the biggest hug. he gets real close to crying every single time. HE'S A SENTIMENTAL MAN OKAY?!

“thank you, papa,” “you’re welcome, baby. i’d give you the world if i could.”

speaking of sentimental, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ's the type of dad who says “my girl’s growing up” EVERY OTHER DAY. she could drink a glass of water and he'll start with his misty-eyed reminiscing about how he used to hold her in his arms. it always makes her giggle.

she sleeps exactly like him. dead silent, barely breathing, sprawled in weird poses. ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ thinks its adorable.

when her fangs started to come in, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ lost his mind. walked around the house beaming and asked her to smile a million times that day. he still gets a kick out of it.

“that’s my girl, look at them teeth! ain’t she perfect?”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ's explanation for why his reflection is always funny in the mirror has stayed the same for years.

“papa’s just shy.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ's teaching her gaelic. he just is. in his eyes, she's going to revive the “dead” language.

they have a million inside jokes between each other. they'll say the most random shit and have each other in stitches, and nobody else will ever get it.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ does not play about school picture day. her clothes are ironed out the night before, her hair is always done, and he walks her to school personally while plucking out every speck of dust that dares to threaten his baby's look. and yes, he has every school picture framed in chronological order.

the one and only time she called herself ugly, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ sat her down, looked her dead in the eyes and said:

“don’t you ever lie like that again, baby. you’re the sun. you hear me? the sun.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ makes her lunch every single day, and best believe there's a handwritten note in perfect cursive tucked inside, with a doodle on the back. each one is unique and incredibly heartfelt. sometimes, she’ll write a note back.

and every night, guess where ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ is? kneeling at her bed and asking the same question he's asked since she was still in his arms.

“ya know who loves ya?” “you do, papa.” “damn right i do.” same as always. hand over heart. eyes full of stars.

[muqingslover]

I am

WHOOREEEEE🫵🫵🫵 ABSOLUTE WHORE.

WHAT IS THIS SLUTTY POSE WHAT THE HELL he's absolutely doing it on purpose too

THE ROLLED UP SLEVES, THE LEG SPREAD, THE WAY HE IS FIDDLING WITH THE NECKLACE, THE LOOSE TIE— UGHHHG IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH RN

oh and don't even get me STARTED on the bulge in his pants during that one part of the trailer (the only reason im not posting it is bc Tumblr grounded me for my last Xavier posts 😞 LET ME SPEAK MY TRUTH 📢‼️)

[fictionalsownme]

smash???????? who said that?????????

engineer doesn't get enough love on this blog considering how much I cannot express my devotion to him, so I’m working to fix that :) this is similar to what I did for damien but it took foreverr!! iswm lighting is so so pretty which makes it impossible to get right ;;u;; the saturation is really high and there's multiple light sources so in terms of rendering it, its like it was personally designed to leave me dead on the floor :))))) either way,, I'm happy with how it turned out!! he’s very prettie :))

also bonus:

[aomiiine]

I just read your works and god you write Caleb so well😫 So..with all due respect,my head is filled with Caleb doing..hole inspection after a frat party because duhhh

It’s a crime that I responded to this so soo late but I come w a peace offering ☝🏼AND thank you so much for loving the way I write Caleb!! it means a lot w how reluctant I am to write ab him nowadays 🫶🏼 🫶🏼 newayyss, here’s my long awaited 2 cents on fratboy!caleb <3

frat boy! caleb, pussy inspection?, jealous caleb, banter, sweaty, messy & uncoordinated pussy fingering in the car🧍🏻‍♀️ ‘pip-squeak’ once!!! wc. 733 turned out longer than expected but that’s okay :’)

A frat party.

Nothing special. Just same old loud music and even louder people. Caleb had no idea why you insisted on going to one of these parties with him. Sure, he came here often, but only because he was practically lured out to it by his mates who covered it up as an ‘emergency’.

so now, Caleb’s forced to watch you socialise around with these vultures. As much as he wanted to snatch every drink you gulped, he knew better than you restrain you of your own fun—and suffer being accused to be a hypocrite by you later.

