#YES THIS IS A MARKETING LESSON TOO

[dchan87]

You cannot replicate or recreate Barbenheimer. Barbenheimer was organic, spontaneous because people saw that these two movies--bright, colorful, comedic Barbie and dark, moody Oppenheimer--were being released on the same day and ran with it. Barbenheimer was lightning in a bottle.

Execs will try to replicate it because money. But it won't work. Consumers will see right through the astroturfed marketing, and whatever the execs try will fail. We must let Barbenheimer be a one-and-done for the sake of the movie industry.

[waffled0g]

Everyone gets “The 90s” look wrong and I hate it

Couple years ago I saw these two board games at the store back to back. Well, not saw them per se, but ya know. Spied them out of the corner of my eye. And for a moment without reading the text, I couldn’t tell you which was which decade at first. Funny. Either they were in a rush to get these out the door or they wanted their throwback trivia game boxes to look uniform. I didn’t think too much of it.

Only, from then on I started seeing it MORE. Every time someone markets a 90s or 80s throwback...

Goddammit they’re identical! What??! How did we let this happen? As a 90s survivor and a designer, this drives me up a wall.

Look, I know I’m late to the party to complain about “the 90s look” when we’re just starting to get sick of the Y2K nostalgia train. But c’mon, the 90s were not The 80s: Part Two™ 

Trust me when I say that we weren’t all wearing neon trapezoids up until the year 2000. The 90s look being peddled is so specific to the tail end of the 80s and an early early part of the 90s - a part of the 90s when it wouldn’t stop being the 80s. This is Memphis design being conflated with the wrong decade.

Keep reading for a long ass graphic design history lesson and pictures of old soda and fast food.

Specifically, the look is Memphis Milano, self-named by the Italian design house Memphis Group. Starting in the early to mid 80s, they made all sorts of furniture, fabrics and sculptures that were like a Piet Mondrian grid painting under heavy radiation. Their whole deal was defying the standards of existing industrial design up to that point on purpose. Chairs had weird arches, bookcases would be in strange alien colors, unusual materials like plastic or elastic were used in place of metal or wood, that sorta thing.

Memphis quickly became the signature look for the decade. You can tell something’s influenced by Memphis design from it’s telltale trademarks:

Clashing, neon colors.

Use of diametric shapes.

Contrasting patterns like zebra print stripes, confetti squiggles and checkerboards.

It wasn’t long before Memphis Milano-inspired design was everywhere in 80s pop culture:

It was a special time, yes.

I was a kindergartener at the tail end of the 80s, so I knew Memphis mostly through the lens of kids media. Toys, clothes, games, tv shows used it like candy colored catnip. Cable channel Nickelodeon more or less adopted the Memphis aesthetic as their signature in-house style and practically built a monument to it at a Florida theme park:

I think this is why folks mistake what decade Memphis is representative of - 90s staples like Nick, Saved By The Bell, Fresh Prince - they all stayed around much longer than the design trend’s expiration date. 

Couple that notion with the fact that companies are slow followers to design trends. Something gets popular and they want to get on the bandwagon? Gotta wait for the ink to dry, gotta wait for the production molds to be made. It would take a few years for them to completely work Memphis outta their system.

Now, this is not to say Memphis is bad! Personally I’m a fan of the aesthetic, if my neon-drenched artwork wasn’t a tip-off already. But it is a trend, and trends never last forever.

So what took the Memphis Milano look down for good? This part’s up for debate, but I personally think it had something to do with this dude:

It’s that grunge music from Seattle that’s so popular with the kids these days dontchaknow.

Once Smells Like Teen Spirit hit in 1991, the Nirvana tone drove the rest of the decade. Clean geometry became weathered, grainy and organic. Bright neon pastels became more bold. Bubblegum pop music sounded fake and manufactured. Attitude and apathy was authentic. Whatever.

Things got grungy. Things got grimy. Olestra was invented.

I think the best way to visualize this transition is how Cherry Coke entered the decade and how it left it:

1992 Memphis on the left, 1998 grunge junkie on the right. Fitting that the 90s would end with a design that looked like Darth Maul’s lungs.

Okay, so what should 90s retro design look like?

Continue on to PART TWO! Spoilers: No VHS filters or vaporwave needed, but maybe bring an antacid.

[jaeyunluvbot]

ceilings

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 childhood friends to lovers, best friends to lovers, college au, mark lee x fem!reader,

word count 𝟅𝟈 4.1k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You sit cross-legged on the couch in your dorm, a half-empty mug of coffee going cold on the table in front of you. Your laptop is open, the beginnings of a lesson plan appearing on the screen. Across the room, Mark is sprawled in your beanbag chair, a stack of notebooks and his own laptop scattered haphazardly around him.

“Remind me why you picked education again?” he teases, spinning a pen between his fingers.

“Because I like helping people,” you say without looking up. “Unlike you, who’s clearly just here to take up space.”

Mark laughs, the sound comforting and familiar. “Yikes. I’m just saying, you’ve been staring at that screen for, like, two hours. Are you actually working, or just writing your name in different fonts?”

You roll your eyes, finally glancing over at him. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of slacking off, Mr. Communications Major.”

“Hey, excuse you,” Mark says, sitting up a little. “I’m a communications major with a business minor. Very serious stuff.”

“Right,” you deadpan. “I’m sure the world is just desperate for your next paper on influencer marketing.”

He grins, leaning back again. “You know it.”

The conversation feels like a warm blanket, familiar and comforting. You’ve been best friends with Mark since third grade, and moments like this remind you why. No matter what life throws your way, he’s always been there—ready with a joke, a smile, or a friday-night movie marathon.

Still, lately, things have felt off… different. You hesitate, tapping your fingers on the edge of your laptop.

“Mark?”

“Hmm?” he says, not looking up from the YouTube video he’s somehow roped into his “studying.”

“You know Jaemin, right? From my educational psych class?”

Mark pauses the video, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah, I know him. Why?”

“Well…” you trail off, suddenly not sure if you should tell him. “He asked me out yesterday.”

Mark doesn’t react immediately, his face carefully neutral. “Oh. What’d you say?”

“I said yes.”

Mark’s jaw tightens imperceptibly before he nods, forcing a smile. “That’s cool. Jaemin’s… cool.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, a little too quickly. “He’s nice. And, you know, he’s on the soccer team. Everyone loves a soccer guy.”

You tilt your head, watching him cautiously. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Mark argues, shifting his position to cover his fidgeting. “I’m happy for you, Y/N. Really, I am.”

You squint at him, unconvinced, but let it go. “Cool.”

The rest of the evening passes in a strange kind of silence. Mark cracks a few jokes here and there, but the usual ease between you feels just a little strained.

Later that night, as you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, the soft whirring of your fan lulling you into a tired state, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted. But what—and why—you can’t quite figure out.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A month later, you and Mark find yourselves in your favorite spot off-campus, a cozy little café that’s been your special place since freshman year. You’re sitting by the window, sipping a caramel latte and doodling on a napkin while Mark devours a bagel like it’s his last meal.

“I’m just saying,” he says between bites, crumbs and seeds scattering all over the table, “professors shouldn’t assign group projects if they know people like Yuta exist.”

“Not this again,” you groan, half-laughing. “What did he do this time?”

“What didn’t he do?” Mark gestures dramatically. “He wrote a single sentence and called it his ‘contribution.’ I’m carrying this guy through college, Y/N.”

“Maybe he’s just shy,” you suggest, smiling at your best friend’s complaints.

Mark shakes his head, pointing at you with a crumb-covered finger. “No, no. Shy people at least pretend to help. Yuta just disappears.”

You laugh, the sound bright against the low hum of the café. Moments like this remind you why Mark is your favorite person.

Which makes your next suggestion seem obvious—at least to you.

“You know,” you say, swirling your spoon in your cup, “you should hang out with Jaemin.”

Mark freezes mid-chew, his eyes widening slightly. “What?”

“You and Jaemin,” you repeat. “I feel like you’d get along. You’re both funny and laid-back, and you like soccer.”

“I don’t like soccer,” Mark says flatly.

“You played soccer in high school,” you counter.

“Because my mom made me,” he argues, setting his muffin down. “And no offense, but I don’t think me and Jaemin would get along.”

“How do you know?” you challenge, leaning forward. “You’ve never hung out with him. He’s really nice, Mark.”

Mark’s expression shifts, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “I’m sure he is,” he says carefully. “But… why are you so set on this?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” you say simply. “And he’s… my boyfriend. It would just be nice if you guys were friends, too.”

Mark looks at you for a long moment, his jaw tightening slightly before he nods. “Okay,” he says finally. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll hang out with him.”

You beam, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “Thanks, Mark. It means a lot.”

He forces a smile, but as he takes another bite of his muffin, you notice the way his shoulders tense.

And for the second time that week, you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Mark adjusts his hoodie for the third time as he steps into the campus rec center, wondering how mad you’d be if he flaked on Jaemin. He spots him right away, standing by the basketball court with a bright smile on his face, spinning a ball on his finger effortlessly.

“Mark!” Jaemin calls, waving enthusiastically.

Mark forces a grin and waves back, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approaches.

“Hey,” he says.

“Glad you made it,” Jaemin says, tossing the ball to him. “You play, right?”

“Uh, not really,” Mark admits, catching the ball awkwardly.

Jaemin chuckles, his tone warm and friendly. “No worries. We’ll just shoot around. Nothing serious.”

They step onto the court, and Jaemin immediately starts talking, filling the space with his easy energy. He’s exactly how Y/N described—friendly, funny, and genuinely likable.

“So, Y/N told me you guys have been friends forever,” Jaemin says, making a shot effortlessly.

“Yeah,” Mark replies, dribbling the ball and taking a shot. It bounces off the backboard, and he winces. “We grew up together.”

“That’s awesome,” Jaemin says, running after the ball. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friendship like that. She talks about you all the time, you know.”

Mark swallows hard, his throat tightening at the thought. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaemin continues, passing the ball back to him. “She says you’re, like, the best person she knows. Always there for her.”

Mark forces a smile, the comment accentuating the already heavy weight on his chest. “She’s pretty great herself,” he says, taking another shot. This one goes in, and Jaemin claps excitedly.

“She really is.” Jaemin says, smiling softly.

As they continue playing, Mark starts to feel a strange mix of guilt and admiration. Jaemin is genuinely a good guy—there’s no doubt about it, and he obviously cares about Y/N. But every time Jaemin mentions her, Mark feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“So,” Jaemin says after a while of playing, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. “What do you think of me?”

Mark nearly chokes on his water. “What?”

“Come on,” Jaemin says, laughing. “I know you probably weren’t super excited about this. Y/N might’ve had to twist your arm a bit. So, what’s the verdict?”

Mark hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “You’re… a good guy,” he says finally.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow, grinning. “That’s it?”

Mark shrugs, forcing his hands to stay placed firmly on the ball, needing something to ground himself before he shouts his feelings to the world. “Y/N thinks so, and she’s usually right about people.”

