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daughterwifed · 26 days ago

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ROUTE 69 !

ft. di!leon kennedy x woc!reader

tags. piv, smut, cop!leon, ignorance/racism but not on purpose 😭, leon woc fetishiser, blowjob, public sex, car sex, creampie

notes. im scared 2 post this all I have to say is im a fat brown woman and um my belly fat is going to shield me from any backlash.. this fic was much worse and then I changed it to di leon and made it more of him being ignorant without realising n having a fetish. readers race/ethnicity isn’t specified but since im south asian i did write it w myself in head .. reading this back it’s very south asian actually wow. some bits r taken from my old n deleted fics if they sound familiar 😴 i’ve been writers blocked 4 months so this is clunky n disjointed,, feedback n rbs always appreciated :3 UNEDITED!!!!!!!!

You get pulled over beside a cornfield—Where Leatherface met Sally.

Okay, sure, you were speeding, like, a little bit, but it’s not like there’s anyone to crash into, there’s no schools around here so no kid is going to wander into the road and splat against your windshield like a bug, and there’s no deers so you really don’t see the problem. This road is long and winding like an unfurled spool of silver ribbon, it’s scary, and the only source of light is the fucking moon, and while there’s probably only a 0.01% chance of something happening to you—This is Midwest America you’re talking about - land of the free, birthplace of literally every serial killer like ever.

They have it all here: killer clowns, rapists, somebody’s coworker, zodiac killers, night stalkers, mommy’s boys and cannibals.

An entire carousel of freaks.

He’s just a cop, you tell yourself, some overweight, gun-slinging, bible-thumping degenerate that has to pick on generally polite and law-abiding women like me to feel good about himself.

You press your face against the wheel and try not to think of Jason and Michael Myers and that terribly evil, big-nosed clown with his stupidly small top hat.

Tap, tap, tap.

You don’t even look when you roll down the window, not until he sighs deeply and gives a pointed, “Ahem.”

Don’t look at him wrong. Don’t smile at him wrong. Don’t even breathe wrong. Don’t give him a reason.

When you lift your head you're met with his crotch. It’s not exactly a sight for sore eyes, but it’s not exactly unwelcome—You can tell by those hands and those thighs and—well—that dick that you’ve got him all wrong. He’s not fat or ugly. He’s a hot gun-slinging, bible-thumping cop, and somehow that’s even worse.

“Do you know how fast you were going—“ He adjusts his belt, probably shifts his dick from one side to the other side of his obscenely tight uniform before he bends down to peer into your window. “—ma’am?”

Oh god.

He’s like hot hot.

Somewhere between retired underwear model and vintage pornstar hot. His eyes are the type of blue you'd like to dip your toes into, and his name badge says Kennedy.

“Fast enough to get your attention?” You smile at him hopefully, sitting up straighter and shifting your body towards the window to show him your perfectly planted cleavage.

Officer Kennedy seems to take that into consideration, nodding thoughtfully while he looks right down your work blouse and at the scalloped cups of your lucky lace bra. It’s always been there to get you out of a pinch—like that presentation today, if you hadn’t stood directly under that spotlight with that bra and that sheer blouse, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be getting a promotion and such a glowing recommendation.

When he’s done checking you out, Officer Kennedy asks for your license and registration, you rifle around in the glove compartment and pretend not to notice a pack of condoms falling to the ground.

He leans forward, peering through the open window, yoi catch sight of the ID clipped to his shirt. “Think we might have a code M&M on our hands,” Officer Leon Kennedy says.

“A what?” You dig out your insurance papers and hand them over, fingers trembling when you go to get your license from your card wallet—You haven’t done anything bad, you went over the speed limit, it’s not like you’re lying about your papers, it’s not like you have a body in the trunk—It’s just the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you.

“Y’know, Mexican or Muslim—Aw, don’t look at me like that, it’s just a joke, don’t make me feel bad about a joke.” He clicks his tongue like he’s embarrassed. “I’m not like that,” Leon continues as he squints at your license, “I don’t have a problem with anyone or anything, it’s just how we talk down at the station.”

You just blink at him. What are you even meant to say to that?

“Tough crowd.” He shrugs and hands everything back to you, for just a moment you think you might be able to get away with a slap on the wrist, but you don’t go to his church, you don’t sound like him, you don’t wave around little flags on the Fourth of July, you’ve never even had a casserole, and you most certainly don’t look like anyone he would call a friend. “Here ya go.” He sticks his hand through the window, waving around a fine.

“I can’t pay that,” you blurt out, and you want to be smart and tell him that you know speeding doesn’t cost that much, he could just give you a point on your license and it would all be fine and dandy, but you’re panicking.

“Didn’t think so.” Leon gives you a pointed look—Like, like he planned this, like he’s setting you up, and he is, he so is—You’re tired and upset and wary about the gun he’s wielding on that belt. “You know,” he sighs, glances at your strategically unbuttoned shirt, “there’s something else you could do for me.”

Okay, this is good, it sounds more like the start of a bad porno than a horror movie and you’re alright with that. You can do porn, you can take dicks, but you can’t take chainsaws or hooks or needles or anything of the sort.

To be coy, you blink at him slowly, tears beading your lashes like morning dew. “I have a boyfriend, Officer.”

“Ah…” Leon seems to take it seriously, like abusing authority is fine as long as a woman’s single—but the moment she’s taken? He’s got morals. “Arranged marriage, huh?”

You blink at him. Again. And again. And again.

“No…” You say slowly—Oh, what the hell. “Yeah, forced marriage, it’s a whole thing, if I don’t make it back tonight I'm in for a beating—That’s why I was speeding actually, officer, I just want to get home before it’s too late.”

“Damn shame.” Leon shakes his head, the gravel crunching under his boots as he shifts. “Treating a pretty girl like that…Nice skin, pretty hair, big eyes—That’s just not right.”

So he’s like that - the type to call you a princess in bed and a terrorist at the airport, the type to fuck you and let you know that his buddies can’t find out about this, he doesn’t change the radio station when a rap song comes on when he drops you two blocks away from your house.

“Listen, sweetheart, you seem like a good girl, girls like you, they're good in school, study hard, doctors, lawyers, all that stuff—“ He makes a vague hand gesture that is neither here nor there. “—So I don’t wanna give you a ticket or a court date, but, uh, that doesn’t come for free.”

“I understand, officer.” You bat your lashes at him, biting back a smile. This isn’t so bad, you got a promotion and now you’re getting laid. There’s no axe murderers or rapists in sight, just a cop with his dick in the right place.

“Good girl.” He nods, pleased, and then he switches off his radio. “So, you do that for that prick at home or me?” Leon’s eyes drift to your cleavage, to your thighs in that short skirt, it keeps riding up the more you squirm in your seat.

“I like uniforms,” you tell him innocently, “can’t help it.”

Leon laughs, slow and knowing. “I bet you do.” His fingers brush his belt, not to reach for his gun, but to unbutton them. You poke your head a little further out the window, his hand finds the back of your head, guiding you to his dick. His gun-slinging, bible-thumping dick that you fully intend to put in your mouth - you’ve made your bed and now you're kneeling in it. “I don’t have a breathalyser with me, so this’ll do.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as your warm mouth closes in on the tip, he’s big, but not in the way that makes your jaw ache—If he wanted to do that he’d find better luck shoving a gun in your mouth.

“Fuck, wait.” He lets out a soft grunt and pulls his cock from your mouth, smudges of red lipstick and strings of spit keeping his tip and your lips together.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, heart thumping out of your chest—Did he change his mind? Did he have, like, an epiphany? Was it bad? Oh god, what if someone saw you? What if there really is a murderer out here and everybody knows they always go for you when you’re fucking—

Leon opens the back door—You were worried about murderers and hillbillies but your doors weren’t even locked. “Get in the back.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath of relief, climbing over the handbrake and losing a heel on the way over to meet him. He braces an arm against the roof of your car as you kiss the tip off his cock, letting dribbles of pre wet your lips.

“Fuck,” Leon groans, one hand rests atop your head, “you’re trouble, I should’ve cuffed you.”

“I would’ve liked it,” you mumble around a mouthful of fat cock, you should be ashamed of soaking through your poor thong, but you’re not. That ticket would feel a hundred times worse than a sore throat.

“Speak English.” He gives you this cheeky smile when you let out a noise of surprise, but you’re too concerned with taking him deep in your throat to start an argument—So he gets away with it like he has a million times before. If it were any other day you'd give him a piece of your mind. Really, you would. Honest. Once his tip knocks the back of your throat, you start speaking his language, gagging wetly as you swallow around him, one hand trailing down to grasp his heavy balls. You feel him pulse, and he curses under his breath. “That got you going, huh?” He snorts, amused and all sorts of turned on.

When you pull off with a pop, you go straight to licking up the seam of his balls. “You having fun down there, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” It’s muffled as you take one into your mouth and then the other, you like to play with your food, and sucking up (read: off) took you so far in school.

“C’mon, enough of that,” Leon hums, pushing you off gently like you’re a kitten clawing at the hem of his trousers. You go to whine and then wonder what your parents would think of this and zip your mouth shut. Your grandmother came to America for what? For this? For you to let any old pig put his dick in your guts? Whatever. Whatever. He’s a hot pig. He’s like the cutest guy you’ll find for miles, and you’ve already gone to college, you’ve got a good job, why can’t you indulge? “Scooch over.”

You shuffle back, skirt hiking up your thighs until it’s more of a belt, he wedges himself between your thighs—Your legs dangle out the door, and you're still worried something or someone is going to come out of the cornfield waving around a scythe and cut up both your bodies like a canvas, but you’re wet and he’s on top of you and there’s no going back now.

“Wait—Keep it on,” you gasp softly as he lifts the hem of his uniform shirt.

“Why? You like it?” He asks, blinking at you with those big blue eyes, they’re clear like a summer afternoon.

Obviously.

“I dunno…I kinda like it, feels wrong.” You take his hand in yours once he drops the bunched up fabric, bringing it to feel how wet you’ve gotten.

“What? The badge? The uniform?” He looks smug, like you're some kinky act of rebellion for him—Well, you don’t really have the right to speak on things like that.

“The gun,” you say softly, flashing him your sweetest smile.

“You're dirty,” he tells you with a groan, lining up his cock with your soft cunt, dragging the fat head up and down your folds, letting it brush over your throbbing clit just to see you writhe.

“Hurry,” you whine, digging your nails into his biceps, you want him to split you straight down the middle. “Wait—Are you married?”

“Does it matter?” Leon asks before he pushes in with one single glide, you're so wet there’s no resistance, just the slight stretch of a pleasantly big dick, tip nudging your cervix.

“Oh my god.” You drag your nails down his back, legs going rigid as pleasure prickles your spine. “I was just—just wondering.” You bet there’s someone. Blonde, short, small, the kind he can bring home with no judgement.

“Probably should’ve asked before you sucked my dick.” Leon huffs out a breath as he shifts his hips, angling deeper, making you sniffle as he drops his sweaty forehead to press against yours. He’s so deep you feel him everywhere, you can’t escape him and you don’t want to.

His cock drags in and out of your slick cunt, one of his hands is by your head and the other settles on your tummy, trailing down until he finds your swollen clit. The pad of his thumb rolls over the soft bud as he fucks into you, pussy clicking wetly with each sharp thrust.

If you had any dignity left, if you weren’t twenty seconds away from gushing all over him, you'd probably be embarrassed by the noise. The wet squelch each time he bottoms out, the smack of his balls on your ass, the way you’re whining like a fucking, boot-licking idiot.

