I Need A Beta Reader Real Bad

I need a beta reader real bad 😭

Hi, this is my first time doing this. But I'm in search of a beta reader who can give me feedback on my story. It's a gay Interracial romance (white and black). MXM, Mafia and Mpreg. I plan on posting this story on Kindle Vella. My story is here if you want to check out the seven chapters 7 on wattpad to see if you'll be a good fit for it. If you are please send me a message on Tumblr or my second account @unique-high

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Love In The Dark | WMBM MXM MPREG

Originally named A Thug's Love. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞

This is goodbye for now.

Soft As A Summer Night | K.Namjoon x Blk Fem Reader.

summary: Namjoon comes home after a long, exhausting week, finding peace and comfort in the quiet intimacy of being with the person he loves.

Author Note: This imagine is inspired by my favorite song When She Comes Home Tonight by Riley Green.

Namjoon’s hands trace your body slowly, like he’s rediscovering you piece by piece. His fingertips glide over the curve of your arm, then linger at your waist, as if he’s afraid to let go. It’s been too long, days of missed moments and silent phone calls stretching the distance between you. But now, with you here, the weight of the week falls away, one heavy knot at a time.

He’s in no hurry. He never is when it comes to you.

The scent of fried chicken still lingers in the air, a warm reminder of home, of all the little pieces of life you stitch together. It’s not perfect, none of it is, but it’s yours—both of you, in this quiet space that feels worlds apart from the noise outside. The golden light of the setting sun filters through the blinds, casting long shadows that drape over your skin like a slow-moving river. There’s a stillness between you, one that doesn’t need to be filled with words.

His hand settles on your hip, resting there like it belongs. You shift against him, your body moving to meet his, and it’s the kind of closeness that doesn’t need to ask for permission. You’ve always been like this with him—easy, natural, like the soft hum of crickets outside the window. His lips brush against your collarbone, soft and unhurried, a gesture more intimate than any words he could muster right now.

The silence feels heavier than his confession when it finally comes. “It’s been too long.” His voice barely cuts through the air, as if he’s admitting it to himself more than to you. His hands follow the line of your body, tracing familiar paths as if they could make up for the time he wasn’t here.

You don’t answer, but you don’t have to. The way your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pressing just above his heart, tells him everything. He wonders if you can feel the way it beats, stuttering beneath your touch like it’s still trying to find its rhythm after a week of chaos.

He presses his forehead to yours, your breath warm against his skin, and for the first time in days, he feels anchored. There’s nothing else to think about, nothing else pulling at him. Just you, just this—this quiet space between you that doesn’t demand anything but presence.

His thumb moves in slow circles along your waist, the same lazy, steady rhythm of the old fan whirring in the corner. Everything is slow tonight, unhurried, like the world outside doesn’t exist. He leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek, then to the soft curve of your jaw, each kiss deliberate, as if he’s sealing a promise in every touch. The porch light flickers on outside, casting its faint glow across the room, but even that feels distant, secondary.

The scent of wild honeysuckle drifts in through the open window, mingling with the leftover heat of the day, and it makes everything feel softer. Like you could stay wrapped in this moment forever, hidden away from the outside world. His hands don’t stop moving over your skin, like they need to remember every part of you, relearn what it feels like to have you this close. He doesn’t need to say he missed you. It’s in the way he holds you now, tighter than before, like he’s afraid to let go.

You breathe into him, your body fitting perfectly against his, and Namjoon knows. He knows that whatever else waits for him—whatever long hours and meetings loom ahead—it’s worth it for this. For you.

[8: 44 pm ]

Ateez San x Black fem reader

Your curly strands of hair cascaded over your plump cheeks. As your mouth hung slightly open, soft breaths escaped from your lips, tinted a delicate shade of red. With a gentle touch, San pressed his thumb into the velvety flesh, his eyes fixed on what he yearned to desperately kiss. In that fleeting moment, he locked his gaze with yours, and your heart skipped a beat, ignited by the intense warmth emanating from his deep, chocolate eyes.