Jaemin chuckles, his expression softening. “She’s something else, huh?”

Mark nods, his throat tightening again. “Yeah. She is.”

Jaemin leans back against the wall, tossing the ball between his hands. “I don’t know what I did to deserve her, honestly. She’s just… amazing.”

Mark doesn’t respond, forcing a smile, his chest aching at how easily Jaemin says the words Mark’s been too afraid to even think about out loud.

“Anyway,” Jaemin says, breaking the silence. “Thanks for hanging out. I know you probably had better things to do.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Mark replies, his voice quieter now.

As they step back onto the court to finish their game, Mark tries to focus on the sound of the ball hitting the floor, anything to distract himself from the guilt gnawing at him. Jaemin is exactly as Y/N said—perfect. And yet, Mark can’t shake the heavy, unspoken truth weighing on his chest.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The Friday after Mark and Jaemin’s basketball game, Mark sat on your couch, scrolling aimlessly through his phone while you organized your notes at the dining table. It was a typical evening—quiet and uneventful—but something felt off. Mark had been acting strange ever since his hangout with Jaemin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was lying to you about something.

“Hey,” you called, your voice cutting through the silence. “You’ve been weird lately. Is something wrong?”

Mark didn’t even glance up. “I’m fine,” he said curtly.

You frowned but decided not to push. Instead, you tried to lighten the mood. “So, Jaemin was telling me about this soccer game next weekend, maybe all three of us could —”

“Do you talk about anything but Jaemin?” Mark snapped, his voice slicing through you sentence like a blade.

You froze, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

“You’re always talking about him,” Mark continued, setting his phone down with more force than necessary. “Jaemin this, Jaemin that. Do you even realize how much you talk about him?”

Your confusion quickly turned to anger. “Mark, what’s your problem? You’re the one who’s been acting all weird, and now you’re getting mad at me for talking about my boyfriend?”

Mark stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Forget it. Just forget I said anything.”

“No,” you shot back, standing too. “You don’t get to yell at me and then walk away. What’s going on with you?”

“I said forget it, Y/N!” Mark shouted, his voice louder than you'd ever heard it before.

You took a step back, a pang hurt flashing across your face. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t.”

For a moment, Mark’s expression softened, guilt and regret flickering in his eyes. But he quickly hardened again, grabbing his jacket. “You know what? I won’t.” Without another word, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

You stood frozen in place, your chest tight and tears pricking your eyes. You'd argued before, sure, but this time felt different—more real. You sank onto the couch, mind racing with questions you didn’t have answers to.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

During the days following the argument, you tried to go about life as normal, but Mark’s absence hung over you like a dark cloud. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. Jaemin was the first to notice.

The two of you were sitting on a park bench after grabbing coffee, the late afternoon sun casting warm light over the pond in front of them. Your barely touched your drink, gaze distant as you stared at the ducks paddling by.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Jaemin said gently, voice soft, as if he was afraid of what he was about to say.

“I’m fine,” you replied automatically, though your voice lacked any sense of genuineness.

Jaemin tilted his head, studying you with a soft, understanding look. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Mark and I had a fight. He’s been acting so weird, and I don’t know why. It’s like he’s mad at me for something, but he won’t tell me what.”

Jaemin hesitated, his expression thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you don’t have feelings for Mark?”

Your head snapped up, your eyes wide in surprise, looking at her boyfriend, shocked. “What? No. Of course I don’t. He’s my best friend.”

Jaemin didn’t say anything right away, his gaze steady but kind. “Listen,” he began carefully, “you’re a great girl. Really. But... I think you might care about him more than you realize.”

You shook your head, a pit of dread bubbling in your stomach. “Jaemin, I—I like you. I do.”

“I know,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But not the way you like him. And that’s okay.”

Tears stung your eyes as guilt washed over you. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do this to you,” you whispered.

“Don’t be,” Jaemin said, placing a reassuring hand over yours. “You can’t help how you feel. And honestly? I think you should talk to him. Figure it out.”

You sniffled, giving him a small, watery smile. “You’re too nice, you know that?”

Jaemin laughed, leaning back against the bench. “I know.”

Despite the weight of their conversation, you felt a strange sense of clarity. You didn’t know what you were going to say to Mark, but for the first time, you knew you had to try.

You left the park bench with a renewed sense of purpose and a goal, to talk to Mark.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Jaemin was lying on your bed, legs stretched out as you paced back and forth. You had been trying to contact Mark for days—texts, calls, voicemails—but every attempt was met with silence. And it was driving you crazy.

“I don’t get it,” you mumbled, frustration and sadness evident in your voice. “He’s never acted like this before. We’ve argued before and we always made up, but now... now he’s avoiding me like I’m some kind of plague.”

Jaemin watched you, a quiet understanding in his gaze. He could tell how much it was bothering you, even though you were trying your very best to hide it.

“You’re not giving up, are you?” Jaemin asked, leaning forward slightly.

You stopped mid-pace, looking at him with a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance. “I don’t have a choice, Jaemin. He clearly doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe I messed up, maybe I pushed him too far, but he’s not responding.”

Jaemin shook his head, his smile soft but firm. “Don’t give up on him, Y/N. You love him, and he clearly feels something similar for you. Maybe he just needs a little push.”

You sigh, sitting down beside him on the bed. “I just don’t know what else to do. It’s not like I haven’t tried.”

Jaemin paused for a second, a glint of mischief creeping into his eyes. “Well, what if I told you I had a plan to make him face you?”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical but curious. “What?”

He grinned, clearly proud of himself. “I do. But you’re gonna have to trust me on this one.”

You frowned but nodded, trusting Jaemin more than anyone else. “Alright, what’s the plan?”

Jaemin leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper as he began to lay out the details of his plan. He knew it was a little underhanded, but if it meant fixing things with Mark and you, he was willing to take the risk.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days later, Mark was hanging out with his friends Haechan and Chenle at their usual café. He had been avoiding you, and it wasn’t because he wanted to. The guilt gnawed at him every time he saw your name pop up on his phone, but he didn’t know how to fix things. Every time he thought about talking to you, he freaked out, not knowing if he could handle being rejected by you.

“Man, you’ve been really quiet lately,” Haechan said, nudging Mark’s shoulder. “What’s up with you?”

Mark shrugged, not meeting either of their gazes. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “Tired? Dude, you’re literally doing nothing. Just hiding out at home all day.”

“Yeah,” Haechan added, “and avoiding Y/N. Come on, what’s going on between you two?”

Mark stiffened, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of your name. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, his phone buzzed. A new message from Jaemin.

Hey, man. I need you to do me a favor.

Mark hesitated for a moment before replying, his fingers hovering over the keys. What’s up?

I need you to meet me at the park in 30 minutes. Trust me, it’s important.

Mark frowned, sensing something was off, but he couldn’t figure out what. Okay, fine. I’ll be there.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, barely noticing Haechan and Chenle’s knowing smiles.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

When Mark arrived at the park, he found Jaemin leaning against a bench, looking unusually serious.

“Why’d you need me to meet you?” Mark asked, crossing his arms and trying to hide his nervousness.

Jaemin smiled mischievously for a split second, but then he stood up straighter, his tone firm. “I’m going to help you fix things with Y/N.”

Mark blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Jaemin exhaled deeply, looking Mark in the eye. “Y/N’s been acting weird. Because you’re avoiding her. And I get it, man. I really do. But you’re hurting her by not talking to her. And she doesn’t deserve that.”

Mark felt a pang in his chest, guilt flooding his mind. “I know, but it’s complicated…”

“Complicated or not,” Jaemin interrupted, “you can’t just leave things like this. You’re her best friend, Mark. You mean everything to her.”

Mark’s throat tightened, his hands trembling slightly. “Why do you care? She’s your girlfriend.”

Jaemin’s expression hardened slightly. “Actually, she’s not. You’d know that if you answered her calls.”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “What?”

Jaemin sighed, “Listen man, I like her, I do, but she doesn’t feel the same. We broke up. And now I’ve been trying to help her contact you. You’re hurting her a lot by ignoring her like this.”

Mark groaned, feeling a sense of disbelief that your ex-boyfriend was currently trying to convince him to confess his feelings to you.

Jaemin ignores the clear shock on Mark’s face, pulling out his phone and smirking. “I’ve been talking to Haechan and Chenle. They’re on board with this. We’ve already arranged it. You two are meeting up, whether you like it or not.”

Mark’s eyes widened as he realized Jaemin had masterminded the whole thing. “You… you told them?”

Jaemin gave him a pointed look. “I did. And you’re gonna thank me later.”

Before Mark could protest any further, he heard your voice from behind him. “I’m here.”

Mark turned around, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw you standing there, looking as nervous as he felt.

Jaemin stepped back, a sly grin on his face. “You two figure it out. I’ll leave you to it.”

As Jaemin walked away, Mark stood there, unsure of how to approach the situation. He wanted to run, but Jaemin’s words echoed in his head: You can’t just leave things like this.

You looked at him, eyes filled with uncertainty, and Mark’s heart sank seeing your disheveled state. He had to fix this. And he was going to try, no matter how scared he was.

Mark stood frozen for a moment, staring at you as you approached. His heart hammered in his chest, and all he could think was how easy it would be to turn around and walk away. To just disappear before this moment could get any more uncomfortable. But as much as he wanted to run, he couldn’t. Not when you had been so patient, so understanding—he owed you this conversation.

“Mark,” You called out softly, your voice hesitant but steady.

He exhaled, pushing the thought of escape aside, and turned to face you. You looked just as uncertain as he felt, and it made the guilt rise within him all over again.

You silently walked to a nearby bench, and Mark sat down first, his hands gripping the edge of the seat as if it could anchor him to reality. You sat beside him, her posture stiff, like you were preparing for some awful outcome.

After a long pause, you broke the silence. “Why have you been avoiding me?” you asked, voice a little softer than he expected, clearly you were nervous.

Mark felt his stomach drop, a wave of regret crashing over him. “Y/N, I…” He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I said that. I just… I was confused. I’ve been confused for a while.”

You frowned, clearly still unsure of where this was going. “Confused about what?”

“I—” He cut himself off, trying to find the right words. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship, but there was no other way around it. “I’ve been in love with you, Y/N. For a long time now. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. So, I tried to ignore it.”

Your breath hitched, and you turned your head to look at him, your wide eyes betraying her mask of calmness. “What?”

“I didn’t want to ruin our friendship,” he continued, voice thick with anxiety. “I was afraid that if I told you, you’d never want to talk to me again. And I’ve… I’ve been avoiding you ever since, because I thought if I just stayed away, it would be easier.”

You shook your head slowly, eyes glistening as you processed his words. “Mark… you’re my best friend. You should have told me.”

“I know. I should have,” he muttered, feeling even more ashamed. “I messed up. And then I lashed out at you, and that was stupid.”