“Wait—Wait, I can’t—“ You push at his abdomen, wanting him to ease up as you feel the pressure build deep in your gut, there’s no time to feel guilty when it feels so fucking good, when your cunt tightens and he presses down on your clit and your poor Honda Civic—She’s been subjected to a lot tonight.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart.” Leon cups your cheek, his hand is softer and smaller than you expected, gentler than the one that’s pinching your clit and making you sob into your fist. “Go on, good girl.”

You think you black out when it happens, and you don’t know why. It was good, sure, but it wasn’t, like, deserving of a pornstar reaction, and you just gave that—Boosted his already huge ego, made a fool out of yourself, disappointed whoever in your line of ancestors decided the shift to America was a good idea.

“You do that for your husband?” His voice is strained, his thrusts are sloppy, his mouth is hanging open as he ruts into your messy cunt.

“I don’t actually have—It’s the uniform.” You think about the box of condoms on the floor and hook your legs around him, digging one kitten heel and one regular human heel into his ass to keep him from running away.

Leon’s eyes go wide, he opens his mouth to protest, and then you squeeze his dick so tight it empties his brain and his balls. He even looks good when he cums. Adam’s apple bobbing, lips parted, a perfectly timed rivulet of sweat drips down his temple as he fills you up.

The quiet after all of it is said and done kind of makes you wish you did hear a chainsaw revving somewhere in the distance. He buckles his belt as you pull your thong back into place, dried cum sticking to your thighs, dripping onto your poor old car. You have driven a million relatives back and forth in this little thing, you take your mom to the doctors and your grandma to the grocers and now she’s ruined.

His radio is switched back on, you find both your shoes and place them on the passenger seat. You can’t drive in this state, not when your legs are wobbling so bad you wouldn’t be able to step on the brakes. Maybe that’s what you need to do. Drive head first into a wall.

“I can drive you home,” Leon offers after he watches you stare at the windshield blankly, “Can get somebody to bring your car over in the morning.”

You accept and wonder who he voted for as he drives. His pinned radio stations are all some sort of rock, but there’s no country and that makes you feel a little better.

He grabs your wrist before you get out, all blue-eyed and earnest. “I hope…I hope I didn’t get you into trouble with your folks, I know how they get, your people, I don’t want, uh, anything to happen to you.”

You look at your house. All the lights are off. There’s not a single car parked in the drive. There’s nothing because you live with no one but yourself. You thought cops were meant to have deductive skills.

“And if your husband gives you any trouble, you can call me, for real this time—Not, not for that, but for help,” he finishes clumsily, like he didn’t raw you in the middle of an open road while he was on fucking duty.

“I don’t have…” You look at him, like really hard, remnants of red lipstick on the collar of his blue uniform, his seed staining your panties white. “I’ll tell you if he gives me any trouble,” you say, only because you know he needs a reason to come and see you, he couldn't be casual with somebody like you. He’s going to knock on your door with a warrant just so he can fuck you into your mattress.

“Okay.” He nods, lips twitching into a smile. “I’ll bring the handcuffs next time.”

I’ll bring a fucking veil next time so I can hang you or myself, maybe an anklet or two if you’re into that officer.

You fix a smile onto your face. “Goodnight, Officer.”

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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atlaculture · 7 months ago

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how do you think the calendar is organized in the atla universe? they have a twelve-month system like we do but what would those months each be called? do you think they have leap years?

Right off the bat, let me just say that hypothetical calendars and alternative timekeeping is one of my favorite topics to talk about so this reply is going to be lengthy.

First off, everything we know about the calendar system in Avatar comes from the planetary calendar room in Wan Shi Tong's library.

The innermost ring indicates the number of months in a year (12), the second ring indicates the number of days in a month (30), the third ring indicates the different Avatar eras (16 shown), and the outermost ring showcases all of the animals of the zodiac cycle (12). For this reply, we're only going to be focusing on the innermost and second innermost rings.

According to the episode, the ATLAverse appears to have only 12-month years, so no leap year 13th month like the East Asian lunar calendar. There also doesn't appear to be any months with more than 30 days, judging by the number of days shown on the calendar. This means that the maximum number of possible days for an Avatar year is 360. So it's safe to say that there are probably no leap years like ours in the ATLAverse. I guess their Earth's orbit is slightly shorter and more suited for timekeeping than ours.

As for what each month would be called in the ATLAverse, there's a couple of options. One option is to simply call the months by order: First month, second month, third month, etc. This actually ties back to Avatar's Chinese influence, as that's literally how months are named in Mandarin. This is straightforward, practical, and doesn't require any complex etymology or extensive worldbuilding.

However, I also think it would be fun to weave motifs into the calendar. Since there's so much emphasis on balance and cycles, why not divide the twelve months between the four elements? I imagine these months would be referred to as:

The 1st, 2nd, & 3rd Water Month

The 1st, 2nd & 3rd Earth Month

The 1st, 2nd, & 3rd Fire Month

The 1st, 2nd, & 3rd Air Month

For example, a person might say "I was born during the first water month, in the year of the rabbit." Naturally, there would be plenty of superstitions and horoscopes related to the combination of birth month and birth year.

The show also canonically mentions weeks passing by, although they never specify the number of days in their weeks. In a previous post, I mentioned that government officials during the Qin & Han Dynasty were given a day off every five days to bathe themselves. I think this would be a good basis for a week in the ATLAverse, four days of work and one day of rest. Each working day would be named after a cardinal direction (East-day, North-day, West-day, South-day) and the resting day would be called "Center-day", paralleling a compass.

In short, an ATLA month would be comprised of 6 five-day weeks and a year would be made up of 12 thirty-day months; the days would be themed around the cardinal directions and the months would be themed around the four elements. I think this would be a good way of adding texture to the world of Avatar, without weighing the setting down with too much worldbuilding or cultural baggage.

...And that would just be the default "world" calendar that spirit libraries and world travelers and international organizations would use. I think each nation would probably have their own unique calendar tailored to suit their own cultural and seasonal needs.

I might make a few posts on what each nation's calendar system might be, if anyone would like to read that.

Like what I’m doing? Tips always appreciated, never expected. ^_^

https://ko-fi.com/atlaculture

#replies #avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #water tribe #earth kingdom #fire nation #air nomad #cultural calendars

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glorfyndels · 2 months ago

Text

Tolkien Fandom Event Calendar 2025

There are lots of exciting Tolkien fandom weeks coming up this year, so inspired by @arofili's 2023 calendar, @curiouselleth's brand new Tolkien Fandom Events community as well as @tolkienfandomevents, I decided to create a masterpost for 2025.

This list is not exhaustive, and dates are subject to change by the organisers of these events! Please check the original post for the most up-to-date version.

If you know of any events not included here, please don't hesitate to send me a message or an ask. This calendar was first posted on 13 April 2025, and only events taking place after that date will be featured. Please note that I am not running any of these events myself and that I am not responsible for any prompts/submissions part of these events.

APRIL

1-30: Barduil Month @bi-widower-dads

14-20: Silmarillion Epistolary Week @silmarillionepistolary

MAY

1-31: Mayron, hosted by @polloniumwhy

5-11: Angbang Week @angbangweek

11-17: Gondolin Week @gondolinweek

12-18: Cozy Cuddles Week, hosted by @rivendellwatch

15-21: (TROP) The Underdog Edition, hosted by @the-southlands

19-25: Glorfindel Week @glorfindelweek [not moderated!]

26-1 June: Númenor Week @numenorweek

JUNE

26 May-1: Númenor Week @numenorweek

9-15: Celebrimbor Week, hosted by @the-southlands

9-21: Camp Tolkien, hosted by @inklings-challenge

10-17: Tolkien Ekphrasis Week @tolkienekphrasisweek

14-20: Boromir Week @boromir-week

16-22: Tolkien South Asian Week, hosted by @arwenindomiel

16-22: Tolkien Native Language Appreciation Fest @jrrt-native-languages-fest

16-22: Russingon Week @russingon-week

16-26: Spicy Week, hosted by @rivendellwatch

JULY

1-10: Samfro Summer @samfrosummer

1-31: Disability Pride, hosted by @filiswingman

4-10: Tyelkormo & Maitimo Week @tyelkoandtimo-week

13-19: Esoteric Tolkien Week @esotolkienweek

19: Mereth Aderthad, hosted by @silmarillionwritersguild

25: LotR Musical Summertime Springle Bing, hosted by @lotrmusical

AUGUST

1-6: Nargothrond Week @nargothrond-week

4-10: Silvergifting Week @silvergiftingweek

8-10: The Feast of Horns @feast-of-horns

11-17: Tolkien Gen Week @tolkiengenweek [tentatively]

SEPTEMBER

1-9: Ainur Week @ainurweek

1-30: Sapphic September, hosted by @filiswingman

8-14: Sindar Week @sindarweek

OCTOBER

6-12: Tolkien Latin American and Caribbean Week @tolkienlatamandcaribbeanweek

NOVEMBER

23-29: Tolkien Siblings Week @tolkiensiblingsweek

DECEMBER

1-31: Díscember, hosted by @filiswingman

Longer Events:

Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang @tolkienrsb, March-October

Scribbles & Drabbles @fall-for-tolkien, June-November

Innumerable Stars @innumerable-stars, August-October

SWG challenges @silmarillionwritersguild throughout the year

Teitho Contest @teitho, challenges throughout the year

Stage Adaptations Performance Calendar by @emeraldskulblaka

#fandom #fan projects #tolkien fandom event calendar #lord of the rings #hobbit #silmarillion

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1-800-local-slut · 3 months ago

Note

So I love your Spencer Reid x Black!Bombshell!Reader fic and I was wondering if you have any headcanons for the platonic friendship between Spencer's black bombshell reader and Derek Morgan?

I'm super sorry, I'm 100% south asian so the only things I know about black culture come from the web but I can see Spencer asking Derek questions so that he can understand his girlfriend better (since Derek grew up with his mother and older sisters) like about wash day and black hair care (I'm remembering that one Black Jeopardy SNL skit with Chadwick Boseman and I can see Derek just telling Spencer to never ever even think about making a potato salad for her).

Like I totally see black bombshell reader and Morgan having a cool big brother x cool younger sister type relationship with Spencer being the puppy eyed golden retriever in the middle.

Leave It At The Door

Spencer needs some advice, and Derek has allll the answers

Spencer Reid x Black! Bombshell! Reader

Warnings: none, cute fluff, potato salad, Derek is lowkey a cornball but tells reader the hard truth like true homeboys do, Derek and reader are besties in the way that he calls her ugly and she beats him up lol, I based this character on me

Thank you for this request pookie! I truly appreciate it and I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it. Please consider sending more request in the future! Comments, reblogs, and likes are really appreciated <3

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

❥ Derek's had a few close female friends in his life. He has the ever so lovely Penelope, his rock

❥ He has the amazing you, as well. It started in college when you were both starving students and you'd spend nights studying together while missing some of the parties you were constantly invited too

❥ The dating rumors were impossible to dodge, but you two stayed good friends through college and even through the FBI. Through breakups, arguments, drunken nights together laughing about nothing in particular and the morning hangovers you'd nursed each other through

❥ So when you two were successful adults in the CIA in your early 30s, thriving through single life and work life and you called him one day crying, Derek was more than concerned. The second you two got off work, he was at your apartment ordering the greasy food you two rarely put into your bodies

❥ Your boyfriend cheated on you. After six months together you really liked him too.