Minutes passed and yet he stood as still as a rock at one of the many corners of the room, arms crossed and jaw clenched tight. His eyes were sharp and intent on staring at you from afar, holding a conversation with a few other guys. Socialising. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Except, it was the type of ‘socialising’ he loathed to see you doing—dating or not.

and when the heat burned too hot, his jealousy spilled from it’s pot—overflowing.

“Getting with someone else right in front of me, huh? Not bad, pip-squeak,” Caleb spat, uttering the ever-so-endearing name he used for you in such a condescending manner that it made you shiver.

His wandering hands between your collided bodies in the cramp space of his car only made it harder for you to protest, every word dying in your throat and changed to a pathetic mewl or moan that just spurred him on his possessive streak.

“I barely knew the damn guy, Caleb,” you whined, hand held on his shoulder drifting down to his firm bicep in the dark of the vehicle. His big hands mauling on your thighs made you squirm further, frustration at his control over your body that refrained you from shifting on his lap in the position you wanted.

“Oh and he definitely wants to get to know you though. You and dirty panties,” he retorted with a humourless scoff, curling his fingers beneath your crotch to cup your sex, insistently delving past the thin fabric of the damp panties you wore. Your brows furrow at the slightest show of a smirk on his lips, knowing he could feel your arousal seep through and smear the pads of his digits already.

“Don’t say a fucking thing,” you warned, tightening your grip on his muscular upper arm, nails burying crescent-shaped indents on his skin.

“What? Like you’re gonna do shit to stop me with that drooling cunt,” Calen refuted, hooded eyes looking down at you, finding your threat as feeble as a kitten’s hiss.

Before you could open your mouth to return his wit with your own, he decided slide your panties to the side, a finger finding your slit with ease before sinking it deep within your depth without warning. A second finger followed suit, stroking your fluttering walls immediately after entering.

The sudden invasion made your breath hitch, lips parting open in a silent moan then crying out his name in a whine that sounded little like complaint. Your thighs seized, muscles flexing and quivering in an effort to stay kneeling on the carseat over one of his thighs.

caleb’s fingers were relentless, plunging in and out of your warm channel languidly. His movements were effortless, but so damn effective still. And as if he hadn’t caught you by surprise enough, his thumb snuck near between your parted folds, finding your clit and adding just enough pressure on the sensitive bud to make you get louder, uncoordinated, needy like he wants you to be.

“Don’t be tease—fuck me proper,” you mumbled between pants, eyes narrowing at the careless way his fingers were moving inside your wet pussy, eager to suck him further inside to the spongy spot that he could’ve reached so easily if he weren’t so damn sloppy.

“Nah, I’ll do that later.. Need to make myself sure this pussy belongs to me first.” Caleb’s reply only annoyed you further, leaning in to him and grinding your hips in vain to plea for his mercy. But he remained firm, spreading your pussy open until you hissed at the burn of the stretch, his thumb circling and flicking on your swollen clit repeatedly.

When recalling his words, you realised he truly was serious with inspecting your depths all over again. Just to assure himself—and you especially.

[yukinohiko]

something about the recurring apple motif with caleb. you’re in the kitchen one afternoon; the open windows blowing in petals from the lavender plants in your garden. you’re slicing apples, one by one. that’s when you feel a familiar presence at your back, a familiar hand sliding the knife out of your grasp.

“let me take care of that,” he says, so easily, so familiarly. you want to protest; you don’t.

you stay standing, him behind you, his arms bracketing you, though not imposingly. never imposing — you don’t think so, at least. the smell of lavender bathes the sunlit room; a tender april afternoon.

you’re so focused on the little things — the brush of his hair against your cheek, the sight of his thumb smoothly peeling off the apple skin, the way you always prefer — you don’t notice him raising a piece until it’s pressing against your lips.