You sigh deeply, and then, surprisingly, smile softly at him. “It’s okay, Mark. I get it now. I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it, but I was just too scared to admit how I felt.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“I mean,” you continued, your voice trembling a little, “I’m in love with you, too. I just didn’t want to mess things up, either. I didn’t want to lose our friendship.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked at you, his mind racing to process your confession. “You… you love me?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. And I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. I’m sorry I acted the way I did and I’m sorry for always bringing up Jaemin around you, I just—”

Mark could feel the weight of it all crashing down on him. His chest tightened, and the guilt that had been gnawing at him for weeks was replaced by a rush of clarity. He couldn’t let this moment slip away, not after everything the two of you had been through.

Before you could say another word, Mark reached out, cupping your face gently with his hand. He leaned in and kissed you, his lips pressing against yours with a softness that made your heart race.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you pulled back slightly, voice shaky. “Oh my god.”

Mark chuckled softly, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

You blinked, still processing everything. “I… I didn’t expect that.”

Mark smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it either. But I guess it was time for me to stop being an idiot.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re not an idiot, Mark. You’re just… well, maybe a little bit. But I’m glad we’re talking about this now.”

He nodded, his smile growing wider. “Me too. And, uh, I guess we can’t just go back to how things were, right?”

You grinned, your eyes twinkling. “Yeah, I don’t think we can. But I’m okay with that.”

Mark took a deep breath, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “So, what now?”

You thought for a moment before shrugging. “I think we should just… figure it out. We already know each other so well, so maybe it’ll be easy.”

Mark grinned, feeling a warmth spread through him. “Yeah, I think we can make it work.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𝟅𝟈 omg another fic we cheered. thank u to the like 20 people who like my writing i really appreciate it. lmk if you have any requests pls

masterlist.

[euphemiaamillais]

everybody knows that i’m a good girl, officer - coriolanus snow

in which peacekeeper!coryo teaches you a lesson after he finds you out after curfew.

cw: 18+//gun play//blowjobs//name-calling//misogyny//piv sex//slapping//hair pulling//rough sex

you feel something cold press against the back of your head, and hear the sound of something click. his finger hovers on the trigger; he’s not afraid to use it to get what he wants. a district girl is beneath him, but the way you’re wearing such a tight little dress has to be on purpose. the way you’re flaunting yourself, and after curfew at that.

he just has to remind you who’s in charge here.

‘you shouldn’t be out at this time,’ his voice is cool, but stern. you feel him grip at your waist; trapping you in his clutch. there’s no way you can hop off now, bunny.

‘i’m sorry,’ you offer, a little disgruntled that he’s got you like this. you can’t see his face, but you know he’s a peacekeeper. after all, you shouldn’t really have taken a walk so close to their barracks.

‘i don’t think you’re very sorry,’ he spins you around, gun now pointing at your pretty little neck.

his eyes are piercing blue; so much so that you are able to make them out in the moonlight. his platinum blonde buzzcut is visible too, as well as a noble, aquiline nose. he’s clearly been shipped in from the capitol. you’ve seen him around before, with that other peacekeeper, the one who hardly looks like he belongs.

‘i am, sir,’ you state firmly, trying to wriggle away from him. you know it’s best to not provoke them, but you really just want to get home. all you’d done was take a walk for some fresh air—it had been a long day at the market.

‘oh, really?’ he cocks a brow, and runs the end of the gun along your jawline, tracing over the smooth skin. your heart leaps in your chest. for some reason, you’re strangely excited by the gun. the fact that at any second, he could shoot you. but you know he wouldn’t. how could he? you’re so pretty, and perhaps he’ll just have to teach you a lesson.

‘yes,’ you’re not offering him more than a one or two word sentence, wanting to be off as quick as possible. you’ve heard stories about what some of the peacekeepers do to girls who don’t obey them…

but deep down, a part of you wants to find out.

‘hm,’ he purses his lips, moving the gun down your neck, tracing over the two collarbones which stand out—a reminder that you’re district, and weren’t raised on the gourmet luxuries of capitol.

‘now, sir, if you’d let me go,’ you begin, but he stills, and wraps his free hand around your wrist, clenching at the delicate bones. if he presses even a little harder, you’re sure you’ll hear a crunch.

‘oh, i don’t think so,’ he grins, moving his grip up your arm, feeling the exposed skin.

you’ve got goosebumps from the cold, and perhaps the way he’s touching you. your thighs burn with heat. some strange part of you wants him—wants to find out just what he’ll do to a girl like you who’s been breaking the rules.

‘i think, somebody needs to be taught a little lesson about disobeying orders,’ he taunts, and slides his gun back into its holster, only so he can have both his hands on you.

‘oh, i’m disobedient now, am i?’ you admit that you’ve given quite a lot of cheek, but you like this peacekeeper. he’s different—he’s playing a game with you, and perhaps you’re just willing enough to walk right into his trap.

‘don’t be smart with me, doll,’ he quips, and you shut your mouth, not particularly wanting to end up roadkill.

he leads you down the path, towards the back gate of the barracks. you follow—well, it’s not like you have a choice, he’s gripping your arm so hard you’d probably have to break it to free yourself. the pebble road crunches under your feet, and you feel a strange excitement creeping up your spine. the cool air kisses your skin, bringing about a pretty flush to your cheeks, and yet you can’t help but wonder if you’re blushing from the way he’s holding you.

it’s silent when he pushes the gate open, taking great care to be quiet. he casts you a knowing look, and you try your best to be absolutely silent. god knows what fifty peacekeepers would do if you were caught sneaking in.

it’s a little filthy, the fact that you’re letting him take you like this. you’re not begging and pleading for him to let you go, like the other girls do when he catches them stumbling home after an encounter with a lover, or perhaps innocently picking flowers along the side of the road. no, you’re different. you want this, he can see it in your eyes, the way they’re blown wide as he drags you through the door of the barracks.

he presses a finger to your lips, and guides you to the last bunk. it’s strangely quiet, you can’t hear any stirring, and realise that you’re completely alone. he must’ve planned it, the fucking bastard—picking a pretty girl from the side of the road while the rest of the peacekeepers are out in town.

‘what are you going to do to me, officer?’ you feign an innocent look, biting your bottom lip.

he shoves you onto your knees, and you stumble a little, given the fact that you’re wearing an uncomfortable pair of shoes—clearly you hadn’t really been taking a late night walk in those heels.

‘oh, don’t pretend you’re so innocent, dressed like that,’ he eyes the way your dress clings to your breasts, barely covering the ample cleavage. obviously you were hoping to catch someone’s attention.

you can’t help but giggle, though you’re soon quietened by the feeling of his gun pressing against your forehead; cocked and ready to fire. his hand isn’t even trembling, and he looks down upon you sternly.

‘it’s not funny,’ he scolds, clicking his tongue in displeasure. ‘you think you can just traipse about at any time of the night without consequences? you’re lucky i’m so nice. any other peacekeeper would’ve shot you on site.’

he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear with the gun, and you tremble, beginning to feel a little afraid. he’s so much larger than you, and now that you’re on your knees, you can see the outline of his cock straining uncomfortably against the trousers of his uniform.

‘i think it would be such a shame though, for a pretty girl like you to have a bullet put through her head,’ he muses, puckering his lips. ‘i just wanted to put my cock in you and show you how little you’re really worth, what being district scum and all. it’s pathetic, thinking that you can just get away with doing whatever you want.’

your knees are aching already, and a little greedily, you reach out your hands and begin to unzip his trousers. you’re met by a slap clean across your cheek, which stings and causes a few tears to prick at the corners of your eyes.

‘don’t fucking touch me unless i tell you!’ he yells, and he doesn’t have to say it again to get it through your head. the red mark forming on your cheek is enough of a reminder.

‘god dammit,’ he spits, readjusting the grip he has on the gun. you look so pathetic, trying not to cry. he can’t believe you tried to tell him what to do���don’t you know that little district whores like you don’t get a say? he’ll be sure to fuck that into you. obedience can always be taught—especially when you’re being pounded like a common whore.

he unzips his trousers himself, tugging them down to his knees, and then removes his white boxers, revealing a large, veiny cock that looks in dire need of relief. your mouth can’t help but to water, and he doesn’t even need to tell you to open your mouth, you’re that desperate to have it inside of you.

he slides the tip of his cock past your plump lips, which are wet with saliva, and you begin to diligently suck. he can’t help but groan, still pressing the gun prettily against your head, liking the surge of power it gives him, holding your life in his hands. one wrong move, one attempt to disobey him, and you could be dead. of course, it would be so fucking messy to clean you up. a sticky pool of blood and brains. even that was too much for him.

‘god, you fucking whore,’ he groans as you move your tongue deftly up and down his shaft, taking care to pay special attention to the rigid veins. you’ve done it enough times to know how to really make a man squirm.

the threat of a gun at your head is somehow making your palms burn with want, and heat to pool at your core. you want nothing more than his big cock to stretch you out and fill you with his hot, sticky cum.

‘you like that, don’t you? taking my cock like the little slut you are,’ he bucks his hips a little, forcing his cock further down your throat.

this time you really gag, not like with the other men where you have to stroke their egos. his cock is a choking hazard. you suck in a breath through your nose, and continue to wrap your lips around his shaft, bobbing your head up and down. you gaze up at him with bleary eyes, but he grabs a fistful of your hair and forces your head down further.

real tears spring to your eyes, and begin to trickle down your cheeks as you take all of him in. he doesn’t even give you the opportunity to use your hands, and you can feel his balls slapping against your chin as he fucks your throat.

you’re clutching at his legs, attempting to centre yourself while he’s brutalising your throat. he’s barely letting you put in the work now, his cock pulsing with desire. he’s so close, he can feel it, and he wants to cum right down your pretty throat.

he cries out, thrusts slowing, your throat utterly bruised and battered, and seconds later you feel him spilling his hot load. you swallow it all, showing him just how obedient you are, and he pulls out, watching as spit dribbles down your chin. you look so helpless, a dumbfounded look in your eyes, cum dribbling from your puffy lips.

‘get up!’ he commands, using the gun to gesture to the bottom bunk of one of the beds.

you scramble around for a second, knees aching, and just as you find your balance, he pushes you flat on your stomach against the bed. you feel his hands on your ass now, sliding over the cheap fabric of your dress, tugging it up at the hem to reveal your panties. god, you really are a little whore, wearing black lace panties. you’re just begging to be fucked.

‘i haven’t finished teaching you your lesson yet,’ he remarks, cool fingers tracing over your slick folds. ‘i don’t think you’ve been very obedient.’

you shake your head, trying not to gasp as he slips a finger inside your hole. he can’t believe how tight you are, considering you’ve probably sold yourself to half the men in district 12. he slips another finger in, feeling generous, curling it up in just the right spot.

you mewl, and he slaps your ass, in utter disbelief that you think that you can enjoy what he’s doing. whores don’t get to cum, no, they get to take what they’re given. he’ll make sure of that.

his cock is already hard again at the thought of getting to bury himself in you, and he’s hasty about pulling your panties down. you adjust yourself a little, and he groans at the sight of your wet hole, trickling with slickness. jesus, how fucking desperate were you?