"I need a break D." You moaned in sadness as you ate a pork dumpling and brushed a stray curl up under your hoodie.

"What do you mean?" He responded, ever so nonchalant. He watched you roll over onto your side and look at him. You were in your pajamas with a hoodie on, the TV illuminating your eyes

"Am I ugly D? I mean, why do I keep getting cheated on?" It was a genuine question; this had been the fourth time one of Derek's friends has cheated on you. To be fair, you didn't care the first three times. You were in your early 20s, just messing around and let it go that same night. It's his fault, for all of his dick head friends asking to be put on with you and Derek knowing you were typically down for a good time not a long time. Little did he know, with age came the desire for love. Not just a fling.

He looked you up and down, dramatically tipping his head from side to side and humming while offense slowly covered your face.

"Hideous, your forehead's too big and you don't even look that good for real." He stared with the blankest face while chewing a piece of chicken. Disgust colored your features, and you jabbed him in the side.

Derek knew you weren't ugly. Not his type due to your personality but there's no doubt that you were fine. But he also knew that he couldn't shake yourself confidence. You had the self-confidence of a budding narcissist and were so delusional with what your looks could achieve that it was a little jarring. Most of the time it worked anyways, men were basically putty in your pretty, manicured hands. The only men who didn't take the bait were usually not attracted to women in general.

"I'm done with dating. I'm going to become a nun. Or take a vow of celibacy." You huffed, while sitting up and your hood came down. Your hair came down and covered your entire back. The men you dated tended to like spoiling you, evident by your current lace front that you didn't drop a cent on. Too bad they didn't also like being loyal.

Chewing a spring roll, Derek rolled his eyes. He's been your best friend since college. Fourteen years of friendship and Derek has seen this time and time again. You go out with guys, have sex with them too early, they don't take you seriously because you don't date guys on your level for some unknown reason. Then you cry, Derek comforts you and the cycle repeats. It gets a little tiring.

"Or you could start being serious. You're still dating the same guys you dated when we were 20. Bum's who don't take shit seriously. You have a doctorate. You pay all your own bills. You're too grown for this." You bit your lip, the words like a slap across the tit. Maybe Derek was right. He was certainly right. But rule number one of having male friends: never let them know that their right ESPECIALLY with dating advice.

"Date serious guys, be in serious relationships if that's what you want. Or keep dating losers. Keep dating bums who are gonna keep cheating on you and are only good for money and some dick." You couldn't even make a joke back. Because this was one of the rare times when Derek was being serious. Giving genuine advice for your broken heart.

❥ From there you did take Derek's advice. No more losers, lames, bums, dummies. No guys who made you laugh and that was all they were good for, definitely no sex on the first date. Not even the second or third. And that tended to weed out the losers early

❥ Dating good, smart men, also brought out a weird group who had their ideas on what a 'high value woman' was. Turns out losers can have doctorates as well. But you didn't give up, and Derek was happy when you've gone a few months without calling him about heart break

❥ It wasn't fun for him to see his best friend of over a decade just going through the motions. Not when love was such a powerful and beautiful thing that truly helped color your lives in a nice way.

❥ The craziness of your jobs for some reason caused you to entertain bums and Derek has been so disgusted for ten plus years. The number one hoe Derek Morgan, was disgusted in your choices of men

❥ You were still you at the end of every day, no matter how much your dating choices matured

❥ So when Spencer Reid, that tall glass of milk was gazing at you star struck one day, Derek knew he would have to let him down for you. Spencer didn't know what to do with all that. Truthfully, you'd be perfect for one another. Derek knew all your ins and outs, you'd fit into Spencer like a puzzle piece. But the kid was too young. Too wide eyed, and you were too much for Spencer at his young age

❥ It took a while but eventually Spencer somehow stole your heart. Even though you swore he was too young for you and refused to have another guy not take you seriously. But you and Spencer are in the same socioeconomic class, have similar hobbies and similar levels of intellect.

❥ He's on your level, handsome and something about him just made it impossible for you to follow your head instead of your heart. Nothing good could come from hooking up with a guy almost ten years younger than you but somehow you found yourself at a nice dinner with him and the rest was history

❥ Spencer was truly lucky, Derek can't explain how lucky Spencer was to have you in his life. You were the realest woman on the planet and Spencer got to see you. The you under 'you' in a way

❥ Spencer was still young though. He didn't understand it some things you said or did. Cultural differences, we'll call them.

❥ When you two did start dating, Derek said a little prayer for him. He still wasn't sure that Spencer could handle all that

"You have to train white boys when you start dating them." Your mother said over the phone one day while you and Derek were hanging out.

"Mommy he's not a dog."

"He's just a tall, awkward white man." Derek joked, and you slapped him on the bicep.

"Okay, let me ask you this. Does he use a washcloth when he bathes?" Your mom asked over the phone while the TV played in the background of her house in Houston.

You hesitated and Derek laughed. Busted.

"Girl that's nasty." Derek laughed and you kicked him.

"I'm working on it ma. Look, I have to go but I'll call you tomorrow. Love you." You hung up the phone to escape scrutiny from your mom.

❥ But deep down, Derek knew that there were some things to you that couldn't be worked around.

❥ It didn't pop up again until a few days later. When Derek was sitting down late at night, you were on a coffee run, and Spencer found himself alone with Derek

❥ And Spencer sheepishly leaned in to ask Derek something

"Derek, I have a question. I don't mean to be weird but you're the only person I can really ask." Looking up from the files on his desk, he bit back a yawn.

"What's up kid?"

"What's wash day?"

"What?"

"I asked her if she wanted to go out on Saturday. But she told me it was 'wash day', and I asked her if would really take her all day to do laundry. She just laughed, kissed me on the cheek and told me not to hurt myself thinking about it." And Derek realized the kid was cooked. Fried actually.

It was no secret that Spencer was a bit clueless when it came to women. But black women were a whole separate case. There are rules, things you need to know, do's and don'ts. So, Derek, desperate to keep both of his friends happy decided to lend a hand.

Derek motioned for Spencer to come around his desk.

"Wash day, is sacred. It's important. It's a battle for women with natural hair everywhere. It could take all day or all night."

"Wouldn't she just wash her hair every night when she showers?" Poor, sweet Spencer.

"No. Black people don't typically wash their hair every day. More so once a week or once every two weeks. Washing our hair everyday would ultimately damage it."

"What hair?" Spencer's eyes flicked to Derek's bald head.

"I'm choosing to ignore that."

"But wait. She styles it differently every few days."

"...Spencer that's a wig."

"...What."

"Her hair, it's a wig." No way Spencer thought your natural hair was that long, wavy wig that you named 'ol reliable' because it's served you well for a little over a year.

"I thought- well. Okay." And then he went back to his desk. In the nick of time the object of conversation entered.

❥ As your best friend, Derek got to hear all about your sex life. Including how severely underwhelming your first time with Spencer was. And this maybe a little weird but there's something about women where if you do something just right whenever you hit that perfect spot, they stay glued to your side. And right now, you were not sticking to him due to how poorly he preformed

"It wasn't like, his first time ever but it was like...I don't know D. He just was not putting it down." You sighed, eating some chips while you two drove from the police station and back to your hotel room.

"What, you think he just needs a little guidance?"

"I don't know. But this has never happened to me."

"You've never had bad sex?" Derek asked in awe, while turning at the intersection and turning off the turn signal.

"I've never been bad in bed. I kind of just...don't want to do it with him again." You sighed, looking defeated. Usually if the sex was bad, the relationship was over for you, but you liked Spencer enough to not just write him off as a bad lay.

"He would have it for like two seconds. Then I'd literally go back to feeling nothing." You held out a potato chip and Derek gratefully chewed it while humming in thought.

"Well, what wasn't he doing?"

"He wasn't hitting the spot, he had no rhythm, he wasn't even whispering in my ear. It was like he couldn't set a consistent pace. He was basically just flopping around. At some point, he did it. Like he rolled his hips, and I loved it, but he got nervous or something and went back to flopping. He wouldn't even touch me. Oh my god, what if he thinks I'm ugly?"

"He had sex with you without touching you? What'd he do, dry hump the air over your pussy?" Derek asked with a smile, and you let out an unlady like cackle.

"That would've been hotter than whatever he was doing. I mean like, he wouldn't kiss me. He wouldn't touch my hair or my face. Not even my ass. Couldn't even look me in the eyes. Do you know how many men would die to touch this? He was acting like he was...scared? I don't know man. It was bad." You shook your head and sighed.

"I tried at first! You know? I sucked his dick, I tried to throw it on him, I tried to move but it seemed to freak him out. So I didn't want him to freak out and I just let him think he was really doing something. I literally fought back tears."

"Tears is crazy." Derek was in genuine disbelief, turning into the parking lot of the hotel and taking another chip from the bag. The car was put in park and you two passed the chips back and forth.

"I don't know what to do here man. I don't think I can even teach that. I don't think I can show him what I like. He just gets scared whenever I like try to touch him and stuff."

"So, you're just gonna give up?"

You tilted your head side to side while chewing and then nodded.

"Yep. We'll have an asexual relationship because he honestly seems scared of sex." And Derek knew that was a fast way for any relationship would implode. Because if he found out he did so bad at sex that his girl never wanted to have sex again then he'd have to break up with her out of his pride.

❥ You two got out of the car once the bag was empty and made your way to the hotel. Spencer's happy ass walked into the lobby of the hotel happy as can be. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek while you cringed and covered it quickly with a smile. Dude had no clue that he basically flopped around like a fish on top of you

❥ But when three months passed without you two having sex again, Spencer and Derek found themselves having a nice lunch together when Spencer was poking at his food. Clearly lost in thought

"Has she said anything about me lately?"

"No." Other than how you have no rhythm and literally acted like you were scared but she likes you so much that she's willing to endure celibacy but will not have sex with you again. Oh, and how she's running out of ways to decline sex and thinks she might have to just stomach it once every few months. Spencer's girlfriend would do anything with him, sit throughs hours of random ramblings. But no way in hell was she about to have sex with him again. Luckily sex is something Derek is very good at.

"Let me ask you this. What did you do before she started being weird?"

Spencer went red, looking down at his plate and pulling at his collar.

"We uh, had sex for the first time. And the last time I guess."

"What'd you do during?"

"Well. I just uh, I put it in."

"...Okay. Then?"

"I like, started thrusting."

"...Okay. So, did you like kiss her or anything?"

"Uh, no."

"Oh man."

And after 25 minutes of having a man to man talk about intimacy, how vaginas are nothing to be afraid of, if you want to regularly have sex then you have to try and not be so scared of kissing and understand that women have likes. And if you really can't find any sort of way to move your hips then find a time in your head to move too. Like a nice little four count.

And the next day you skipped into work and happily shared half of your breakfast muffin with Derek while you recounted how things went. They weren't perfect but it was far better than last time.

"D, it was so much better than before. And honest to God he was actually exploring my body instead of standing there like he'd never seen a naked woman before. I didn't move as much but he even kissed me, and we held hands."

"Sounds terrible."

"It was horribly vanilla but there's definitely room for improvement."

❥ As your bestfriend, Derek also gets access to your fridge

❥ Eats all of your snacks like a biggie, but Spencer is over as well. He's searching for cookies but voices his disbelief when he finds another cookie tin filled with various materials. You were like someone's grandma in a way

❥ You sit down at your island and Derek is eating one of your pudding cups much to your dismay. He sits across the island from you, and Spencer is leaning on the surface while you talked about some sort of party. You had a little notepad, ever so organized.