In between the pages of you | Yoongi x blk fem reader

Chapter one

NOT PROOF READ

Chapter 2: Yoongi's Reflections

Yoongi stands in the small ramen shop, the clock ticking past 2 AM, and the warm aroma of broth envelops him like a familiar embrace. The usual clamor of late-night diners is absent, leaving only the soft hum of the kitchen and the faint sound of water boiling. The steam from the pots blurs the edges of his vision, creating a hazy dreamscape that mirrors the thoughts swirling in his mind.

Instead of the savory ramen that usually draws him here, a steaming bowl of rice sits in front of him. Its surface glistens under the dim light, the sprinkle of butter and sugar melting slowly, creating a pool of warmth. Yoongi remember from your last journal entry how you made a wish on a bowl of rice and he wanted to do the same, maybe find hope in a wish on a bowl of rice, that old him would have thought was foolish.

Yoongi read another journal entry of yours during the day, the page dog-eared and stained with splatters of soy sauce. From reading most of the entries you wrote, Yoongi found that your journal was your solace, a window into the heart of a stranger who seemed to understand the unspoken parts of you.

Your entry lingered on his mind as he flipped it open once more, the black Indian ink almost shimmering with meaning:

"June 10th, 2023. I still go to the little ramen shop tucked away between the Chinese restaurant and dry cleaners. Part of me wanted to find myself in the broth of the beef ramen and the fried dumplings. Part of me wanted to leave herself at table two. There was this want who wanted to find a part of me who I lost and there was this want who wanted to leave herself somewhere that years from now she can come back to and remember something about herself and the way it felt. Hmm, maybe that's why I started this journal too."

Yoongi read the words over and over, each pass striking a chord deep within him, reverberating through his chest. The weight of your introspection resonates, and he finds himself caught in the delicate balance of connection and solitude. It’s as if you laid bare the very essence of your own struggles—the desire to be found while fearing the vulnerability that comes with it.

Yoongi let his gaze drift toward the door, the familiar creak of the wood echoing in his mind. You could walk through those doors at any moment, and despite not knowing what you looked like, Yoongi felt a magnetic pull toward your essence. A belief that he would recognize you instantly, not by features but by a shared understanding.

With a sigh, Yoongi closes your journal, his fingers lingering on the frayed edges. It’s a talisman of hope, a reminder that there are others navigating the same shadows, searching for themselves in the folds of life.

Yoongi stir the rice absently, watching the butter swirl and melt, each movement drawing him deeper into your thoughts. What would he wish for if he could release a desire into this bowl? Would it be for clarity, for the courage to uncover the parts of him that remain hidden?

The door creaks open, a gust of warm night air blows through the small shop, and Yoongi's heart races. He looks up, breath hitching, but it’s just a couple of drunk patrons stumbling in for their midnight fix. Disappointment settles in his chest, but he shake it off.

As the clamor of their laughter fades into the background, Yoongi focuses back on the rice before him. Perhaps, like you, Yoongi too was leaving a piece of himself in this bowl—an offering to the universe, a small hope tucked away to be rediscovered later.

Yoongi picks up his spoon and takes a bite, the taste comforting, yet laced with that familiar sense of yearning. With each mouthful, he feels the warmth of possibility swirling within him, the kind that makes you believe that one day, perhaps soon, you’ll find your way back to the parts of you that have been lost.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll find you waiting at the same table.

Author's Note: Wow, I finally updated this story after so long. I was debating whether I should continue with this little series or not. But like most authors, I have self-doubt and worry about my writing. But anyway I hope everyone enjoys it :)

There are a lot of times I wanna give up on my writing but then I read over my work and I'm like why did I want to give up? Because I create beautiful things but I also see the uglyness in that beauty.

And I Love Her | Queer Bipoc fiction.

Psychological horror and romance.

Characters

I'm writing this on Wattpad. So far I have two chapters up. I'm excited for this book because this will be my first attempt at writing a psychological horror story. Also this story is based on a few songs that I adore.

If you wanna check it you can.

Wattpad

And I Love Her | QUEER ROMANCE

"He tells me he's gentle when he wants to be." ✨✨✨ And maybe I was the crazy one who didn't see anything wrong with wh...