‘so fuckin’ hard,’ he grunts, grabbing his cock with one hand and sliding it into your cunt without any time for adjustment.

you let out a heavy breath, feeling his big cock stretch you out—you’re thankful you’re not a virgin. he begins to slide in and out, building up a solid pace. when he hears you gasping, and sees that you’ve got your fingers at your clit, he reaches forward and pulls you up by your hair, causing you to lose your way with your hands.

‘what did i say, hm? you obey me, and clearly you can’t fuckin’ do that,’ he hisses, tugging your hair so hard that you feel your scalp prickling.

he shoves you back down again, and this time you don’t dare to touch yourself, no matter how much your cunt throbs with want. you accept his punishment, and let him pound into you, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the barracks.

you’re such a whore, the way you gasp at all the right times as his big cock stretches around your tight walls. he bets you’ve taken cock hundreds of times, but he’s determined to be the best, making sure you know what you’re worth—which is nothing. you’re so beneath him, you’re the fucking dirt on his shoe, and he won’t hesitate to polish you off if you don’t do as he says.

he’s really pounding you now, hands gripping roughly at your hips in an attempt to drive himself further into your cunt, watching as your pussy leaves a milky ring around his base. his dog tags dangle in his face as he bends down to shove himself deeper into you, and the jangling reminds you that he’s the one in charge here. you’re just a poor little girl from the districts, and he’s got the authority. he could do whatever he wanted to you, and he’d get away with that. he won’t let you forget.

‘god, you’re taking me so well,’ he grunts, bucking his hips in pleasure. ‘such a fuckin’ whore though.’

he pulls at your hair again, and you groan, feeling your head snap back a little. he’s fucking you so hard, and while you’re enjoying it, you do have to admit there’ll be bruises on your hips and thighs come tomorrow morning. you’re not mad about it though, liking the thought that you’re all his.

‘have you learned your lesson, hm?’ he asks, snapping his hips against your ass, chasing the peak that is building up as your walls clench around him.

‘yes,’ you mumble, dumbfounded. your brief answer is unsatisfactory, however, and earns you another slap across the ass. this one leaves a pretty red hand print, a memento from him.

‘yes what?’ he eggs, rubbing his hand against the other cheek, ready to strike again if you don’t give him the answer he wants.

‘yes sir,’ you cry out, beads of sweat clinging to your forehead as he slams into you.

‘good girl. that wasn’t so hard now, was it?’ he inquires, and you shake your head lazily.

he’s going so hard now you’re not sure if you can take it, and you clutch desperately at the corner of the bed, whining. though you don’t dare beg him to stop, afraid of what he’ll do. he slams into you one last time, and feels himself come undone. he spills his spend into your wet cunt, hot spurts of cum filling you up. another pathetic district girl taking his load. he smiles to himself.

‘you loved every second of that, didn’t you?’ he pulls out of you, watching you turn around and face him, dress up around your waist, hips speckled with fresh bruises from where he’s gripped you.

‘yes sir,’ you answer back, and he offers a smirk in return, never happier to hear that name on your lips.

now you know just exactly what peacekeepers do to pretty girls that don’t obey them.

[rieamena]

storytime!!! so basically im going through a mini writer's block right now so i started cooking to get my mind off it and now all i can think about is cooking with ino takuma

wc: 0.8k contains: pure fluff and nanami's here too i guess, reader is referred to as girlfriend, modern au author's note: fun fact! so i lost most of this and i had to rewrite all of the parts i lost and when i found out i actually started to cry! but i hope yall like it! inbox open for requests + qna questions + anything and everything

first off, i firmly believe this guy is the most mediocre chef EVER. you cannot convince me otherwise. however!, i will give him his props. he can cook his cute lil suspiciously scrumptious dishes when he has the time but that does not stop him from trying to get better at cooking

once you two started dating, he without a doubt begun brushing up on his skills. he went from being able to make a "banger sandwich" to a "banger le poulet frit et les gaufres" which was just chicken and waffles but he's trying okay!!!

he definitely consulted (begged) head chef nanami, as he called him in this situation, to help with his culinary skills. and i'm not talking regular begged, i'm talking groveling at his feet, begged. and nanami obliged, teaching ino how to cook, starting at the very basics, the importance of mise en place: the practice of organizing and preparing your ingredients and equipment before starting to cook

soon enough, ino's culinary lessons with head chef nanami blossomed. he started from basically nothing and now he's mastered the perfect milk to cereal ratio and a near perfect filet mignon. did he know what that was? no. did he watch nanami make it under the excuse of watching is the best form of learning? yes.

but you have to start somewhere! and you have to give him his tens!! he did light the stove and he preheat the oven. he's practically a chef already! and all that watching definitely paid off

"here, try this recipe with your girlfriend." nanami slid a slip of paper over to ino, tiny, uniform inked words on it. "and here is your copy, good luck." an identical piece of paper was given to ino again but it had handwritten notes like pay attention to the flame and i wouldn't recommend substituting this ingredient, it is very vital for the overall taste of the dish

so here you both were in the kitchen, aprons on and eyes peering at the recipe. "step one," takuma started, tightening his apron like he was about to do some serious work. he lifted up a comically large pot and placed it on the stove, pulling out (and flaunting) the crabs he handpicked from the market right after. "get your pot and your crabs."

"step two," you filled the pot halfway with water, sprinkling in a bit of salt and lighting the fire underneath it. "bring your pot of water to a rapid boil."

"what're you doing babe?" your words were clearly a question though it was one that you could answer simply by looking. "i'm paying attention to the flame." takuma pulled your shoulder flush to his, eyes still watching the blue flame with intent and unwavering focus. "i don't think it's going anywhere but okay."

once the water bubbled up violently, ino threw in the crabs and you went to the bathroom to freshen up. you were humming a sweet song while drying your hands when the all too familiar shrill scream of your boyfriend pierced your ears. "takuma?!" you called out, running to the kitchen, hands an uncomfortable damp. and there he was. takuma had the pot lid propped up as if it were a shield, tears pricking his eyes, "baby...", he called out to you. "the crab... it jumped out of the pot..."

"you bought live crabs...?"

"they weren't moving when i bought them."

"ah."

grabbing some nearby tongs, you placed the crab back into the salted water, "wait..., shouldn't we kill them first?" ino slowly nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket, "let's see... wikihow... how to cook a crab..."

"freeze the crabs?!" your in-sync voices rang through your house, bouncing off the walls. "we're not freezing any crabs." you continued, confusion and sass dripping from your lips. "damn right we're not! but, uh, how're we supposed to kill them then?" gulping at your boyfriend's question, you thought for a bit

tugging at one of the drawers, a collection of knives, given to you both by nanami, were revealed. picking the biggest one up and holding it's handle firm and tightly. "surely we could just," the blade sliced through the air, mimicking the swift movement of killing a crab. takuma shook in his place, "hey, queen, you should, uh, watch where you're swinging that. you might hurt yourself," he came closer to you, fingers squeezing and squishing your cheeks. "and then i would have to nurse my pretty girlfriend back to health!"

slapping his hands away playfully, you sighed, "babe, focus! what're we gonna do? i don't wanna kill the crabs..." ino put his hands on his hips, a triumphant smile on his face, "don't worry, i got this."

long story short, he did not.

"oh my god." the plastic fork slipped from takuma's hands clanking against the matching plastic container of takeout

"what?"

"we didn't do mise en place."

jjk taglist

@blendingcaramal @gzchaos @theamazingrain @woah-girlz @voloslobotomyservice

@kyozvy @obessionofagrl @bubybubsters @gojosbrat @raindropsonrwses

@c-moon20-12 @saltynanobeanie @theamazingrain @synthiiiiis @ghostlyluminarycloud

@poopyyy @supernatrualqueen @bxrbie-jadeee @lailuv21

[msschemmenti]

girl next door 🏠 - 5

a/n: sorry bout the delay-- very busy week at work and had a bunch of singing engagements this weekend. but here's this!

“Can you stop thinking about fucking our neighbor so loudly? I can practically feel the wheels turning over here.” Emily groaned as she turned to face JJ. It had been days since their girls night and of course they’d been whisked away on a case. As morbid as their job was that wasn’t stopping either of their minds from lingering on the conversations they had in their living room.

“Oh don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about it too.” JJ poked, leaning back in the hotel room’s office chair. “And I already know we’re going to discuss it when we get home– I’m just getting a head start.” JJ shrugged.

“And how are you so sure we’re going to discuss this? It’s not as if this is a normal scenario for us.” Emily tried (and failed) for disinterest.

“Which is all the more reason to discuss it. She said it herself– we’re depriving the women-loving women population as is. We might as well indulge ourselves, at least once. Plus it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve invited a woman to bed before.”

“But it is the first time she’s been more than a passing acquaintance.” Emily reminded.

“Well yes, but doesn’t the longing of it all kind of appeal to you a bit? It’s not like we haven’t been consciously and unconsciously thinking about her since we met her. And like I said it only has to be the one time.”

“I hear you but I highly doubt either of us will be satiated after taking her to bed once.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. But even then, so what if she becomes a repeat guest? It’ll be pretty convenient at least. We’d be cutting a large part of the leg work, and still coming out pretty well in the end. No more fishing for good submissives across DC after a draining case. No more layers and layers of anonymity. We could even enjoy her company in the comfort of our own home. Sounds like a list of pros to me.” JJ listed.

“Logistically, yes it makes sense. But are we sure this is a step we want to take with someone we’ve already got a friendship with?”

JJ pondered briefly before leveling Emily with a shrug, “It’s not like were asking her to marry us. She’s obviously in the market for at the very least an orgasm and I think we can provide that. You heard her, she’s open to experiences– long or short. What’s the harm in giving her the option?”

“I guess you’re right.” Emily nodded.

“Of course I am. I don’t know why you’d ever doubt me.”

-

With classes started, there really wasn’t much time for Y/n to feel embarrassed about her drunken confessions on her neighbors’ couch. She’d always been a bit loose-lipped when alcohol was in the mix, but it was always things she 100% meant—just something she wouldn’t typically say aloud soberly.

“Diana– that was good. I can tell you’ve been working on this piece for a while. We’ll keep it in your repertoire this year but I think I’ve got a few other songs I’d like to add too.” Y/n smiled up at the sophomore from the piano bench. It was Friday afternoon and this was her last lesson before she could head home for the weekend. In week two of classes, she finally started to get into the groove of her schedule. Her students were all excitable and respectful. The work they’d turned in so far looked good. All the signs were pointing toward a very enjoyable first semester.

“Awesome, how do you feel about adding a little Anything Goes to the list? I’d really like to master the Patti Lupone belt and Professor Calkins wouldn’t let me even look at it last year.” Diana pleaded. It was only her second lesson (the first one she’d actually sung in) but Y/n could tell she would be fun to work with.