"So, my mom is bringing banana pudding, and my cousins are bringing the apple pie and rum punch. D, what are you putting in?"

"Some meat." And he wiggled his eyebrows at his own joke.

"Nasty." You scowled and Spencer tilted his head in confusion.

"I can bring some ribs OR I can make peach cobbler."

"Why not both, you lazy bum?"

"I'm not a slave; you get one or the other."

You scoffed in fake annoyance and Derek flicked you in the arm.

"If I bring ribs, I'm manning the grill so I can't man the grill and bake cobbler. Unless you wanna pay me, 14 an hour."

"Alright Betty Crocker. I'm making the mac and cheese."

"Not the cornbread?" Derek asked, devastated that you wouldn't be making him your signature cornbread.

"No, Aunt Gina is making that."

"Who's frying the chicken and the fish? Because if the person isn't trustworthy I'm not coming."

"My uncle Moe, I don't trust him with the grill after his stroke, but he really wanted to help out." Then your house phone rang from the living room, and you quickly excused yourself. Spencer picked up your little notepad and scanned the page.

"You thinking of bringing something pretty boy?" Derek asked, scrapping the spoon on the inside of the pudding cup. Should he get another? Should he risk you kicking his ass?

"Almost everything is taken, except the potato salad. Maybe I can ask my mom if she has an old recipe she might remember. I remember my mom making it with dinner sometimes. If not I'm sure I can find one or I can go to the grocery store and get a pre-made one."

And Derek's never felt his own facial muscles betray him so quick.

"Do you value your relationship?"

"Of course?"

"And you want her family to like you?"

"Well yeah, if it's important to her."

"Leave that shit at home. Bring the paper plates or something." He left it at that, ignoring Spencer's shocked open mouth.

And you came floating back into the room with a grim expression.

"That was Jack. He asked if Trina could bring the potato salad."

"Why not Trina?" As far as Spencer knew, there were only two white people in your family. Spencer, and your cousin Jack's girlfriend Trina and neither of them seemed to be approved to bring food. Maybe it was just potato salad.

"Well...not to say anything is wrong with Trina. It's just...well white people have a tendency to put weird shit in their food sometimes. Hence the saying, 'you can't eat at everybody's house' because y'all tend to do things different from us.

You know it comes from social differences, differences in when we grew up and what we had available along with what recipes were passed down to us. And you guys' kind of just...fuck up all type of shit in the kitchen. I compromised and said she could make the salad."

"Well, that doesn't sound fair!" Spencer chuckled and Derek shook his head.

"Okay let me ask you this: when you cook chicken do you and your family wash it first?" You and Derek leaned in simultaneously and eyes Spencer carefully.

"You don't have too; studies have found that the heat kills the bacteria!"

"OH!" Derek yelled in protest while clutching his chest, and you busted into laughter.

"When you season your meat, how do you know when there's enough?"

"I follow the recipe."

"Instant fail."

"What if the recipe says pepper for spice or ONLY calls for salt and pepper?"

"Then that's all I use." You sucked in a breath and shook your head

"Yeah. Maybe just bring yourself and that beautiful smile of yours."

A frown creased his face until you stood on your tip toes. You planted a kiss on his cheek, and he instinctually broke into a joyful smile.

"Well, I feel fed just seeing that, thank you Spencer."

❥ Overall, Derek is overjoyed to see you and Spencer happy. He's happy to see you with someone who understands you. Someone who sees you for the you underneath all the makeup, high fashion and glamour

❥ And sure Spencer may be a little lost sometimes but he's always willing to listen. Truly he appreciates Derek being willing to fill in the blanks. And you may not know it, but you appreciate Derek as well for filling things in for your man

#black reader #x black reader #x reader #fem reader #multifandom account #requests open #criminal minds #derek morgan #spencer reid x reader #live laugh love spencer reid #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x black reader fluff #bau team #criminal minds fluff #fluff

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noyasmashing · 1 year ago

Note

Daichi getting dommed by his girlfriend?! Since he's in the police maybe his girlfriend is a detective or some form of government official that works with the police all the tine!!!

★ BAD BOY. daichi!

౨ৎ :: masterlist. reblogs are appreciated.

• warning: daichi + fem!dom reader, male penetration/fingering, mommy kink, cum eating, daichi has the “asian flush”

Daichi really wasn’t the one to drink. Actually, he shouldn’t be drinking. He lacked the enzyme that broke down alcohol once consumed. He wasn't suited for it, plain and simple. However, there were exceptions to his rule.

More often than not, he found himself holding a drink at parties, and tonight was no different. After months of tireless investigation, the combined efforts of the police officers and detectives had finally paid off, solving a particularly complex case. As a well-deserved reward, the team decided to treat themselves to a celebratory night out. They reserved a cozy private room at a highly-regarded restaurant, famous for its exceptional craft cocktails.

Their boss, in a thoughtful gesture, had arranged for everyone's drinks to be pre-ordered and paid for, ensuring that the team could relax and enjoy each other's company without worrying about the bill.

Daichi's concern about his metabolic issue flared up as he was handed a cold drink. However he disregarded it. After all, it was only natural that he felt compelled to partake, he didn’t want to seem stuck up, or rude. He started out with small sips, attempting to feign enjoyment.

No one had even noticed, he had gone almost the entirety of the party without even finishing half. Fortunately, everyones attention was diverted by a heartfelt speech from their respected superior officer, acknowledging the team's hard work and dedication.

As the party continued, Daichi's attention was divided between the celebratory speech and your persistent touch. Initially, the gentle rubbing of his thigh was a reflexive response to his coworkers' congratulations. But as the atmosphere mellowed, your hand remained, sending sparks of sensation through his body. The fleeting touches near his upper thigh were maddening, making him feel like he was losing control.

You couldn't help but notice his gaze lingering on you throughout the night, his eyes drawn to the subtle details of your attire - the short skirt, the blouse that teased just enough to hint at what lay beneath. It was clear you were deliberately drawing attention to yourself, and Daichi couldn't help but be captivated by your presence.

“Shall we take care of your issue in the bathroom?” you whispered in Daichi's ear, your voice dripping with teasing intent.

As he tried to maintain a stoic expression, you couldn't help but giggle at his failed attempt to hide his emotions. His temples flexed in frustration as he remained silent, his grip on your hand tightening under the table.

“You know we can’t do that.” He reasoned, tuning to meet your gaze, just for a moment.

You purred out, “Suit yourself,” in response, your eyes never leaving his face. Before smoothly turning to another detective and launching into a conversation about a different case you were working on together.

Daichi turned to look at his own friends, but struggled to process any of their words, his mind consumed by a maelstrom of inappropriate thoughts. In a desperate attempt to shake off the tormenting sensations and clear his mind, Daichi turned his attention to his drink, downing the remaining contents of his glass with a swift motion. The sudden rush of liquid warmth doing little to calm his racing thoughts.

As he struggled to clear the unpleasant aftertaste of his previous drink, Daichi's eyes fluttered open to find the group surrounding him, refilling their glasses.

Before he could process the situation, the room erupted into a chorus of cheers and toasts, and someone was pressing another glass into his hand. With a sense of obligation, Daichi reluctantly accepted the offering, not wanting to be rude or spoil the celebratory atmosphere. As he added the new drink to his already-lively mix, Daichi couldn't help but lament the fact that he had now consumed two cocktails.

As the surprise toast came to a close, the room began to empty out, with many people saying their goodbyes and departing the restaurant. Daichi noticed your growing impatience, and he felt his own unease mounting. He tried to sound nonchalant as he suggested, "Uh, m-maybe we should get going?" His words were laced with a subtle sense of desperation.

Your hand had been resting on his knee for a moment, but then it drifted away, your gaze flicking to your watch as if checking the time.

You nodded curtly, responding with a, "About time," and turning your attention back to him. "Do you have the keys?" you asked, your tone tinged with a hint of concern as you took in his flushed appearance. Without argument, Daichi handed over the keys, preparing to bid farewell to his coworkers and make a hasty exit.

As you both rose from your seats, Daichi's hand instinctively reached out and grasped the back of your jacket, his fingers digging in slightly as he struggled to steady himself. The sudden movement left him feeling lightheaded, and his face flushed with embarrassment as he realized his mistake. You, however, merely raised an eyebrow and tried to stifle a chuckle, indulging in a discreet caress of his backside as you did so.

You were well aware that Daichi was one of those people who didn't handle his liquor well, and the signs were all too clear. "It was nice seeing you, Chief," you said with a charming smile, shaking his hand firmly as you bid him farewell. Daichi nodded mutely, his eyes fixed on yours with a mixture of fear and distraction as your wandering hand continued its gentle exploration of his body. He was too intimidated to say anything, too preoccupied with the sensation of your touch to speak up.

Once you two were out of the restaurant the cool night air hit Daichi like a train. His breathing came in short, ragged gasps, and he stumbled slightly as he walked to the car. “Why did I park so far away.” He groaned, facepalming when he remembered his decision from earlier that day.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, your voice low and concerned as you raised an eyebrow in inquiry. The crunch of gravel beneath your feet was the only sound breaking the silence as Daichi hesitated.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Daichi stammered, finally turning to face you with a flush rising up his cheeks.

You shot him a concerned glance. "Did you drink too much or something, Sawa? You're breathing heavier than normal," you remarked, wrapping your arm around his waist to steady him as you walked towards the car in the dimly lit parking lot.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I felt rude not drinking, and then...of course, there was you..." He trailed off, his words hanging in the air as you approached the car, the silence between you thickening like fog.

But before he could break free and make his way to the passenger seat, you pinned him against the sleek, freshly washed car you had purchased together. The new sedan's gleaming surface reflected the dim parking lot lights, creating a sense of intimacy as you leaned in, your breath warm against his ear.

"What about me?" you whispered, your voice husky with desire. "Don't tell me you were turned on in front of your coworkers." you cooed, your knee gliding up to nestle against his groin, the movement deliberate and sensual.

His breath hitched, and he found himself grasping onto your jacket with an anxious intensity. "So-so what if I was?" he questioned, his voice trembling as he felt his heart pounding in his ears, his body burning with a sudden, intense heat.

His eyes widened as you made the bold move of pulling open the second-row door, revealing the dark interior of the car. "I can't wait till we get home," you whispered, your voice low and seductive, "and I don't think you can either." With that, you guided him into the back seat, the motion smooth and deliberate.

The effects of the alcohol were plain to see on him once you sat down beside him. You could almost hear his racing heart, his face a deep crimson, and the most captivating sight of all was his ragged breathing, as if he'd run a mile.

It was the most intoxicatingly vulnerable you had ever seen him, and by God, it was incredibly attractive. Once you closed the door behind you both, your lips crashed together in a sloppy, frenzied kiss. One that was full of fervor and desperation on his part.

Without hesitation, you started to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I think you're going to need a little discipline for overindulging, don't you?" you whispered into his ear, taking a gentle moment to nip at the lobe.

He let out a soft moan, his head nodding in agreement as you spoke. His apologies tumbled out in a slurred, endearing manner. Daichi was typically contrite and apologetic for his mistakes, so it was unusual for him to receive punishment like this, it made him excited.

"Actually," you said, pulling back to gaze at him with a playful smile. His eyes, still glassy from the drink, met yours, and he stared at you with a dazed expression. "You know what? You're adorable when you're tipsy. Kinda like when I finish fucking your brains out.”