“open for your gege,” he says, and again, it’s so effortless of him. it comes second-naturedly, running off his tongue like rainwater.

you part your lips, bite the slice. the fruit sweetens your mouth better than any tart.

when you glance back at him, to thank him, to make a joke that you can feed yourself now, you catch sight instead of his violet eyes. lavender as the drifting petals; swirling with undercurrents you cannot begin to read. he only smiles knowingly, and continues feeding you the forbidden fruit.

[jesuistrestriste]

cw (18+) : soft dom!tashi duncan, oral

⟢ when tashi goes down on you, she hooks her arms underneath your thighs and pulls herself as close to your sex as she can possibly be. she mouths at your wetness and smushes her face into your folds, making sure she’s fluttering her tongue in the way she knows you love.

when you come, she squeezes your legs in her pretty hands and moans into your core—long, low, desperate sounds to let you know that you’re not going anywhere, that she’s got you right where she wants you. she swallows down everything your body releases into her expectant mouth; she drinks you in like you’re the first taste of sweetness she’s ever had. kisses your stomach afterwards and laughs dazedly as she crawls up your body. you’re dripping all over her chin. you’ve drenched her.

“want a taste?” she murmurs, her voice still sticky and hungry, “you taste so fucking good..”

she kisses you. she licks into your mouth, letting the remnants of your orgasm coat your own tastebuds. her hand wanders down to massage your shaking hip, steadying you and comforting you while she prepares to start using her fingers..

“be good for me, okay?” she bites at your lower lip, relishing in the ragged whine it pulls from your chest, “i won’t stop until you’re begging for me to let up.. i’m gonna take such good care of you, i promise.. you’re all mine..”

[b6d11f]

at my best, I'm a sacrificial lamb at my best, I am something you could handle

[lonestarflight]

Are you familiar with the Encyclopedia Astronautica?

Yes, I am. I remember reading it back in the 90s. It was my first exposure to the many proposals and rarely talked about applications of NASA and other countries space programs. Back then, Wikipedia didn't exist, so it was the only place you could read about all kinds of current and past rockets and spacecraft. (The NASA website existed but didn't contain a lot of info like it does now, mostly current missions).

It started my love for the Apollo Application Program and the many possibilities we could have had. I have saved many of the photos and diagrams to my hard drive from the website as I feared I'd lose access to it one day (thankfully they're still around, while that computer and folder has not.)

I still refer back to them from time to time as they're still the place with the most info.

Thanks for the ask. I'm glad I'm not the only one here that knows about it.

[neonbonded]

Their breaking point — When you tease them just a little too much

♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader ♡ cw: explicit themes, power dynamics, rough language, dominance/submission tones, possessive behavior (18+)

Xavier

♡ don’t mistake quiet for soft—he’s just waiting for you to beg for it.

It starts innocent. You straddle his lap during downtime, playful and light, your fingers slipping just under the hem of his shirt as you lean into him, lips brushing his jaw like a tease.

He doesn't move at first. Doesn’t speak. But his eyes? His eyes are tracking every shift of your body like he’s calculating how long he can stay composed.

You murmur against his ear, deliberately soft:

“What if I don’t want you to be gentle?”

His breath stills. And then his hand snaps up, catching your wrist mid-stroke. Not harsh. Not angry. But final. Like he’s made a decision.

His voice is low, rough—like it’s been dragged from somewhere dark.

“You think I don’t want to lose control with you?” “I think about it every time you touch me like that.”

And then he shifts. One knee wedges between your thighs, and you gasp—your hips reacting before your brain does. He watches your face twist in surprise, his mouth curling just slightly.

“Look at you,” he whispers, breath hot against your throat. “Already shaking. And I haven’t even started.”

You try to respond—but he moves faster.

One hand tangles in your hair, angling your mouth open for a deep, consuming kiss, while the other trails under your shirt—slow, torturous. His fingers barely ghost the edge of your bra and you still whimper like you’ve been touched raw.