“Sure, why not? These are your lessons. Just let me know, and we’ll get the music.” Diana grinned and nodded before heading out of the office. With Diana gone, Y/n packed her things and headed home. As soon as she made it in the door, her phone was ringing as it typically did on Fridays. Grayson, a true creature of habit, called almost every Friday to debrief but they’d missed each other the last couple weeks and there was much to discuss.

“You’d be very proud of me.” Y/n smirked as she propped the phone against the toaster in her kitchen.

“I’m always proud of you, but your smirk is leading me to believe you got between your sexy neighbors.” Grayson beamed in anticipation.

“Not yet— but here’s to hoping!” Y/n laughed before continuing. “They invited me over for a girls night with their co-worker and you know how I get when I drink. I think I may have complained about them being together and leaving the rest of the lesbian population to date crazy people.”

“Oh, that sounds like you when you drink gin or tequila. You know gin makes you sin.” Grayson laughed.

“I know! I do think it was tequila though. I got a little silly towards the end. So silly I freaked when their friend said they have some sort of open relationship.”

“Open relationship? Shut up, no way.”

“I honestly think it’s a sexual thing. They look like the type to menage a trois.” Y/n explained.

“You say that like you, yourself would not also be the type to menage a trois for the right women.” Grayson teased down the phone. “Or should I remind you of that one time–”

“No! I don’t need you to remind me anything. I’m just saying, I feel like they’re the one and done type. With their job, they probably wouldn’t have the time for a consistent lover outside of each other.”

“Well you haven’t had a consistent lover in months, I don’t see the issue here. One orgasm is better than no-gasms.” Grayson urged.

“You’re such a bad influence.”

“Yes, but you love it. You know you want them, I know you want them. They even know you want them. I just think you should be open to anything that may come to your doorstep. At least once!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear ya.”

[jarofstyles]

Golden

Hello and welcome to Verboten (BFF!Dadrry) part 10!

I hope you enjoy this fluffy smutty piece because the next few will be... interesting ;)

Check out our Patreon for early access and 100+ exclusive writings.

Verboten Masterlist

WC- 2.5k

Warnings- mentions of anxiety, smut, breeding kink, age gap, daddy kink

----------

Y/N did not want to leave Italy. 

She had fallen in love with the people, the food, the weather, the culture- and Harry. 

That was pretty clear at this point. 

His hand held her thigh under the table as they dined outside under the covered balcony, the sea air ruffling the hair that had escaped her pearly claw clip. They only had 2 days left and while she had been trying to focus on the time they had left, it was only more daunting to realize they had to come home and deal with their relationship. Telling the people who needed to know. 

Lia. 

Y/N had felt an awful pit in her stomach as she answered Lia’s messages every so often, thankfully her best friend being distracted by her own girlfriend to worry too much about texting her best friend. For once, she was relieved for the lack of bros over hoes. 

She was galavanting across the Italian coast with her best friend’s father. Sucking him off on the yacht he had chartered, clinging to his body in the salty water, letting him kiss away tears from laughing too hard and one too many drinks. His hands had almost constantly been on her and she had welcomed, no, encouraged each and every bit of it. 

Her teeth marked Harry’s golden skin, the Italian summer sun having left its mark on him in a delicious way that had Y/N almost feral. Her nails, that he had paid for being redone just a few days ago, leaving scratch marks on his back and also soothing him to sleep on a rocking boat yesterday while he had rested his head in her lap as she read. 

They weren’t just having sex. They were in love. This was a relationship, something that would be seen as the ultimate betrayal. But Y/N wasn’t going to give it up. 

Her whole life, she had been the one to give things up for people. She always tried to take care of everyone around her, her family, her friends, even strangers. She’d been the constant shoulder to cry one and the one ready to brave the world and her own fears for other people. So when Harry gave her a little taste of how good it felt to be taken care of, she fell in love with it. Albeit guiltily, she was letting him do the things he wanted for her- and she’d never seen him shine like this. 

Harry had always liked taking care of people, but he was far more selective. He had a big heart, yes, but it had stayed particularly guarded. With the money he had, the people he’d met, it had been an early lesson for him to know that yes, he could help but he had to cherry pick the people who would be actually deserving. Y/N clicked all those boxes. She provided him with a level of comfort, pleasure and affection that he’d always dreamt of. She allowed him to spoil her more and more each day, but he was eager to do more. As many times as he could admit his adoration for her, he wanted her dripping with diamonds and the things she wanted to wear, never to worry about a thing again. She’d worked hard in her life and god damn it, she fucking deserved it. She said thank you, smothering him with kisses with every surprise he had given her, every little fucking thing, and it made him feel so good it was ridiculous. From a cute pen he’d seen in a market stall to the yacht surprise, each little thing garnered a excited, sweet reaction from her. So he wanted to do more. 

“I know that we only have our two days left…” He stroked over her thigh, pads of his fingertips tracing the bend of her knee and back up. “But we’re going to come back. I promise. I’ve got the house here and I can work remote…” His face was soft, understanding that she didn’t want to go back home. It was such a welcome relief being here, so needed and refreshing that all it could possibly do is strengthen their foundation.

“I know.” She replied, placing her silverware down before taking a sip of her drink. “It’s just… I know that it’s probably going to be ugly for a while back home. Just as a general rule. I don’t want to hide at all, I’m not ashamed of being with you but I know there’s going to be a lot of blowback.” Y/N tried to explain it without it seemingly like she was backing out of their relationship. That wasn’t the case at all. “I know I’m going to lose some friends over this. And maybe I do deserve it. Maybe I shouldn’t have made a move on you, but it felt right. I needed to do it, and I don’t regret it at all. It’s necessary growth for us, and I can understand that but I just feel… anxious, I guess. To see who chooses to stay and who chooses to go.”

That was something Harry hadn’t really thought about, and as awful as he felt about it- he was more relieved that she said she didn’t regret it. Of course he didn’t want any blowback at all. “It’s tough, isn’t it my love?” He sighed sadly, gently grabbing her hand and bringing it up to his mouth. His lips pressed against her knuckles, the subtle sound of them disconnecting making her smile. “I know. It’s a risk, and I’m going to upset my daughter but you know… I want to be happy. I deserve love, and so do you. You’re of age, we’ve discussed a lot, it isn’t like we’re throwing this in anyone’s face to upset them. If our happiness matters so little to everyone ese, perhaps it wasn’t a good fit for them regardless.”

The only person’s reaction either of them really cared about was Lia’s. Harry was prepared to catch the brunt of her explosive temper. He was a grown man and he had been divorced for a bit. He understood that his choice in romantic partner was going to upset her, and he didn’t blame her. Neither of them could, because they both were rational and knew that it was a fucked up situation. He just hoped that they could work through it. He’d tried to pick Y/N’s brain about it but she seemed to understand her fate in this. 

Lia wasn’t going to forgive easily, nor would their friendship ever be the same, but she was hoping that with time, they could mend what was inevitably about to be smashed up. Make a mosaic out of the pieces that were bound to shatter. Harry meant so much to her already and she couldn’t give up the chance of having a lifetime sort of love. Her romantic heart couldn’t handle it. 

“You know…” Her lips tilted up. “I have always been a romantic. I always wanted love but I pretended I didn’t. I thought… maybe it would help me avoid being hurt. I’ve been afraid of having my heart broken for so long, I never was able to properly hand my heart over to anyone. They could maybe touch it, but it was under lockdown. It was really weird when…” She licked the wine from her lip, looking at his slight sunburned nose as she found her words. “It was really weird for me when I found myself wanting to hand it over to you. Like I knew you’d keep it safe. I’m still adjusting, I’m still learning but I feel so safe with you, it’s hard not to just give in.” 

That was music to his ears. His smile was brighter than the sun when she finished, his hand placing hers on his cheek as he pressed tiny kisses to her inner wrist. It was hard not to pull her into his lap, but he had to keep some decorum in this situation. His girl felt safe enough to hand him her heart, and that boost it gave him almost sent his own beating chest to the moon. “It’s safe with me. Always. I won’t let anything happen to it, not from my end.” He couldn’t promise nothing else in life wouldn't hurt her- but he would be damned if he didn't try. 

—--

“Go ahead, baby. You can have what you want.” His hot palms held the backside of her thighs as she lifted the sundress over her body, breasts spilling out as it was tossed onto floor. Harry’s cock was thick in his palm, wet from her saliva as she had gotten on her knees for him as soon as they’d entered the living room of the villa. Sucking with fervor, the younger girl had gotten him slick with her spit before he pulled her up to let her climb into his lap. 

“I want you.” Y/N whispered, hand going between them to angle his cock against her properly. Harry’s groan was motivation as she slipped down, only taking a bit at a time as she shakily exhaled her whine. “I want you to take me, and keep me. I want to be your girl, Daddy. Please.” Her hands held his shoulders, keeping steady as her cunt sunk down on his length. “Want t’be your girl and I want you to come home from work and love on me, want you to text me to be naked in your room for you, want to make you dinner- I just want to make you happy.” 

Harry was nearly speechless as her whiny demands, her true heart showing as she squeezed his shoulders and finally got seated fully on his cock. “Y-yeah? S’what my girl really wants?” It was like the world had answered his prayers. He was buried inside of her hot cunt, her mouth saying all the words he’s been itching to hear for a long while now. “Want to give that t’you. Should just live with me, hm?” He cooed. “Move right into my bed so you’re always there for me, and m’always there for you. I belong to you just as much.” His head rested against the couch, gently helping her lift up and slide back down slowly on his cock. Finding her pace, he wasn’t going to complain. 

“I-Should I?” She asked, eyes wide and hazy as she sunk fully back down, full to the brim with his cock in her tummy. “You’d want that?” It wasn’t probably the place to have this discussion but hey- he wasn’t going to deny it anymore. The idea of her going home to her place when his own place was empty sans himself, when she made it feel like a real home? He wanted her there. Possessive, needy, perhaps he was, but he really did want her there. It was moving quickly but it felt like maybe he needed it. No more waiting. 

“Mhm. You’re with me a lot but… Stay with me all the time, baby. Want my girl around, want to live with you.. Never want t’see you leave.” His lips connected with hers as she began to grind slowly on his cock, his hands sliding up to cup each side of her ass. Her kiss back was just as messy as her cunt, the feeling of being full making it hard to focus on anything but how good she felt and the feelings swarming her at the idea of moving in. “Move all your things in… Let daddy buy you more pretty things for your closet. Let me clean it out… let Daddy take care of you, find you a job you really like.”   Harry knew he was pathetically whipped for this woman, but he had no intention of hiding that from her. Y/N deserved to know how loved she was. 

“Y-Yeah, please. I want to be with you all the time.” Her nails dug into his skin a little as she bounced a few times on his prick, making them both moan. “Just want to be your girl, Daddy. Want to be yours in every way, want to smell like you, sleep in your bed, I want to- I want you.” Her confirmation was everything to him, sitting him up as he beamed. His strength was used as an advantage, turning them over so she was laid on the couch and he could look down at her. 