He felt his body flare with heat at your words. The only thing his mushy brain could get out was a “please!” His whole body starting to tremble with anticipation as the desire burned within him. Your words conjured vivid images in his mind, leaving him breathless and unsure of himself. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of emotions, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts: plead, sob, or surrender. Your gentle teasing was torturous, leaving him helpless and at your mercy.

"Please? What do you want, sawamura?" you asked, your tone softening as you reached out to gently push him down onto his forearms.

He looked up at you with half-lidded eyes and wet lips. "F-fuck... fuck me.” he forced out, his breath catching in his throat as your hands ran gently along his chest, tracing the curve of his nipples.

“I don’t have my strap with me, darling.” You sighed, your hands tracing a gentle path along his torso. His abs contracted and relaxed, shifting beneath your touch. As you spoke, he let out a disappointed sob, his head tilting back in surrender.

“Don’t be greedy, my fingers will do just fine.” And with that, he was suddenly being flipped on all fours, his perky ass presented to you, the fabric of his clothes now inches from your face.

“Y-yes.. yes ma’am, sorry ma’am.” He relented, arching his back in attempts to appease you. You released a contented hum, then unfastened his belt and slowly slid down the zipper of his dress pants.

As soon as his undergarments were removed, his throbbing cock sprang free, glistening with precum that dripped down onto his dress shirt, a rather unfortunate turn of events.

Not to mention his hole, which clenched in eager anticipation of whatever you had in store. Your initial move was to spit on it, which was fortunate, as you would have needed lubricant anyway. He let out a soft "Ahh" of pleasure, sinking deeper into position as he did so.

You leaned forward, your body pressed against his, as you guided two fingers into his mouth from behind. "Open," you commanded, and he complied.

He struggled to resist the urge to suck on your fingers as you roughly explored his tongue, making him gag. A muffled string of moans escaped his lips, accompanied by a gasp as you withdrew your fingers.

"I'm supposed to be punishing you," you scoffed, "but you're responding like this is some kind of reward." you added, scoldingly. You then proceeded to line your now-wet fingers with his tight hole.

"Relax," you instructed as your fingers slid into him. Ordinarily, you would have taken your time to ease him into it, inserting just one finger to begin with. But the circumstances didn't allow for that level of finesse. Instead, you established a rough and demanding pace, one that had him groaning and whimpering into his palm.

"Slow down!" he pleaded, his words slurred with a mixture of protest and pleasure. Despite his plea, his hips continued to move in tandem with your pace, practically fucking himself on your fingers.

You couldn't help but laugh at the drunken scene unfolding before you, one hand rising to make a harsh, stinging contact with his exposed ass. His skin was hot to the touch, and his entire body seemed to vibrate with excitement.

His light pants were now a canvas of moans, his cries of pleasure and pain mingling in a chorus of ecstasy. The stifling air in the car grew thick and heavy, the windows fogging up.

"I wonder how the team would react to seeing you like this," you sneered, your voice dripping with disdain. "Knowing that I fucked you in the back of your car, and you took it like a good slut."

You dug your fingers deeper, searching for his most sensitive spot, and he winced in response. "Stoppp," he drunkenly begged, his voice muffled by his hand. You couldn't help but snort in derision at his demand.

"If you want me to stop, then why are you dripping allll over the seat?" You taunted, your gaze flicking down to the damp fabric. "Somebody's going to have to clean this up, you know."

He paused, his mind processing your words as a wave of tension washed over him. Though you couldn't see his physical response, you sensed it with certainty - his cock was twitching at your rather harsh degradation.

"I'm gonna cum, mommy." he whimpered alas, his voice trembling and nasal, in a tone that was foreign to you. He rarely addressed you with such endearments, so you knew that the alcohol must have loosened his inhibitions. "I'm gonna cum b-because your being so mean to me." he stammered, his words punctuated by sniffles.

"Hmmm," you murmured, slowing your movements deliberately. You couldn't help but appreciate the way his ass looked, supple and inviting as it yielded to your fingers. You didn't want this moment to end too soon. "Perhaps I should make you wait until we get home," You suggested, your voice low and sadistic with a hint of amusement.

He let out a despairing "Hmph" and a muffled string of "no"s as he struggled to force your fingers deeper inside him. To his frustration, you took a firm hold of his hips, preventing him from generating any friction through his own movements.

"You tell me, sawa, how bad do you want to come?" you asked in a calm, measured tone, tracing small circles on his hips and barely pumping him with your fingers.

As you gazed at him, you could see his Adam's apple bob up and down, his ear that angled towards you flushed a deep red, while his face remained mostly hidden behind his arm. The tremble in his voice was palpable as he hesitantly spoke up. "I... I want to so badly. I need to. My head feels all fuzzy, I can't take it! Please. P-please. Please, Mommy. Let me have this."

It was an understatement to say you were surprised. You had rarely witnessed Daichi so beset by neediness. Maybe his “Asian flush”, a hallmark of his vulnerability, only added to his desperation. You were certain you wouldn't be treated to this sight again anytime soon, so you intended to savor every moment of it.

"Lay on your back f’me. I wanna see your face." You urged in a gentle tone. He almost let out a sob when you detached from him, but your words steadied him. He shakily flipped onto his back, propping himself up on his forearms to gaze up at you. The agonizing seconds it took to reposition yourself felt like an eternity to him. As you finally resumed the motion, he let out a guttural moan, as if begging you to accelerate the pace. Unbeknownst to him, you added a third finger to the mix. Your gaze was transfixed on his face, drinking in the sight of his features twisted in a mix of pleasure and strain.

His labored breathing morphed into soft moans, his nose wrinkling as a single bead of sweat slid down his forehead, tracing the messy contours of his hair. The sight was almost mesmerizing, and you couldn't help but notice that your gaze was heightening his arousal. "You're so pretty, sawa, go ahead and come for me," you coaxed, abandoning any notion of this being a punishment.

But how could you be cruel to your lover when his throbbing cock quivered against his abs, as if begging for release? It was a pitiful yet endearing sight, one that tugged at your heartstrings. Just as your other hand reached out to claim his cock, he burst forth with a ragged cry, his semen coating his torso and the open expanse of his shirt.

A soft, whispered "Thank you, mommy" escaped his trembling lips, as his eyelids remained tightly closed, his gaze shut off from the world.

It took him a moment to collect himself, his breathing still ragged as you withdrew your hand from his under side. He anticipated a trip to the baby wipes, so his tiny whimper of surprise was all the more adorable when your warm tongue made contact with his skin instead. His eyes flew open, taking in the sight of you lapping up his semen.

His initial reaction was a gasp, which turned into a stunned silence as you pulled him in for a kiss mere seconds later, the taste of his own come mingling with yours on his tongue.

He eagerly swallowed everything you gave him, determined to prove he could handle it, just like he handled three of your fingers.

You pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva connecting the two of you, your mischievous glint hinting at the tease that was to come. "I should make you lick the seat clean," you said, your tone playful and unrepentant. Though he winced at the humiliation of the task, he couldn't deny the desire to submit to your whims.

#sub haikyuu #dom reader #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #dom!reader #sub character #sub!character #haikyu x you #haikyu smut #daichi sawamura #daichi x you #daichi x y/n #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi x reader #sawamura daichi #haikyuu daichi #daichi smut #hq daichi

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euphorajeon · 1 year ago

Note

For 1k celebration! How about my time and jungkook with it??

Also congratulations my love 💖

opposite of sun

— request: jeongguk + my time - bts

— pairing: jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, angst

— word count: 1.8k

— warnings/tags: idol!jk, college student!oc, mild angst (it's rly mild i promise!), they're best friends (i rly gotta stop writing this trope,,,)

— summary: jeongguk has a peculiar way of dealing with time difference.

— author's note: hello luv! thanks for requesting :) i really enjoyed writing this one eheh i hope you enjoy reading it too~

masterlist

There are a few things Jeon Jeongguk does not like about his life as a singer.

One, that constantly looms above his head, is how busy his schedule is. His days are filled to the brim with performing, song recording, photoshoots, video shoots, company meetings, and a long list of things in between. Some days, he could barely stay awake. Some days, he forgot the last time he ate. Some days don’t feel like days because all he saw was the inside of a building. Some days he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Two, the lack of privacy. There’s always someone watching his every move, waiting for him to fuck up. This extends to his closest people as well, his parents, his brother, even his non-famous best friend, you. Jeongguk could not forget the time he accidentally revealed he has a long-time girl best friend on a livestream. The media went crazy, trying to make headlines that would cause the most noise with wild rumors and assumptions. It took the PR team almost a month to divert the media attention to something else, along with a livestream ban for Jeongguk for three months.

Three, the one he’s facing right now, is time difference. As a singer, Jeongguk travels a lot to other time zones outside of KST, oftentimes resulting in jetlag. It’s not too troublesome when he visits another Asian country, the time difference only one to two hours, but when he’s on the other side of the world like now, it feels like his whole world is a jumbled mess.

Jeongguk plops down on the couch in his hotel room, glancing at the clock on his phone screen before tapping the FaceTime button. His reflection stares back at him as the call rings, the only thing visible on the screen just his eyes and sweaty strands of hair. He’s running his fingers through his damp hair when the call finally connects.

“Sorry, sorry! I— wow, eyes. And forehead,” you say in lieu of a proper greeting. Jeongguk grins, even though you can’t see it.

“Hi, Bun,” he greets. “Whatcha doin’?”

Jeongguk’s nickname for you is fairly new, only conjured up after his accidental slip on livestream, but it rolls off his tongue easily as if he’s been calling you Bun since you were both thirteen, when your friendship first started. It stems from his fear that anything has ears and if he says your name, someone somewhere could use it to dig up information about you. Although you’d rolled your eyes at him the first time, he knows you appreciate the thought.

Also, contrary to your friends’ beliefs, bun here stands for bread, not bunny. It’s known to the people who know you that you love bread. Steamed bun, milk bun, melon bbang, chocolate bread, cheese sticks, anything. But despite this knowledge and your protests, your friends still hoot in teasing whenever Jeongguk video calls you and drops the nickname. Jeongguk tries to prevent his grin from blossoming more when he sees you pretending to ignore your friends’ teasing.

“Studying,” you answer with a roll of your eyes, before a grin matching the one on Jeongguk’s face overtakes your feature. “What about you, superstar? Bet it’s more exciting than…” you glance at the paper in front of you, “the study of the economic impact of singer Jeon Jeongguk on South Korea.”

Jeongguk laughs. “You are not studying about my economic impact on SK.”

You hold up a finger, snatching the paper off the table to shove it into your phone camera. Then the pair of your eyes appear above said paper, hogging Jeongguk’s screen much like his eyes are hogging yours. “Read, Jeon Jeongguk. Read,” you say menacingly.

The words on your paper blur in his sight as he focuses more on the dark bags under your eyes. Even through a shitty video call connection, it’s apparent that you haven’t had a good rest for some time.

“Bun, have you been sleeping okay?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you stare at him like he has three heads. “Jeon, I’m a college student. Asking me that at two AM is like asking you if you’re resting okay.”

Jeongguk sits up from his leaning back position on the couch, alarmed. “It’s two AM over there? It’s— fuck, it’s two AM. What are you doing still studying, Bun? You should be sleeping right now.”