He breathes your name against your lips, and it sounds like a warning.

“You don’t get to act this sweet and pretend you’re not begging for it.”

He kisses down your neck, biting just enough to make you arch into him, and then he grabs you—lifts you—and carries you to the nearest surface like you weigh nothing.

“You want me to be rough?” he growls, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. “Then take it. Every. Fucking. Inch.”

And when he finally pushes inside—deep and slow, holding eye contact like it’s everything—your breath catches. Because he’s still not rushing. Still completely in control.

But that control is cracking. Every sound you make, every grind of your hips, it’s unraveling him.

“Say it,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Say you want me like this.”

You do. Over and over.

And when he finally breaks—hips stuttering, mouth messy against your shoulder, voice shaking with something too big to name—you know one thing:

Quiet doesn’t mean soft. Not with Xavier. Not when it’s you.

Zayne

♡ it’s always the composed ones who ruin you the most.

It starts with a smirk. Yours. You crawl into his lap while he’s mid-review—patient records on one screen, his fingers absently scrolling—but you don’t care. Your thighs slide over his, settling just right. You tug on the knot of his tie with two fingers, lazy and deliberate, and lean in so close your breath fans over his cheek.

“Am I distracting you, Doctor?”

Zayne stiffens. Doesn’t answer. His jaw tenses, eyes flick to yours over the rim of his glasses, and for a second you think he’s going to tell you off.

But he doesn’t. He just watches you. Like he’s waiting.

So you push further. You kiss beneath his jaw, slow and taunting, shifting your hips in his lap until you feel him—thick and hard against your core, straining under the fabric. You moan softly, breathless against his skin.

That’s when he moves.

His hand comes up, fingers wrapping around your throat—not tight, but commanding. Grounding. Possessive. You freeze, breath catching in your lungs.

“You think you’re in control of this?” he says, voice low and even—but his pulse is racing.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get the chance. Zayne surges forward, kissing you hard—deep and ruthless, stealing the breath from your lungs. His tie is already undone. His shirt, half unbuttoned from your teasing fingers, gets shoved aside as he grips your hips and drags you down against him with a frustrated growl.

“I’ve stitched up lacerations with steadier hands,” he mutters, lips brushing yours between kisses. “But you?” “You make me fucking lose it.”

Before you can even fully process it, he’s lifting you, laying you flat across the edge of his desk. Papers scatter. His name badge hits the floor.

He kneels.

And then he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh—slow, methodical, like he’s mapping pressure points with every flick and kiss. His hands slide under your skirt, pushing it higher until you’re exposed and trembling.

“You wanted my attention?” he murmurs, licking his thumb and pressing it exactly where it hurts. “Now you’ve got it.”

He doesn’t stop. Not when your legs start to shake. Not when you sob his name like a prayer. He pushes you to your edge, pulls you back, and starts all over again. Controlled. Measured. Absolute.

Because Zayne might have been calm when you teased him— But now? He’s going to make sure you never dare try it again.

Rafayel

♡ the teasing king gets dethroned—then shows you exactly who’s in charge.

It starts with a shift in power. You crawl into his lap, straddling him in his paint-stained studio chair, arms draped loosely over his shoulders like you’re just relaxing. Like you don’t have a plan. But the moment you press your mouth to his jaw and whisper—

“What’s wrong, baby? You’re usually the one making me blush…”

—Rafayel forgets how to breathe.

He freezes. Hands gripping your thighs like a man caught off guard, lips parting, eyes blazing. You grin against his skin, smug and wicked.

“Oh, you’re evil,” he groans, voice rough, breath hot. “A menace. A certified brat.”

You roll your hips once—slow, deliberate—and that’s when he snaps.

His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing hard, dragging you flush against him. You feel him—hot and already so hard beneath you—and it makes you gasp.