“Good. You are- you’re Daddy’s perfect fucking girl, and m’gonna spoil you rotten.” He spread her legs open, looking at the mess where they connected. Her poor cunt was still swollen from this morning but she took it like a camp, shuddering when his thumb brushed her clit. “God, handing yourself over to me… Love it so much. M’gonna take such good care of you, baby.” His promise was true. Her hand clutched over her breast, nodding up at him as her body tightened up slightly. The stimulation and new angle made it hard for her to breathe in the best of ways. 

His thrusts were deep and full of promise. Groaning through his teeth as he watched her underneath him, watching her face twist with pleasure and her stomach jump with his thrusts, he knew he didn’t ever want to see a body other than hers under him again. “S’my perfect girl. Going to wake up to you every day and see that perfect face, make you just as addicted to me as I am to you and this perfect body. You’ve ruined me.” Y/N had made him a man on his knees, weak for a woman when he swore he wouldn’t again. Only this time, it was worse, and he didn’t fucking care. He’d give it all up for her. “M’keeping you. Y’know that, baby? You belong to me, and m’gonna give you everything you’ve ever wanted…” one of hus hands fell down to her stomach. “Remember what we talked about? Hm? What did you want daddy to give you- What did you beg for?”

Y/N got even more wet, mewling at the pressure on her stomach as she remembered exactly what it was. “A baby- I want you to give me a baby, Daddy.” She whimpered. “Y-You said, you said you’d get me pregnant and I want it. I want it, I want you to breed me and keep me full and- oh, fuck.” Y/N’s begging was cut off with his deep thrusts gaining speed. He’d lifted her just a bit, abandoning her clit to pull her lower body up just a bit with his hands. Her eyes watered, feeling his cock punch right against the spot she had desperately needed with the adjustment, hands flailing to grab on to the couch as she got fucked. 

Harry liked the sound of that. Far too much. 

“I’ll give it to you, baby. I’ll give you the pretty house, pretty ring, pretty babies in you… You’re driving me mad. God,  I fucking love you. Stay with me, forever.” His face was beaded with sweat as he fucked into her deep, imagining those very things. She agreed to the house, moving in with him. He was sure that would be the direction they were going in. He wouldn’t let her go. 

Regardless of how much it could cost him.

[watarfallar]

Does anyone here like this weird thing called "Desert Duo Incorrect Quotes?" No? Oh well. I'm running out so I'm giving as many as I can to you all. Enjoy it!

Scar: My hands are cold. Grian: Here, let me hold them. Scar: My lips are cold too. Grian: *covers Scar's mouth with their hand*

Grian: I want to kiss you. Scar, not paying attention: What? Grian: I said if you die, I wont miss you.

Grian: Being gay is a constant battle between "I wish to sit on a window bench with my lover, our legs tangling as we listen to the birds" and "Hey, let's go throw rocks at fascists" and I think that's very sexy of us. Scar: If the window's open and you time it right, you can do both.

Scar, to Grian: We had a date! Scar: *aggressively points to Hello Kitty Coloring Book*

Scar: I warned you. Scar: I'm perfect.

Grian: Please, Scar, after everything we’ve been through together. You can’t do this. Grian: I’m sorry Scar. Grian: I’m begging you. Don’t do it. Scar: It has to be done. Grian: Scar: Grian: Scar: *Places +4* Uno.

Scar: Are you packed for the trip? Grian: Yup. Scar: Then where are your bags? Grian: All I’m bringing is a good attitude and a sense of adventure. Scar: A change of underwear might be nice.

Grian: Just be careful, Scar! Scar: *heading out the door* I'm always careful, Grian! Scar: It's everything around me that's careless.

Grian: *Gives a bouquet to Scar* Scar: You know I'm allergic. Grian: That's the point.

Scar: Your future self is talking shit about you right now. Grian: Jokes on them. I'll ruin their fucking life.

Scar: Who the fuck- Grian: Language! Scar: Whom the fuck- Grian: No.

Scar: Ha! What are you gonna do? Stab me? *Five minutes later* Scar, calling 911: HELP, IVE BEEN STABBED.

Grian, looking at the squad: Okay, so I need to become a therapist faster.

Scar, handing a balloon to Grian: I have no soul. Have a good day! Grian, walking off: I don't have one either.

Scar: I’ve only ever said ‘I love you’ to two people in my entire life: Grian and a guy in a dark club who I mistook for Grian.

Grian: I found a note in one of my old word .docs that said Note to self: Get revenge on Scar. Grian: Except I couldn't remember what I was supposed to get revenge for. Grian: But I trusted my own judgment, so I went with it. Scar: Hmm... I don't know what you were supposed to get revenge for, either. Grian: I can only assume you got what was coming to you. Not 100 percent sure, though. Scar: Well, whatever I did, I guess I deserved it. Grian: Let that possibly be a lesson to you.

Grian: Oh, fiddlesticks. Scar: Look, I understand this is a tense situation, but let's watch the fucking language.

Grian: Heh, Scar sneezes like a girl. Scar: How about I pound you like boy? Scar: That didn’t come out right.

Grian: Consider the fundraising over! Your hero has arrived! Scar: Uhh… where did you get so much money from, Grian? Grian: Well, you know, I’m pretty good at numbers. I just crunched them, I stretched them, I analyzed my accounts, I timed the market- *police sirens start to wail in the background* Scar: DID YOU ROB A BANK?! Grian: Oh, come on, Scar, do you really think so little of me? *opens the bag as purple dye explodes on their face* Scar: Grian: …it was a credit union.

Scar, turning to Grian: Stop calling yourself hot, the only thing you can turn on is the microwave.

Grian: *trying to get five seconds of sleep* Scar, poking Grian’s arm: Grian Grian. Grian. Grian. Grian: WHAT? Scar: …We’re out of Capri Suns—

Grian: I’m not being weird. Am I being weird? Scar: Yes, and that’s coming from me.

Scar: And have you learnt anything this Christmas, Grian? Grian: …Not really. Scar: Nothing? Grian: Tell you one thing I have learnt—Christmas; ultimately, commercial holiday. Who's the real winner at Christmas? Amazon. they have drones now! Tiny little dystopian slaves delivering iPads and headphones. I ordered a toaster; It was on the doorstep five hours later! Do we need that? It was 4.99! For a toaster! I mean, someone's being exploited there.

Scar: Bottling up negative emotions is bad for your health, so you shouldn't do it. Grian: I know, that's why I bottle up all my emotions, both positive and negative, so it cancels out. Scar: Th-that's not how that works-

Scar: Priest kink is definitely a thing and I am afflicted by it. Grian: Go to church. Grian: WAIT—

Scar: Is it just me or is instant ramen even better uncooked? Grian: It’s just you.

[neptnzz]

The Scripture of the City:

'All cities are born of solid light. Such is my city, his city.

'But then the light subsides, revealing the bright and terrible angel of Veloth. He is in his pre-chimerical form, demonic VEHK, gaunt and pale and beautiful, skin stretched painfully thin on bird's bones, feathered serpents encircling his arms. His wings are spread out behind him, their red and yellow ends like razors in the sun. The wispy mass of his fire hair floats as if underwater, milky in the nimbus of light that crowns his head. His presence is undeniable, the awe too much to bear.

'This is God's city, different from others. Cities from foreign countries put their denizens to sleep and walk to the star-wounded East to pay homage to me. The capital of the northern men, crusty with eon's ice, bows before Vivec the city, me it together.

'Self-thought streets rush through tunnel blood. I have rebuilt myself. Hyper eyed signposts along my traffic arm, soon to be an inner sea. My body is crawling with all gathered to see me rising up like a monolithic instrument of pleasure. My spine is the main road to the city that I am. Countless transactions are taking place in veins and catwalks and the roaming, roaming, roaming, as they roam over and through and add to me. There are temples erected along the hollow of my skull and I will ever wear them as a crown. Walk across the lips of God.

'They add new doors to me and I become effortlessly trans-immortal with the comings and goings and the stride-heat of the market where I am traded for, yell of the children hear them play, scoffed at, amused, desired, paid for in native coin, new minted with my face on one side and my city-body on the other. I stare with each new window. Soon I am a million-eyed insect dreaming.

'Red-sparking war trumpets sound like cattle in the ribcage of shuffling transit. The heretics are destroyed on the plaza knees. I flood over into the hills, houses rising like a rash, and I never scratch. Cities are the antidotes to hunting.

'I raise lanterns to light my hollows, lend wax to the thousands the candlesticks that bear my name again and again, the name innumerable, shutting in, mantra and priest, god-city, filling every corner with the naming name, wheeled, circling, running river language giggling with footfalls mating, selling, stealing, searching, and worry not ye who walk with me. This is the flowering scheme of the Aurbis. This is the promise of the PSJJJ: egg, image, man, god, city, state. I serve and am served. I am made of wire and string and mortar and I accede my own precedent, world without am.'

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.

The Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec, Sermon Twenty-Five

song: soooo - cherry blossom drops, burning spring

[maybe-boys-do-love]

Finished Last Twilight, and I'm not adding to the ableism discourse, because most things have already been said and with a lot of beautiful nuance that I agree with. But I do want to talk about how that ending arrived because of Aof Noppharnach's consistent symbolic commentary on the experience of living with HIV in much of his work, with an approach that's unique among all queer content. Imma skip Gay OK Bangkok since its not even a metaphor there, but I'll explain my rationale for the others, and we can just appreciate the foundation Gay OK Bangkok lays for us to think about the rest of his stuff.

The motif of life-saving medical intervention comes up in all but one of the works he takes screenwriting credit on. He's Coming To Me: P'Med dies originally because of a lack of medical intervention. 1000 Stars: Tian gets a heart transplant. Moonlight Chicken: this one's more subtle, but the whole series is explicitly established in the context of reopening following the COVID pandemic, and Wen will later say to Jim, "we are survivors." It was this line upon rewatch that made me start considering how thorough this theme is. Survivors of what? The meaning is three-fold: hard lessons in love, COVID, and, for gay men of their age, the HIV epidemic. The hope of medical intervention for Day's condition takes on a secondary meaning, with this trend in mind, even if the mixed disability politics between visual impairment and being HIV positive really fails.

His comparisons are more intricate though. Pills and daily regimens are a consistent motif. Day has his daily eye-drops, Tian his pills (which are presumably immune-suppressants to help accept the transplant but I'm not going to Viki right now and watching every ep to find out so someone feel free to correct me). 'But people take medicine for lots of things,' you say. 'Just because its gay doesn't mean its an HIV metaphor!' You have a fair point! But here's where Aof gets real fun and sneaky. P'Med dies from lack of pills the same year Torfun, whose heart will save Tian's life, is born, 1997. I'm mentioned once before 1997 as important for the class-conscious Aof because of the Asian financial crisis that Thailand set off that year. However, 1997 is also important because its the year HAART, or Highly Active Anti-Retroviral Therapy was first used in Thailand (it had hit the market only one year earlier). HAART, a multi-drug regimen, boosted someone's life-expectancy with HIV up by 15 years, and its side-effects were significantly milder than previous approaches. The medical conditions of P'Med and Torfun's heart point us directly to HAART, and what it could offer.