All the exhaustion he felt from the flight, the jetlag, the rehearsal right after just evaporates the moment he realizes you’re still studying in the hour you should be sleeping. He should’ve been there with you, studying and reminding you to get some rest when the hours got late. He wishes he were there next to you.

“He’s a celebrity so he wouldn’t know what this feels like, huh?”

That was one of your friends, off camera. It sounds a bit distant but Jeongguk caught his words perfectly. Although he’s not wrong, Jeongguk could feel bitterness rising in his chest, one he fights so hard to suppress lest this causes a fight between you and him.

“Sorry, Jeon, he’s just stressed about the midterms. Don’t take it to heart, yeah?”

Jeongguk forces a smile on his lips, one tight pull of muscle that’s far from his grin earlier. “No, he’s right. I wouldn’t know how it feels like being stressed about the midterms just like he wouldn’t know how it feels rehearsing for a performance only an hour after you landed in New York. It’s okay.”

Ah, the bitterness still slips out. He’s tired. He feels guilt slowly replace the bitterness when he sees your downcast eyes. He shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Fuck.

“Sorry, Bun. Not your fault.” He sighs.

“It’s fine. We’re all tired.” You give him a small smile. “You said you were rehearsing for a performance? What performance?”

“Surprise performance, actually. It’ll be in Times Square later at six.”

There’s a gasp from your side of the call, before a short squeal is heard. You glance at someone behind your phone, letting out a chuckle. “You just spoiled a surprise performance to a very excited Yeseo,” you say.

“Since when do your friends listen to my songs?” Jeongguk laughs disbelievingly. He knows your college friends by name, and as far as he does, no one in your friend group actually listens to his songs enough to get excited at the prospect of a surprise performance.

“Last week. She heard ‘Yes or No’ when I was going through your album and hasn’t shut up about it since.”

“Thanks, Yeseo,” Jeongguk says. “It’s on the setlist for the performance later.”

A bang on the table. Then Yeseo’s excited shriek sounds, making your other friends on the table groan. Tell your boyfriend to shut up! one of them says. You stuck your tongue out at whoever it was before getting up from your seat, taking your phone with you. The image of you from a low angle as you walk away from your friends almost makes Jeongguk chuckle. He misses being able to see your double chin live in front of his eyes.

“Apologies for Yeseo. She’s very excited,” you say when you’ve settled down somewhere more quiet. “Are you excited for the performance later? Confident?”

“I will be if I know you’re watching,” Jeongguk hums. He fixes his best puppy dog look as he looks at you with so much hope in his eyes. “Will you? It’ll be on YouTube, six PM New York time.”

“That’s … hold on,” you tap around on your phone, the image of you on his screen shaking as you do. “That’s seven AM here in Korea. I’d probably be asleep, though. Midterm’s at nine.”

Jeongguk pouts. “Time difference sucks.”

“It does,” you agree. “But time zones aside, our times are already different. Like, if you have a recording for a music show in Korea at six AM KST, I still wouldn’t be able to attend. Because—“

“That’s why you never come? Because the recording is always early in the morning?”

“No, because they’re always on weekdays. And I have class. Or work. I’m not one of your rich fans, you know.”

“But you’re my best friend,” Jeongguk sulks, his frown deepening.

“Your college student best friend. Who has classes, essays to write, papers to do, midterms, finals…”

Jeongguk is quiet. There’s a pop up notification on his phone, telling him rest time is over in 15 minutes. His manager must’ve set this reminder when he was rehearsing, knowing very well about his tendency to lose track of time when given free time. Suddenly, all your differences flash before his eyes, and it feels like a gaping chasm in your friendship. Did you always feel this far away from him?

“I wish I were a college student too,” he whispers wistfully. “Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“You are, though?” you sound genuinely confused. He doesn’t know if you missed the longing tint in his voice or just decided to ignore it. “You’re still enrolled in Global Cyber University, right?”

“Yeah, but,” Jeongguk sucks in a breath, searching for words that say what he wants to convey without actually saying them. He comes up empty, though, with every combination of words sounding as desperate as the last. Eventually, he settles on: “It’s different.”

“Ey, it’s different to accomodate people like you. No one in their right mind would go to a regular college if they have a schedule as crazy as yours.” You shake your head while waving your hand around, misinterpreting what he means by different. “You know, your fans must be so proud of you. Attending college while performing all around the world.”

“Are you proud of me?” The words tumble out before Jeongguk’s brain can catch up. In hindsight, it’s a normal thing to ask your best friend. But maybe, in the tiny corner of his mind, sits something he doesn’t want to admit yet: maybe he wants more.

“I am,” comes your instant reply. “I always am, Jeongguk.”

In the darkness of the night, under a single lightbulb lighting up your face, Jeongguk sees 15-year-old you, hugging his lanky figure and saying you were proud of him for finally debuting. Your dreams! They have come true! you’d said. Your eyes were shining, hopeful, excited for what’s to come for him. Although you’ve lost the child-like enthusiasm, Jeongguk knows you’ll always support him in anything he does.

Now he’s the one who’s lost. In your eyes, dim with exhaustion but full of warmth still. You have your cheek in your hand, lips moving. The words you’re saying sound like a buzz in his ears, only catching a stray one that’s unusual for your vocabulary: melancholic.

You’re still talking. He doesn’t care.

“Do you want to come to New York?”

Time difference sucks. Jeongguk’s solution?

Get rid of it.

a/n: thank you for reading! requests are still open but pls note it will take time for me to write them all hehe

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #fanfic #fic #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts au #jungkook drabble #jungkook oneshot #jungkook au #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #idol!jungkook #1k celebration

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randomcreator-09 · 6 months ago

Text

Small Heath's Songbird (Thomas Shelby x OCY/N!Reader)

(Gif not mine > @bonniebird)

I WANNA BE KISSED LIKE THIS TOO T^T

Part One - Part Two

✨Pure fluff, No Grace, no smut... for now 😏✨

🐧Aha~ hello people of this world... took me long to finish writing this aha busy playing adult, phew. Ok context, don't get me wrong, I love the original Grace but in this fic, she's nonexistent. OCY/N is an asian heh hope that ayt with yall. ALSO this will focus on season 3, where Tommy has his arrow house already. Although his single asf and relies on whores... Until hehehe yeah boi~ XD Also this is just a character intro sorta... but there would be some important factors here that you need to know to be able to fully understand part two, so READ IT >:D muhahahahaha🐧

Own character description but it's Y/N POV

3.4k words

REBLOG TO SPREAD ADDICTION and kudos are appreciated too thank you ^^

Enjoy reading ^^

Part One - Part Two

-----

Birmingham was unkind to those who were different from them. Although England wasn't perfect themselves they still held grudges to those they deemed 'peculiar'.

You were spot on in that criteria. Small in height, jet black wavy hair, slightly slanted almond eyes, and full lips. However your skin tone was the same as theirs, coming from your European side of the family, that didn't save you from the racial slurs you'd get when you moved to Birmingham. A lot of people weren't as happy as you were when you arrived, a few looks here and there, but your used to it even in your home country. You see, you had bright blue eyes (with a little tint of green). Very unique if you'd say, but people disagree on that, especially your people. They think your the devils daughter and for it they kicked you out too.

It's been a few months since you settled in Small Heath. A kind woman accepted you with open arms and let you stay for a while in her humble home till you found yourself a job. She was a whore yes, but that didn't bother you since you've seen a lot worse than being a whore. You respected her even, for it was hard to live by selling your body to people you don't love. She offered you a job once (to be a whore) but you quickly declined saying 'as much as I respect your field of work Missus, I'd like to keep my innocence to a man I love'.

Not that you were virgin, oh no, you've definitely had made love with a few men through your travels, but none of them really stuck with you or vice versa. They just didn't feel right.

Days went by and the landlady ran to you with the daily newspaper in hand. "Look!" she said pointing at an advertisement, "Personal assistant maid needed," as you took the newpaper from her hands and smiled with delight, 'this is it' you thought. The landlady stubbed her cigar dead on the newspaper "Fuck, it's the arrow house." she said as she took the newspaper from you shaking her head. "Wha- Missus but the pay is good?!" you retorted to which she glared at you at for, "The Arrow House is owned by a notorious gangster who'd either kill you or fuck your life up with his fukin fingers!" she explained crossing her arms facing you "you can't even become a prostitute here why bother going to a devils house and be his whore?" she continued.

Your brows furrowed in question. You didn't mind being with a devil sure but to be his whore... Now that may cross a line. "Personal Assistant maid, it doesn't say anythin about being a prostitute," you tried explaining, even though you knew what she meant by that. Most men thought any woman with no man in public is a whore. However the pay was good, it included your own room, free food, and a lot of free time too! With that thought in mind you could still go for that bar singer position every Saturday in the Garrison (to which you heard from the ladies who lived upstairs who tried the position and failed miserably).

The landlady shook her head and sighed, she can't stop you now for she knew, you have decided and when that happens nothing can ever change your mind. "Suit yourself," as she walked away.

-----

The day came and you got a call back from Frances (the head maid), looks like faith was on your side on this one. Hopefully, not as his whore...

You paused to admire the beautiful house as you walked down the gravel road (unsuccessful with pulling a cab because they'd just pass by you). Red bricks stacked upon each other and gorgeous grey pillars and intricate designs adorned it. Still can't believe he lives alone in this big mansion. You huffed air in your lungs as you stride to the main door, lifting your arms to knock.

Knock knock knock

As you puffed the door creaks open to a woman in black, "Ah, you must be Y/N, come in." as she gestured you in. You stared at awe at how spacious the place was. The stairs up was beautiful with portraits of horses and perhaps you thought the Shelby brothers. "We won't be doing much today. Mr. Shelby is out of town and so tomorrow is when you'll officially start. For now get comfortable and I'll roam you around," she spoke clear and concise as you answered by nodding and 'yes Miss Florence' following her to your room.

Your room was spacious as well. A queen size bed on the middle of the room with a window on the left side and a makeup desk on the right. The room was well lit with electric lamps on each side of the bed side and the ceiling was well sculptured with wooden structures, floor was wooden as well. Although the wall were concrete white walls. The room was on the second floor beside Miss Florence's room, away from Mr. Shelby's room, which was a relief on your side.

Miss Florence gave you an hour to get yourself acquainted with your room and said that you had to be out in the entrance where she would be waiting to tour you around. You nodded and she left.

-----

As you have arranged your things in your new room and got ready for the tour Miss Florence had in store for you, you looked at your reflection in the mirror to make sure you look alright for the day. With a nod and a smile you went out and to the entrance where Miss Florence would be.

Miss Florence, a composed and efficient figure, waited for you near the grand entrance of Arrow House, her expression warm yet formal. She nodded approvingly as you approached, and after a quick greeting, she began the tour.

“Arrow House has its own unique history,” Miss Florence explained as she led you through the main hall, with its high ceilings, elaborate chandeliers, and walls adorned with artwork of the family’s ancestors. “Mr. Shelby brought new life to it when he acquired it, though he values his privacy.”

She walked you through the elegant sitting rooms first, which, despite the muted tones and dark wood, held a sense of opulence. “These rooms are for Mr. Shelby’s meetings and guests. They don’t see much daily use,” she added, pausing by one of the grand fireplaces. The flickering light from the embers cast a warm glow, highlighting the fine detail in the antique furniture.

Next, she led you to the kitchen, which, unlike the other rooms, bustled with activity. The staff members here worked with impressive coordination, preparing meals and ensuring everything was ready at a moment’s notice. “The kitchen is where you’ll be helping from time to time,” Miss Florence informed you. “Mr. Shelby’s tastes are simple, but he expects high standards.”