“You wanna act bold, cutie?” he grits out, pupils blown. “Then take responsibility for what you’ve started.”

His mouth crashes into yours, all tongue and teeth and need, and when you whimper into him, his groan rips from his chest like he’s been waiting forever.

And then?

He flips you.

You barely process it before you’re bent over the edge of the canvas table—brushes crashing to the floor, half-finished painting forgotten, his hands already dragging your panties down your thighs like he owns you.

“You wanna play games?” he hisses against your neck. “Let’s fucking play.”

He doesn’t even undress fully—just enough to free himself, enough to pin you with his weight, his mouth grazing your ear as he presses inside you all at once.

“Still smug now?” he growls, thrusting deep enough to make your knees buckle. “Huh? Still wanna tease?”

But it’s not just rough—it’s worship. His hand slips between your legs. His fingers circle exactly where you need him, teasing and coaxing moans from your throat like he’s painting with your pleasure.

“You sound so good like this,” he breathes. “You always do.”

You try to speak—but your voice breaks on his name.

“Say it again,” he whispers, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Say my name like that, and I’ll let you come.”

And when you do?

He paints the memory of it in every corner of his mind—and later, on canvas too. Because he might’ve lost control in the moment—but you? You’re the only masterpiece he’s ever truly come undone for.

Sylus

♡ you poke the wolf—and now he’s done pretending to play nice.

You knew what you were doing. Showing up late at his private Onychinus suite, all soft legs and sweet lips, wearing one of his silk shirts that barely covers anything. You strut in like you own the place, settle onto his velvet desk, and give him that look—the one that says “come get me.”

He doesn’t move at first. Just leans back in his chair, red eyes locked on you, sipping whiskey like he isn’t already seconds from snapping.

“You’re bold tonight,” he says, voice lazy and lethal. “Trying to make me lose focus?”

You tilt your head, innocent and shameless.

“You looked tense. I figured I’d offer a distraction.”

He closes his drink and stands—slow and deliberate, like a predator that’s finally finished circling.

“You want to be a distraction?” he murmurs, stepping between your thighs. “Careful. I don’t do half-measures.”

You grin and graze your fingers up his chest.

“Maybe I want to see what happens when you stop holding back.”

And just like that, the leash snaps.

His hand wraps around your throat—not tight, but possessive, anchoring you to him. His mouth crashes into yours, devouring every teasing word you were about to say. You barely register being lifted until your back hits the desk, his body caging you in completely.

“You think this is a game?” he growls, yanking your panties to the side. “You think I don’t notice every time you sway your hips around my men? Act like you don’t know what you’re doing to me?”

He slides two fingers between your thighs, feels how soaked you already are, and smirks.

“Of course you know.”

He spreads you with one hand and lines himself up with the other, dragging his cock through your folds in lazy, torturous strokes.

“Beg,” he says, hovering just outside you. “Beg me to ruin you for anyone else.”

You try to stay quiet.

You fail.

And when he finally sinks into you—slow, deep, all control and no mercy—you shatter around the sound of his low, broken groan.

“That’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That’s what I wanted. You—under me, ruined, mine.”

He doesn’t fuck you fast. He fucks you thoroughly. Every stroke calculated. Every movement designed to make you sob his name. His hand stays firm around your throat, not choking—just keeping you right where he wants you.

When your legs tremble and your voice breaks, he leans in, teeth grazing your jaw.

“Next time you wanna tease me, remember this—” “You don’t get to play with fire unless you’re ready to burn for me.”

And burn you do. For him? You’d burn gladly.

Caleb

♡ you thought he was soft—until you touched the part of him he hides from everyone else.

It’s supposed to be playful. You curl into his lap on a lazy evening in his Skyhaven apartment, still wearing one of his flight jackets—nothing underneath but your underwear and a mischievous grin. You start slow: kissing his jaw, tracing the edge of his collar with your teeth, whispering against his throat.

“Colonel Caleb,” you tease. “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Cat got your tongue?”