Now we're moving out of the medical and into the experiential connections because, while Dark Blue Kiss is the only work Aof chose to take credit for screen-writing without incorporating medical references, it is by far the most dense with references to the issue of concealment. Its in the narrative as people closet identities and hide relationships, yes, but its in SO much of the visuals, too, most obviously the Pete & Kao mug hidden inside its coozie. It's easy to see the surface story about gay visibility and the closet, but there's a more specific subtext here about the associated condition that intensified the stigma of being gay and how that impacts your sense of self. Bad Buddy explores this issue less, but even in the BL Bubble, its haunted by the stigma of homophobia--it just shuffles it over onto rivalry so the audience can experience it without reproducing it.

However, the grief and shame of surviving when others haven't haunts Aof's other works much more intensely. Jim and Tian both are hung up on guilt for someone's death that they did not actually cause, continuing to pursue the goals for those that passed rather than their own. Then, there's Thun and P'Med, which is the best allegory for living and dating with HIV, bar none. It goes into the feelings of stigma and the limits of physical intimacy with partners that living with HIV caused, especially prior to Truvada's introduction in 2004. Even then, the show depicts how a HIV negative partner maintains the choice to participate in their own regimens, as Thun's desires for physical intimacy with P'Med manage their relationship and never the other way around.

This sense of required separation and gay identities that are less sex-focused also play into oft-maligned motifs in Aof's work. He's talked explicitly about people's criticisms of the limited physical intimacy in his earlier works that led to the more prominent stuff in Bad Buddy, but I hope given the above context, we can appreciate why physical intimacy is less of a priority than other kinds (and I'd add that 1000 Stars, which got the most sh*t about it, is actually one of the most erotically-charged BLs out there because of it's restraint). Then, you have the finales where characters separate for periods of time, and while I don't see this as explicitly tied to HIV experiences (Aof is literally following the book of romcom beats there, even if everyone whines about it), I can't help but appreciate a tangential connection to loving beyond time and distance that was required for those who lived with or lost loved ones to HIV.

I would've loved to see a version of Last Twilight that didn't absolutely bungle its metaphor, because it had every element to be something great (except, I'm sorry to the fans, lead actors with the necessary queer romantic chemistry). Watching the last episode, when the show seemed to finally rediscover plot and pacing, all the other pieces that had been drowned out by the disability conversation peeked their heads out, and I saw what the show wanted to be. The topics related to living with HIV of stigma, survivor's guilt, and assistive technologies: they were all right there, not just for Day but for everyone, if only they had been given the proper time to marinate to develop more complexity. It's the rare instance of a show where I'll choose to spend time imagining what could have been rather than obsessing over what was or just moving on. Even a misstep from Aof, like this, is overflowing with so many more layers than most series. The failures of Last Twilight, in relationship to his other works, even let you see how much food for thought he's providing.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

The Art of Healing: Chapter 6

Photo Cred: Me

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem! OC

summary: wanda discovers her dominant side

content warnings: smut, restraints, overstimulation, fingering, dildo, subspace

word count: 5k+

Series Masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

A New Discovery

“Alright hon, remember what we practiced.”

Wanda smiled slightly, used to Agatha’s nagging. She would be annoyed if she didn’t know that the older woman was simply looking out for her. One might even say that she was worried, but Wanda knew better than to bring that up. 

“Of course,” Wanda turned towards the woman beside her, noting the way her blue eyes scanned the room they were in. “I’ll let you know if it becomes too much, I promise.”

At those words, Agatha finally turned her gaze towards Wanda. It was their third time out of her cabin, and an important night as well. The first time had been to a small market in a nearby town, and as Agatha suspected, Wanda had telepathy powers in addition to her chaos magic. 

That first time was overwhelming, to say the least. Agatha had never performed so many memory replacement spells as that day. But what can you do? It’s not like she could let those poor townspeople remember Wanda falling to her knees and covering her ears while scarlet waves of magic pulsated from her as she processed everyone’s thoughts for the first time. 

The second time was much easier, since Wanda had known what to expect. They’d gone into the city, simply walking down the street rather than the overwhelming environment of an enclosed space. It was easier that way, Wanda didn’t get stuck in anyone’s thoughts, as they walked past too quickly. 

A man bumped into Agatha, jostling her from her thoughts. She sent a glare his way, before Wanda’s gentle hand on her arm redirected her focus. Glancing down, she took a breath, her eyes locked on the pendant swinging from the redhead’s neck. 

“You know how to power that on, right? I spent a lot of time on it.” Agatha knew her attempts at nonchalance were lacking, but Wanda chose not to comment, instead sending a soft smile her way and bringing her fingers to the pendant. Rubbing it between her forefinger and thumb gently, she nodded, taking a solidifying breath of her own. 

Agatha eyed Wanda’s pendant briefly, scanning the runes she’d etched onto the surface. As soon as Wanda’s magic made contact with the runes, it would send a protective shield over her mind, preventing her from reading anyones thoughts. It was their failsafe, just in case the amount of horny thoughts flying around the nightclub became overwhelming, 

“Yes,” Wanda dropped her hand, her eyes finding the bar through the smoky haze of the nightclub. “I’ll be alright, but first I want a drink.”

Agatha rolled her eyes, knowing that Wanda would order a shirley temple like she always did. Making their way to the bar, blue eyes scanned the many faces, searching for a target. 

“Let me find someone,” Wanda’s voice was low, her breath already smelling like cherries as she murmured the words into Agatha’s ear. “Trust me.”

Sighing, Agatha nodded, feeling slightly out of her element as she gave up what felt like the last of her control for the evening. They’d decided to find a submissive to play with for the night, as part of Wanda’s education. Essentially, Agatha wanted her to finetune her control over her own emotions, and what better way to do that than to exert control over an eager submissive?

Wanda leaned against the counter, sipping her drink as she lazily scanned the crowd around her. Bodies swarmed on the dance floor, laughter and singing rising as the crowd moved slightly out of sync. Music thrummed through the floor, the vibrations of it practically tangible as it wrapped around her body, urging her to move. 

Random thoughts filtered through her mind, and Wanda breathed through it, focusing on Agatha’s past lessons. Just keep breathing, and it will pass. It would apparently get easier over time, and eventually her magic would filter everyones thoughts on autopilot. Wanda couldn’t wait, and distracted herself by trying to hear only a single person's thoughts at once. 

‘Damn, I like the way he’s moving against me. I wonder what his di-’

Wanda visibly shook her head, moving onto the next person quickly. She found it easier this time, her few weeks of practice paying off as the background hum of multiple thoughts layering atop each other faded. 

‘I hope she collars me soon, I just want to be her good boy forever. Oh look, here she comes!’ 

Her curiosity piqued, Wanda found the man who’s thoughts she’d just left. He was near the edge of the dance floor, a wide smile on his face as a tall woman walked up to him. She leaned down, saying something in his ear as he bowed his head, her hands roaming his body. 

Agatha sidled up next to her, hands tight around her waist as she started dancing. “You look suspicious, hon. Dance with me, I know you can multitask.”

Wanda smirked, grinding her hips backwards and feeling pleased at the gasp that escaped Agatha’s plump lips. The hands around her waist tightened, and Wanda felt herself grow wet when she felt the bulge of the brunette’s strap against her. She let herself get lost in the feeling, gently grinding against Agatha as she focused on the woman across the floor. 

‘I can’t wait to make him mine, I hope he likes the design I chose. I want this to be perfect.’ 

The image of an intrinsically designed collar flashed briefly through Wanda’s mind, and she smiled, pleased that the man was getting his wish. A wave of possessiveness shot through her, and she quickly pulled her mind from the tall woman’s, not wanting to get her emotions confused with hers. 

“Good job, Wanda.” Agatha’s voice was raspy, one of her hands snaking around to gently rest against her throat. Wanda swallowed, her breath shortening slightly as arousal pooled in her gut. She shook her head, refocusing on her mission. 

Find a submissive. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?

“We could always postpone this and head back to the cabin,” Agatha’s voice was raspy, her hips moving suggestively against Wanda’s ass. The redhead faltered, almost folding before she locked eyes with a girl at the bar. The girl was sipping a drink slowly, her eyes wide as she watched them dance against each other. 

Wanda smirked, bringing a hand up to Agatha’s head and enjoying the feeling of her lips against her neck. Then, she gently yanked her head up. “Stop, you’re distracting me. Besides, I just found someone. So keep it in your pants, witchy.”

Delighting in the frustrated groan she heard, Wanda ground her hips backwards one final time before making her way towards the girl. Agatha followed behind, her attention successfully redirected, for the time being. 

‘Holy shit, they’re coming my way. Act cool, don’t be fucking weird.’

Agatha snorted, and Wanda realized that she was also reading the girl’s mind. Nudging her slightly, she sent a mental reminder to release her control over the situation, wanting to take the girl’s submission for herself. Afterall, it was Wanda’s control that was on the line. 

‘Good job hon, you’re getting better at communicating telepathically.’ 

Wanda shuddered as Agatha’s words filtered through her brain, the girl’s thoughts still swimming about as she tried to act natural. It was cute really, mentally she was panicking, but she maintained a straight face as the pair approached her. 

Her only tell was the slight tremble of her fingers and her wide eyes as Wanda sat down next to her, Agatha claiming the seat on the other side of the young girl. At first, Wanda didn’t say anything, choosing instead to let her eyes roam the girl’s face as she took her in. 

She had pretty eyes, her eyeliner subtle as mascara coated her long lashes. A few specks of the dark pigment had landed on her cheeks, and Wanda longed to reach up and wipe it away, but refrained. She didn’t want to scare her away too soon. 

“I’m Wanda,” She made sure to keep her voice low, suppressing a smirk as she watched the girl physically react to her words. A light blush appeared on her cheeks, her lips parting as she stumbled over her words briefly. 

“Hi, I’m um- my name is Sarah.” Her words were breathy, her lips clamping shut the moment her introduction was finished. Agatha chuckled, reaching up a hand to play with a strand of Sarah’s short hair. 

“I like this one, let’s play with her.” Blue eyes flashed as Sarah whipped around, her fingers trembling against the glass. Wanda took a peek inside her mind, pleased to see the girl’s thoughts swirling with thoughts of both of them on top of her. 

“Behave yourself for once, please.” Green eyes met blue, and flashed in warning. Agatha conceded, releasing her hold on the young girl’s hair. She moved her hands to a much safer location, resting lightly on her glass while Wanda reached a hand towards Sarah’s rapidly reddening face. 

Cool fingers met her jaw, and the girl turned towards Wanda with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted as her gaze roamed the redhead’s face. Smiling softly, Wanda let her fingers lightly trace the girl’s lips, her eyes locked on them as she felt Sarah’s breath hitch. 

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” Wanda made sure to let her lips press briefly against Sarah’s ear, enjoying the way the girl shuddered beneath her. Agatha watched with a small smirk, nodding her approval when the young girl nodded eagerly. 