She guided you through the dining hall, where a large mahogany table stood at the center, framed by polished silverware and neatly folded napkins. “It may look grand, but meals are usually straightforward affairs unless there are visitors,” she commented, giving a rare, light chuckle.

You followed her up the grand staircase, its carpeted steps soft beneath your feet. Miss Florence pointed out the various guest rooms, each one elegantly prepared, with tasteful decor, though they rarely saw visitors. “The family only uses these rooms on occasion,” she remarked, indicating the polished brass fixtures and thick curtains. “Mr. Shelby has specific guests, and they sometimes stay overnight. Best to keep everything ready.”

Finally, she took you down a corridor that led to Mr. Shelby’s private quarters. She paused outside the door of his room. “This is Mr. Shelby’s room. You’re not to enter unless asked.” She looked at you with a hint of seriousness before adding, “Privacy is highly regarded here.”

Finally, after guiding you through the upper floors, Miss Florence led you back downstairs. She stopped near a richly decorated doorway just off the main hall.

“And this,” she said, “is Mr. Shelby’s office. You’ll find him here often.” She looked at you pointedly, adding, “Best to knock and wait for a response before entering.”

Through the doorway, you could see the polished desk, papers stacked with military precision, and the faint scent of cigars lingering in the air. This room, located on the ground floor, clearly held an air of authority and was situated close to the entry—perfect for swift meetings or private business.

With the tour complete, Miss Florence gave a small nod. “Take a moment to familiarize yourself with the house,” she said, before leaving you alone in the dimly lit hallway, surrounded by Arrow House’s quiet opulence.

The sun was still out so you planned to walk around outside. The house had a small garden at the side and a horse stables on the back which was clearly Mr. Shelby's.

The house also had a porch, with a posh white table and two chairs seeing the lush green forest from afar. You sighed as you felt the breeze on your neck to your half-tied hair and crossed your arms around you feeling the cold wind trickling your skin through your clothes. The clothes you wore were expensive to say the least, your former landlady was so sad you were moving out that she gifted you a luxurious royal blue dress to wear going to the mansion.

Suddenly a warm feeling enveloped you as you flinched looking at your shoulders. A dark coat was over your body and a quick smoke flickered your eyes to see a man with a defined jaw and cheekbones. "You must be Y/N," he said as he kept his eyes on the greenery. "Shelby, but you can call me Thomas" as he offered his hands towards you.

As you raised your hands slowly to shake his you hesitated and dropped your hands back to your sides. You removed his dark coat around you and offered it back, "Thank you for the kind gesture Mr. Shelby, but I am your personal made not a visitor. I am here to work for you" you said as you continued to look down at his shoes, unable to look up his face.

"Hmm," a low grumble from the throat made you lift your head up, and there you saw his head tilted closer to yours with his piercing blue eyes straight to yours. "Well, you have beautiful eyes that I can assure ye'" as he puffed out the smoke in his lungs, standing up and taking the coat on your hands and swiftly placing them again on top of your shoulders.

You could smell the strong cologne he had on. Mixed with the scent of the cigar he was taking and blood? It was dangerously addicting.

"You'll start tomorrow anyways," as he started to walk away slowly. "Let me at least treat you as a visitor before you get all busy." as he started to walk towards the stables. You suddenly feel blood rushing to your cheeks reminiscing about his scent and how his face was close to yours.

"You following or not?" a shout from afar caught your attention and removed you from your thoughts. "Yes Mr. Shelby, following!" you shouted back as you ran towards him.

-----(Tommy's POV)

The ride back to Arrow House was a haze of smoke, blood, and lingering fury. Changretta’s betrayal was handled, his lifeless eyes now a grim reminder of the consequences of crossing Thomas Shelby. Yet as the gravel crunched beneath his vehicle and the grand silhouette of Arrow House emerged, a part of him yearned for something—anything—other than the chaos he’d left behind.

As he placed his feet unto the gravel road, the cool evening breeze carried hints of earth and lavender, a stark contrast to the suffocating smoke-filled rooms of Birmingham. He loosened his tie as he rounded the corner of the porch, lighting himself a cigar, his gaze falling on a figure in a striking royal blue dress.

She stood there, arms crossed against the chill, her posture straight but her gaze distant as if lost in thought. Her hair was tied back neatly, a few tendrils escaping to frame a delicate face. He stopped mid-stride, his breath catching for a moment. She turned slightly, and the setting sun caught her profile—soft, porcelain skin glowing against the backdrop of the lush green garden.

For a brief moment, Thomas thought she was a guest, someone important perhaps, yet there was no carriage, no announcement of arrival. It wasn’t until he noticed the plain black shoes and the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress that he realized—this was the new maid.

"Interesting."

He removed his dark coat and approached her, draping it over her shoulders in a practiced motion. She flinched slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“You must be Y/N,” he said, keeping his tone low as he puffed his cigarette. He glanced past her at the garden, keeping his expression unreadable.

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the edges of the coat as if debating whether to keep it. “Shelby,” he introduced, his voice firm yet laced with intrigue, “but you can call me Thomas.” He extended a hand.

Her reaction amused him. She raised her hand but let it fall back to her side, averting her gaze. Then, she carefully removed the coat and held it out to him. “Thank you for the kind gesture, Mr. Shelby, but I am your personal maid, not a visitor. I am here to work for you.”

Thomas’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. Her voice was polite yet firm, and her shyness intrigued him. “Hmm.” The soft growl from his throat made her finally look up.

Her eyes caught him off guard. Blue, with a hint of green—bright and unique, a startling contrast against her dark lashes and raven hair. He tilted his head slightly, letting the silence linger as he leaned closer, holding her gaze.

“Well,” he said, his voice softer but no less commanding, “you have beautiful eyes, that I can assure ye’.” He took the coat from her hands and deliberately placed it back over her shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress. “You’ll start tomorrow anyways. Let me at least treat you as a visitor before you get all busy.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and started walking toward the stables, the weight of her presence lingering in his mind.

“You following or not?” he called out without looking back.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby! Following!” Her voice was a touch breathless, and it brought an unexpected smile to his lips.

-----Your POV

As the gravel crunched beneath your feet, you quickened your pace to catch up with Mr. Shelby, who was already nearing the stables. The breeze carried the faint scent of hay and leather, mingling with the earthy aroma of the horses. You hesitated briefly before stepping into the barn, the dim light casting soft shadows across the wooden beams.

Thomas Shelby stood near one of the horses, his fingers brushing through its mane with an ease that spoke of familiarity. The soft nickering of the animal filled the air as he looked over his shoulder to see you standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“You don’t have to just stand there,” he remarked, his tone light but firm. “They don’t bite… much.”

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you stepped closer, the warmth of the stable wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The horse he was grooming turned its head slightly, as if inspecting you. Its dark eyes held a quiet curiosity, much like its owner’s piercing gaze.

“Do you know much about horses?” he asked, handing you a brush without waiting for an answer.

You shook your head, gently taking the brush from his outstretched hand. “Not really, Mr. Shelby. I’ve always admired them, though.”

“Thomas,” he corrected, his voice steady. “If you’re working here, we may as well skip the formalities.”

You nodded, feeling a small wave of relief at his approachable tone. Moving to stand beside him, you watched as he demonstrated the technique, his hands methodical as he ran the brush down the horse’s side. You followed his lead, your movements careful and deliberate.

“This one’s name is Arrow,” he said, his voice softer now. “She’s got a temper, but if you’re patient, she’ll warm up to you.”

You couldn’t help but smile as Arrow leaned slightly into your touch, her warm breath puffing against your arm. “She’s beautiful,” you murmured, glancing at Thomas out of the corner of your eye.

“She knows it,” he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, filled only by the rustling of hay and the rhythmic strokes of the brushes. You felt a strange sense of ease around him, despite the intimidating aura he carried.

“Why Birmingham?” he asked suddenly, his tone casual but curious.

The question caught you off guard, and you paused mid-stroke. “It wasn’t really a choice,” you admitted. “I needed somewhere to start over, and Birmingham… well, it’s not as unkind as some places.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, thoughtful. “People here can be… particular,” he said. “But they’ll get used to you.”

You didn’t miss the unspoken meaning behind his words—he understood what it was like to be judged, to carry something on your shoulders that others didn’t bother to understand.

“And you?” you asked tentatively, surprising yourself with the question. “Do you get used to people?”

Thomas paused, his hands stilling on the brush. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face before he turned back to Arrow. “Only the ones worth knowing.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken depth that made your heart flutter. Before you could respond, he straightened, dusting off his hands. “Come on,” he said, motioning toward the barn door. “It’s getting dark.”

-----

The kitchen was warm and inviting, far cozier than the grandeur of the dining hall you’d seen earlier. Thomas moved with an ease that surprised you, setting out simple plates and pouring glasses of water. The smell of fresh bread and stew filled the air, and you found yourself relaxing as you took a seat at the modest wooden table.

“Not what you were expecting, was it?” he asked, setting a bowl of stew in front of you.

You shook your head, smiling. “Not at all. It’s… nice. Feels more real.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile as he took a seat across from you. “Real’s not a word people usually associate with me.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Maybe they’re not looking close enough.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and you felt the intensity of his gaze settle over you like a weight. The air between you shifted, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

As the meal went on, the conversation flowed easily, each shared story peeling back another layer of the man who, only hours ago, had been a mysterious and intimidating figure. By the time the plates were empty and the kitchen quieted, the darkness outside had deepened, wrapping the house in a blanket of stillness.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on you. “You’ll do fine here,” he said softly accentuating the end remark, almost to himself.

You felt a warmth rise in your chest at his words, but before you could thank him, he stood and walked as he leaned to your side. The sudden closeness made your breath catch, and when he reached down to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingered for just a moment too long.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without thinking, your hand brushed against his. He stopped, his eyes searching yours, and slowly in that moment, the space between you disappeared. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and unyielding, a moment that felt suspended in time.

When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “See you tomorrow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before he turned and left the kitchen.

You sat there, your heart racing, trying to piece together what had just happened. One thing was certain—life at Arrow House was going to be anything but ordinary.

----- End of part one (Part Two on December 24th [to be updated here])

Part One - Part Two

-----

🐧See what I did with the GIF and the ending huhhhhhhh ^w^ anyways hope ya'll can wait till 24th ehe🐧

Like this post to be tagged in Part Two ^^ (and to be added to my Taglist)

TAGS: (Tried doing it here instead to keep my comment section clean XD)

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@shizpostluver @hagarsays @shannieshoo

@mysteriouslysweetmagazine @the-ruler-of-death @cillianmurphysdimples @hippiedippiekitty

@sl-newsie - @hippiedippiekitty - @tumbrburgerking712801 - @candlesenthusiast - @floweradroble1123

@dragonsneversharetheirtreasure - @wonderlanddreamer - @rogers060967 - @thomasfell -

@captainstank01 - @imdoingbetternow - @dodicesimamas - @shelbywhiterose - @savexsangster -

@stairwayto--hell

@feasibilities - @valeeeez -

@mythicalcowboyatheart

- @mistyorchid -

@luluartpop

@remembering-angels - @zanytalecherryblossom-blog -

- @thebunnybabyblog -

@shannieshoo - @athenakeene - @melissaspersonalblog - @jonathancarneswifey - @that-one-gothic-murder-of-crows

@pretty-little-sl4t - @random-weirdo - @asmutwriter - @sisterkait

@thebunnybabyblog - @tabbilee

@sleepysnoofy - @giulssssss - @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure - @wakasaswifee

@high-speed-r - @jasthoughtss - @ddawgg1 - @honeyplum06

@isabbellagonzalezz18 - @catnoodle32 - @schumacherismylover47

@kysosa - @star017 - @emmi1753 - @immyowndefender - @jasthoughtss

@mattxxamryli - @immyowndefender - @tonka666 - @liuyuxin

@restingbeauty - @sadstargirl2 - @enolaja - @watermeezer - @amelyyyyyyy -

@ryecosse - @joanna01dave - @cillianmurphyapologist - @angelsainz55

@crazy4swayzee - @mipiaccionodilf

Like this post to be tagged in Part Two ^^

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troutfur · 15 days ago

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Here is a free idea for anyone wanting to make the Dark Forest less like a Christian Hell and give the Clans more flavorful holidays and celebrations: A Clan cat holiday based on the Buddhist Hungry Ghost Festival.