He huffs a laugh, pretending to keep his focus on the report in front of him. But his grip on the tablet tightens. His breath catches when your hips roll forward, just enough for him to feel how wet you already are through your panties.

“You really think I’m gonna sit still while you tease me like that?” he mutters, voice low and strained.

You press closer, mouthing at the shell of his ear.

“I don’t think you’ll do anything at all.”

And that’s it.

The tablet hits the floor.

In one motion, Caleb grabs you by the waist, lifts you, and throws you down onto the couch like it’s instinct. His body is on top of yours in a second—knees on either side of your hips, hands already yanking his shirt over his head.

“You wanna poke the bear?” he growls, dragging your panties down your thighs with zero patience. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can handle the fallout.”

You open your mouth to say something smug—he shuts you up with a kiss that leaves you dizzy.

“You think I haven’t wanted to fuck you breathless every time you strut around in my clothes like you own me?” he says, biting your bottom lip. “You do own me. But now I’m gonna make sure you remember who you belong to, too.”

He sinks into you with one deep, hard thrust—and the moan you let out? It wrecks him.

“That’s it,” he groans. “You sound so pretty when you break.”

But he’s not rough without tenderness.

He holds you down with his body, forehead pressed to yours, his mechanical hand gripping your thigh with perfect pressure, fingers shaking with restraint.

“You’re everything,” he whispers, fucking you deep and slow, “everything I’ve ever wanted. And I can’t—won’t—lose you.”

You wrap your arms around him and pull him closer, and something in him shatters.

The pace snaps. His hips slam into yours, needy, desperate—like he’s making up for all the nights he held back. All the time he tried to pretend he wasn’t this far gone for you.

“Say it,” he pants against your skin. “Say you’re mine.”

You do. Over and over—until your voice is hoarse and you’re clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And he is.

Because for Caleb? Loving you was never gentle. It was everything. All at once.

[jadewritesficshere]

Sweatpants

Steve Harrington x Reader

Synpopsis: Steve wears sweatpants and you have to show your appreciation

Contents: mentioned possibility of an exhibition kink, oral (male receiving)

18+ only

This was written because of that pic but apparently a lot of u have not seen the pic which is crazy cause it was all over my dash)

You can't stop your jaw from dropping. You would think to but your brain is suddenly gone because of the sight before you.

Steve Harrington, your lovely, sweet, amazing boyfriend, has just walked in carrying groceries. Said he had to drive Robin to work and was gonna pick up some things to prepare for the upcoming snow storm.

He should have called and told you to prepare. A fire in your gut was burning. A steady thrum spreading throughout your body. Your mouth was simultaneously salivating over him and dry wishing he'd kiss and lick into your mouth.

Steve Harrington was bundled up, that stupid scarf you made wrong that he refused to get rid of ("it's a labor of your love!") even though you made him a better one, was wrapped around the lower half of his face. His nose was a dusty red from the chilly wind outside. He had a beanie on that had a light dusting of snow, the same snow that fluttered on his lashes as he blinked.

His jacket looked too tight because he had a sweatshirt underneath. You knew Steve had another shirt under that, barely seeing the hem peeking out. The bottoms of his pants were tucked into snow boots, where you knew he had thrown on wool socks.

All of that was fine. It was his pants that were the issue. Grey sweatpants, that clung to his perfect ass. Grey sweatpants that did nothing to hide the length of him. Steve wasn't even hard and he was big.

A burst of jealousy runs through you at the thought that anyone could have seen him. That jealousy quickly turns to desire because anyone could have seen but only you could touch. You sort of wish you had gone with him now, only to see the longing looks on other's faces (and you don't really wanna think about what that means for you).

You stand causing the chair at the table to squeak against the hardwood floor. The mittens you were working on for Steve all but forgotten. You can hear Steve speaking but it is not being processed by your brain.

All you can think is how good his voice sounds. How good he looks. How hot.