It goes thusly:

Every year, during the South Asian monsoon season, Buddhist monks do an intensive three month silent meditation retreat. At the conclusion, when the monks once again mingle with the laity, there is a huge party with lots of food being offered to the monastic community. This is a form of creating lots of good karma, which in turn is dedicated through prayers for the welfare of one's ancestors, and in particular those reborn as pretas (often translated to English as "hungry ghosts", incorporeal beings with bloated stomachs but needle-like mouths, incapable of eating anything but the most disgusting bodily fluids except when someone dedicates their good karma for their benefit).

The idea of the DF being a place with no prey, as opposed to StarClan's easy hunting, is already present in canon. So presenting them as perpetually starving like hungry ghosts would be a natural extension of that. Further, adopting the idea of the Hungry Ghost Festival gives cats with notorious evil relatives an outlet to memorialize their family in a socially acceptable way. You are not honoring them the way you would a StarClan cat, you are demonstrating pity for their post-mortem condition.

It also gives the meddies a festival where they can be appreciated and honored for their efforts. Perhaps in place of a three month meditation retreat there is some other form of sacred duty. For example, it could be all-night prayer vigil, performed at a time thought of as particularly liminal and during which the veil between worlds is thinner, like an equinox or solstice. Or it could be a period of fasting during which they train their bodies to be more resilient. Or it could be during a particular period during which they study the stars and draw up charts with predictions of the future in the coming season.

Whatever it is, I think it works for the world and society in a way that makes the worldbuilding more colorful. I don't know if I'd use this concept myself (perhaps for that Warriors with Buddhist cosmology idea I keep playing with...), but I am releasing it out into the world in case any of y'all has any space in their WIPs for it.

#warrior cats #wc #warrior cats au #worldbuilding

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usnatarchives · 1 year ago

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Honoring Dr. Chien-Shiung Wu: The First Lady of Physics 🥼⚙🔭

As we celebrate Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander Heritage Month, let’s take a moment to appreciate Dr. Chien-Shiung Wu, a physicist who made considerable contributions to nuclear physics and worked on the Manhattan Project during World War II.

Early Life and Education

Dr. Chien-Shiung Wu was born on May 31, 1912, in a small town near Shanghai, China. Her father was big on education, especially for girls, which was uncommon at the time. Wu went to National Central University in Nanjing to study physics and later moved to the United States for further studies. She got her Ph.D. in physics from the University of California, Berkeley, in 1940.

https://catalog.archives.gov/id/28883982

Big Contributions to Physics

During World War II, Wu joined the Manhattan Project. She helped develop the atomic bomb by figuring out how to enrich uranium and study radioactive isotopes. Her most famous work was in 1956, when she proved that the law of parity conservation doesn’t hold in weak nuclear interactions. This was an important advancement for physics and earned her colleagues, Tsung-Dao Lee and Chen-Ning Yang, the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1957. Sadly, Wu didn’t get the Nobel recognition even though her experiment was crucial.

Legacy and Recognition

Dr. Wu’s work earned her the nickname "The First Lady of Physics." She received many awards, including the Comstock Prize in Physics and the National Medal of Science in 1990. Besides her scientific work, Wu was a big advocate for women in science and education, encouraging young women to pursue STEM careers. During her career Dr. Wu also taught at Princeton and Columbia Universities. She received the National Medal of Science from President Ford on October 18, 1976, “for her ingenious experiments that led to new and surprising understanding of the decay of the radioactive nucleus.“

Explore More About Dr. Chien-Shiung Wu

To learn more about Dr. Chien-Shiung Wu’s life and work, check out these resources from the National Archives:

The Manhattan Project

Women in STEM

Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander Heritage Month

As we celebrate Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander Heritage Month, let’s remember Dr. Wu’s contributions and how she paved the way for future scientists. Her story is a reminder of the importance of perseverance and the pursuit of knowledge.

#Chien-Shiung Wu #Manhattan Project #Science #AANHPI #Asian American #Pacific Islander #Women’s History #national archives #history #archives

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rainbowsandwhumperflies · 8 days ago

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Happy AAPI month!!

In the United States of America, May is the national celebration of Asian American and Pacific Islander history and heritage. To celebrate, I decided to put together a post appreciating some of the wonderfully diverse Asian/Pasifika whump characters from our own community on tumblr! and of course the wonderful authors writing them :)

Keola from the Angel of Death by @whumpninja is half Native Hawaiian

Eden from Featherbound by @vidawhump is Filipino

Rylan from Weapon's Wounds by @violets-whumperflies is Chinese

Erebus from Erebus & Terror by @brutal-nemesis is Filipino (though he's in a fantasy world so it's not super apperant)

Finn from Shrike by @paingoes is Malaysian

Sonny from Solitaire by @doumidas-whumps is half Filipino

David and Grace from Solitaire by @ doumidas-whumps are Chinese

Parsa/Mr. Oz from Solitaire by @ doumidas-whumps is Pakistani

Lucia Rao from The Winged Servant by me is Indian (and the princes are both half Indian)

#i'm probably not gonna keep editing this later but still feel free to tell me about any i missed #there's a non-zero chance of me doing this again next year #also if you know a lot about ws. onyx is also a quarter asian. but i'm not putting it here bc he doesn't know bc his amnesia #whump #whump community #aapi heritage month #if i am to be convinced to do this next year there'd better be at least one more islander to add. cmon yall

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halowishes · 7 months ago

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october favs!

what i recommend this month.

(my reviews are getting longer… i will not apologize T-T)

burden of blame

e. 91.2k. violence. yakuza au.

i’ve finally read the iconic fic. the writing for this and atsumu’s character deserves more praise than i can do. his fears, motivations, dreams, and hopes are so gripping and emotional. i just love long fics so much. you learn so much about the characters and there’s so much DEPTH. i always feel so lucky to read them.

the MSBY black jackals guide to self care

t. 4.5k. canon compliant.

it’s sakusa with a religious self care routine versus 6 in 1 shower wash. such a sweet fic of sakusa learning a new routine, befriending the jackals, and getting praise (as he should!). and i love a sakusa pov <3

insert coin to play

e. 178k. cyberpunk/ bounty hunters au. violence.

finally was brave enough to read this and it did not disappoint :’). this dynamic of loudmouth but extremely competent atsumu x observant and stealthy but full of sass kiyoomi is SO fun. not to mention them being absolutely obsessed with each other (and not realizing it). this fic is so creative, beautifully written, and embodies every possibility in fanfic. they mean so much to me and i could write essays on how good this fic is. fairycake has never let me down.

fan behavior (series)

t/ e. 41.3k total. 4 works. canon compliant.

there’s something cosmically right about teenage kiyo being a fanboy and an atsumu apologist. the premise of the jackals trying to differentiate the miya twins fit sooo well😭 this series had me giggling into my pillow.

strawberry

t. 8.5k. american college au.

i was expecting a silly college fic but it ended up being so much more. i have complex feelings about the asian american experience and college (im graduating soon), so this fic spoke to a few different parts of me. highly recommend if you have a weird relationship with your culture, ethnicity, your parents, or have a crush on your friend :P

crash course

e. 6.0k. all-japan youth camp.

ah yes, horny high schoolers at a sleep away camp. teen kiyoomi wants to lose his virginity and sets motoya on a mission to find the best choice. enter miya atsumu: five star reputation, good at volleyball, hot, and willing. perfect candidate for kiyo’s big moment!

it drives you crazy getting old

m. 45.9k. 13 going on 30 skts!

atsumu being an asshole to kiyoomi at the all-japan youth camp only for them to wake up at 32 years old, MARRIED, in their osaka home! both are horrified as they realize they’re stuck together in a future they don’t know! this fic made me look forward to getting older, facing changes, and finding people who love my quirks <3

your best american boy

t. 23.3k. asian american high school au.

this fic left me speechless. it’s filled to the brim with emotion, experience, raw and open wounds, and such beautiful prose. learning your culture, appreciating your family, talking to your parents, forgiving your parents, being seventeen, feeling wrong in your skin. it’s a love letter to coming-of-age and asian american-ness (however you choose to define that). it changed how i think about family & identity.

constellations we call home

e. 53.5k. end of the world au.

i LOVE apocalypse aus and this one did not disappoint: the dread, the hope, the wonder, the magic of having no future!! pro volleyball player atsumu finds his cog in the corporate machine neighbor at the end of the world. what does it mean if your life begins with three weeks left to live?

do i dare disturb the universe?

t. 14.9k. parallel universe au.

corporate machine kiyoomi (again!) wakes up in a parallel universe next to the man he dumped 10 years ago— so why does he seem so happy in this life? this fic is gentle and emotional and introspective. i love these kinds of fics bc life is sooo fast and confusing. we never know if we’re making the right decisions and sometimes it’s hard to listen to your heart, but your life is still in your hands. let yourself feel!

nowhere man

e. 40.5k. college band au.

nonlinear storyline of famous atsumu and restaurant owner kiyoomi and their 3 meetings. i’m a sucker for “right person, maybe next time” because if they’re the right person you WILL find a next time. internetpistol’s fics are always emotionally charged and liberating. although sad at points, it’s also very genuine.

again, like this

e. 55.7k. mid-time skip fwb.

(ao3 exclusive)

none of you understand how in love with this fic i am. fwb whose feelings become too much to ignore. it was one of the first skts fics i read, i go back to it probably every week, and the characterization fits SO perfectly. i could read this again and again (heh get it?) and i’d fall in love every single time. my ultimate emotional support fic.

miya atsumu, adored by all (loved by some)

t. 41.1k. canon compliant.

atsumu just wants to be liked, so everyone lets him know they like him (and some love him). my heart really ached for this one. we’ve all had moments of self doubt where we don’t feel like good people, so this fic feels like a warm hug on days like that. find the person you share stardust with <3 you’re all very lovable.

brain fish - bokuaka

(surprise! i read other ships sometimes!)

t. 12k. pre canon(??)/ high school.

this was the SILLIEST and CUTEST little fic ever. bokuto texts the wrong number about the fish he desperately wants. akaashi just keeps texting back. this fic was so reminiscent of all the awkwardness that comes with high school crushes. texting way too late, sounding a little different than real life, and that meeting after all the texts. so adorable.

#haikyuu #sakuatsu #miya atsumu #sakusa kiyoomi #[halo reads]!#[halo reviews!]#fanfic rec #haikyuu fanfiction

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