Steve turns around and jumps back, not expecting to find you in his space. Steve glares," What the fu-Jesus, warn a guy next time!" "Sorry," you look him up and down, tone, conveying you very much are not sorry.

"Upside down ain't gonna kill me, you're gonna give me a heart attack," Steve rolls his eyes dramatically, but you can see the corners wrinkle from his smile that is still hidden beneath the scarf. His hand reaches out, knocking against yours almost subconsciously.

You wanted to say something intelligent, maybe tease him and see him blush and get flustered, but your brain stopped communicating with your tongue.

"Fuck me." You all but whine, biting your lip. Steve's eyes widen slightly. Before he can say anything, you drop to your knees.

"Whoa Ba-" Steve cuts off with a strangled sound as you grab onto his hips and pull him towards you. You kiss the tip of his length before licking the sweats. Your saliva turns the grey darker. Steve lets out a low moan, hand finding your hair.

You continue to lick and leave open mouth kisses all over his hardening length. It was impressive before but now? You fidget slightly, thinking about it being in you.

You hear a thud and a hiss, pulling back to look up at Steve holding a hand to the back of his head. You know Steve threw his head back in pleasure and hit his head against the cupboard.

"Be careful about your head, dont need another concussion," You frown up at him. He peers down at you, eyes full of lust," Not the head I'm worried about." His voice sounds low and gravelly. His face is flushed, even his ears have turned a bit pink. He's looking at you like he wants to swallow you whole.

You yank down the sweatpants and boxers, Steve shimmying away from the countertop to help. His erection springs up, almost hitting you in the face (and damn isnt that a thought). Its curved slightly, precum leaking at the tip. He's flushed a nice red, two small freckles on the base close to his balls.

You spit in your hand and firmly grasp him, causing him to groan. You move your hand steadily up and down him. You love how soft his skin is that contrasts with how hard he is.

You lick his slit, letting the salty taste of Steve coat your tongue. Steve moans and his dick twitches in your hand. You lick again, swirling around his flushed head.

"Not gonna- fuck, not gonna last long," Steve whines, flustered above you. You haven't even done much, and either you're really really good at this (you are) or Steve has been horny for a bit longer then normal today (you wonder if he wanted to be seen as you remember those jeans he used to wear) You slowly wrap your lips around him, sucking lightly. You moan, moving your mouth up and down in tandem with your hand.

It isn't long, maybe a minute. All it takes for him to come undone is for you to peer up at him and meet his eyes. Steve comes with a shout, his leg kicking out slightly as he grips the countertop to stay standing. You swallow it all, everything he would give you.

When Steve starts to whimper is when you let go of him. He falls from your mouth with a pop. You look up at him, lips slightly swollen. Steve is panting, face flushed.

Steve slowly slides down against the counter, legs going to either side of you. He grabs your arms and tugs you into him, pulling you chest to chest. Steve kisses you lightly before pulling back," I think i just blacked out, holy shit."

You giggle before kissing him again. Steve sighs into the kiss, hands running up and down your arms, to your back, to your ass. You pull away to take a breathe and Steve smirks up at you," I should wear these more often huh?"

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures (Directory)

Homelander x plus size f!Reader 18+ completed series. 20k. AO3 Link gif credit tags: workplace harassment, stalking, obsession, voyeurism, somnophilia, breaking and entering, assault (not by HL), violence, murder, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, hurt/comfort, office sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, breast play, flight sex, lite overstimulation, riding. nebulously takes place post-s1.

Homelander is on top of the world. He can say or do whatever the fuck he wants, and the sycophants around him will bend over backwards to make his word law, with few notable exceptions. He never expected someone like you to be one of them. When you put him in his place after a workplace incident, he becomes fixated on the promise of a firm hand alongside a soft body.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

[elleloquently]

is there even room for slowburn character study fics here anymore or is everyone just occupied w gun play and pretending that ellie is an abuser