Making their way towards the back, Wanda made sure to keep her hands on the young girl. They lingered around her waist, her hips, drifting downwards as Sarah stumbled slightly. Agatha followed half a step behind, reading the girl’s mind as she ensured that Wanda wasn’t getting too overwhelmed. 

Wanda was feeling fantastic. Everytime she moved her fingers, even slightly, Sarah’s breath changed and she would trip over her own feet. Wanda found it adorable, and made sure to keep as much of her body touching Sarah’s as she could. 

Eventually, they made their way to one of the playrooms provided at the back of the club, Agatha murmuring something to the security just outside the area as Wanda ushered the girl inside. Making her way after them, Agatha shut the door firmly as Wanda pushed Sarah against the wall, trapping her with her hips. 

Sarah didn’t seem to mind, her hands shaking slightly as she hesitantly put them on Wanda’s waist, her eyes locked on the redhead’s lips. She arched her back slightly, pressing herself against Wanda's as much as she could, enjoying the way green eyes darkened at the action. 

Feeling the hands around her waist tighten, Wanda maneuvered herself slightly until her thigh slipped between Sarah’s legs. Pressing her firmer against the wall, she smirked when the girl gasped, her hips rutting against her thigh slightly. 

Sensing movement behind her, Wanda glanced over her shoulder, watching as Agatha slowly made her way over to a chair and sitting down. She crossed her legs, getting comfortable as she gave Wanda a single nod. 

‘Go ahead, hon. Let’s see you in action.’

Wanda took a breath, calming herself slightly as Sarah’s hands squeezed her waist once more. The girl grew bolder, her hips moving faster as her hands drifted lower. Wanda turned back towards her, noticing the way her pupils were blown and her breath was coming out in short, desperate pants.  

Moving quickly, Wanda gripped Sarah’s wrists and pinned them to the wall. Pressing her full body against hers, she captured her lips between her own, letting her teeth graze them in warning. Using one hand to hold the girl’s wrists above her head, the other drifted towards her chest, fingers quickly finding her nipple and rolling it. 

The girl moaned, leaning into her touch, and Wanda throbbed. 

“Please.”

Smirking, Wanda pulled back. Sarah’s eyes were slightly glazed, unfocused as she tried to move her hips. It was exhilarating, knowing that she’d made the poor girl this desperate. All from a few simple touches and a single kiss. Wanda wondered what would happen if she did more. 

“Please what? Use your words, darling.” Wanda rolled her fingers again, trapping the girl’s nipple between them. Sarah arched against her, a small whine escaping her as she struggled briefly against the redhead’s hold on her wrists. Pulling slightly, a surge of arousal shot through her when the girl let out a moan, the noise strained as she attempted to surge forwards. 

“I- please… fuck.” She couldn’t get any words out, and Agatha chuckled slowly from her chair. Wanda felt something shift inside her at the girl’s desperation. Something calmed, her mind sharpening past her own arousal as she focused solely on Sarah. 

Humming, Wanda moved closer. She let her lips slightly graze the trembling ones before her. Sarah’s hips moved again, and Wanda sighed. “You can do better than that, sweetheart. Try again for me.”

A frustrated groan sounded out, muffled by Wanda’s lips. Biting down slightly, she slowly backed up, pulling Sarah with her. Catching a glimpse of the bed, Wanda pushes the trembling girl towards it, reveling in the gasp Sarah releases when the backs of her knees hit the mattress. 

Breaking the kiss, Wanda pushes her firmly down until she’s seated on the end of the bed. Nudging Sarah’s knees open, she moves to stand between them, her hands tangling with her hair. Moving slowly, the girl moves her hands up Wanda’s thighs before wrapping them around her waist. 

The movement seems hesitant, and Wanda knows what it means. Sarah’s nervous, yet filled with anticipation at the same time. It’s exactly what Wanda had felt like for her first time with Agatha, and for a moment, she feels like she’s weirdly looking through a mirror. 

“I just…” Sarah struggles with her words for a moment, and Wanda just strokes her cheeks gently, calming her down slightly. Taking a peek inside her head, she’s surprised to find that it's working, and Wanda feels a rush of something at the knowledge that she is directly influencing the emotions and arousal of another person. 

“I want you to touch me, and-” Sarah pauses, biting her lip. Wand nods reassuringly, making sure to keep her eyes soft. “I want you to make me feel good, and I’m already feeling fuzzy.”

Moving closer, Wanda places her lips next to the girl’s ear. Making sure that her voice is low, Wanda tangles her hand in Sarah’s hair before yanking her head back gently, a strangled moan escaping her. 

“Elaborate.” 

Sarah whimpers, closing her eyes briefly as she gathers her thoughts. When she opens them again, Wanda sees that her pupils are blown, black taking over her irises. “Everytime you say something, or tell me what to do, or touch me and move me around where you want me to go, I just sink into this sort of fog?” 

Wanda glances over at Agatha, knowing what Sarah means. It’s slightly intimidating, to know that she’s guiding Sarah into subspace. It’s a lot of trust from the young girl, but at Agatha’s reassuring smile, Wanda calms slightly. Breathing deeply, she calms her racing heartbeat, pausing for a moment before returning her focus to the girl seated before her. 

“That’s a good thing, darling. I promise.” Wanda lets her thumb rest on the girl’s jaw. Sarah closes her eyes, parting her lips as Wanda’s fingers inch closer to them. “Just relax, and let me make you feel good.”

Agatha leaned back in her seat, clenching her thighs together slightly as she watched Wanda gently guide the younger girl into a deeper state of submission. She was quite proud, having worked hard to teach Wanda everything she knew about the kinkier aspects of sex. 

Sure, sex was physical. Agatha, however, liked the mental component involved with the kinkier side of intimacy. She liked the power dynamic, and the shifting of power with a single touch or look. Most importantly, she liked being in control.  

However, in the past few weeks, Wanda had been testing that control that Agatha so desperately craved. She could sense a budding dominatrix in the young redhead, and taught her as best she could without letting go of the reins. Tonight however, was the first step for Wanda in learning to be in control of her own emotions and powers and also exert that same control over a submissive. 

But alas, Agatha was reminiscing. She refocused, her ears picking up on the faint sound of lips dancing against each other as the younger girl moaned openly into Wanda’s mouth. Taking in the scene, Agatha was proud to see that Wanda had pushed Sarah fully onto the bed, hovering over her with her thighs on either side of the girl’s hips. Her hands held down her wrists, and the younger girl was desperately arching her back, seeking any source of friction she could find. 

Diving into Wanda’s surface thoughts, Agatha smiled at the organized mind she found. Wanda was completely aware of her own powers and emotions, keeping everything in check as she focused on her control with Sarah. As predicted, exerting control over someone else helped Wanda immensely with control over herself. Surprisingly, more than submission did. 

Agatha made a mental note to bring this up later to the redhead, before settling fully back in her seat and enjoying the show. After all, who said she couldn’t have fun? Besides, Wanda’s ass looked great from this angle. 

“Pick a safe word.” Wanda pulled back slightly, repeating her words when Sarah tried to chase her lips. Her blonde hair was strewn around her head, her eyes rapidly blinking as she processed. 

“Um,” She tried to get some words out, but couldn’t think of anything. Wanda was still in her mind, and upon realizing how spaced out Sarah was, used her free hand to gently stroke the girl’s face. It seemed as though her touch helped ground the girl, as her thoughts became more coherent, a word popping into existence. 

“Vanilla.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, and Agatha chuckled behind her. A blush spread rapidly on the young girl's face, her eyes glancing between the Wanda on to pof her and the brunette in the chair. 

“Behave.” The words were sharp, and Sarah’s heart stopped momentarily before she realized that it wasn’t directed at her. Agatha’s eyebrows rose, and she narrowed her eyes as her and Wanda stayed locked in a staring contest, the moment passing quickly. 

Turning back to the girl currently trapped beneath her, Wanda smiled slowly. “That’s a good word, remember it.” 

Nodding quickly, Sarah glanced back down towards the redhead’s lips. They parted, a warm breath that tasted faintly of cherries hitting her cheeks, and she moaned as they met hers. It was impossible to describe just how soft the redhead’s lips were, and before she could start to think of any adjectives, her mind went blank as Wanda’s tongue brushed her lower lip. 

Gently exploring the younger girl’s mouth, Wanda slowly maneuvered her body as she swallowed all the moans Sarah so freely offered up. Her leg moved between the girl’s parted thighs, and using a firm amount of pressure, Wanda connected her knee to Sarah’s core. 

Gasping, the young girl briefly disconnected her lips from Wanda’s. She arched into the touch, and Wanda took the opportunity to attach her lips to her neck, sucking softly as moans and gasps flooded her ears. 

“Fuck.” That’s the only word Sarah can seem to get out, her eyes rolling back as Wanda bites down. The sting of her teeth digging into the soft skin of the girl’s neck causes pleasure to race towards her already over heating core. Moving slightly more frantically, Sarah rolls her hips against the knee pressing so deliciously against her. 

Wanda smirked. 

Giving the young girl absolutely no time to think or process what was happening, Wanda pulled away. Pulling the cuffs that were pre-attached to the headboard towards her, she swiftly attached them to Sarah’s wrists. 

Struggling uselessly against the restraints, Sarah wanted to whine in protest when the redhead dismounted her. The knee against her leaking pussy disappeared, and she let out a shaky breath at the loss. Looking over towards the brunette, Sarah closed her legs at the feeling of those all-knowing blue eyes roaming her skin. 

“Don’t do that.” 

At the sound of Wanda’s commanding voice, Sarah whipped her head around, her eyes landing on the vibrating dildo the woman held. She whimpered, confused as Wanda began walking towards her, setting the toy on the bed before gripping the girl’s ankles tightly. Sarah’s eyes widened in understanding, and she moaned as Wanda forced her legs apart. 

“Do not hide yourself from us. Good submissives let their dominants see every inch of them, and you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” Green eyes bore into hers as Wanda spoke, her head tilting slightly. Something about the gesture made Sarah’s blood run cold, and arousal rush towards her already drenched pussy. 

“Yes ma’am.” She squeaked, her breaths speeding up slightly as Wanda raised a single eyebrow. 

This time, it was Agatha who spoke up. “Yes, what? Elaborate for us, sweet cheeks.”

Blood rushed towards Sarah’s already pink face, and she suddenly had to urge to hide. However, there was nowhere to go, Wanda had made sure of that. She took a steadying breath, then managed, “Yes, I’m a good girl.” 

The wide smile of Wanda’s face made the embarrassment worth it, and Sarah sighed in relief when she released her tight hold on her ankles, an unspoken command to keep her legs spread as she reached for the dildo. 

The short skirt that Sarah was wearing was ripped off, both Wanda and Agatha making pleased sounds at the lack of underwear on her. 

“I’m going to make you feel very good, is that alright with you?” Wanda’s gaze was hot, her fingers slowly collecting the wetness from Sarah’s pussy and spreading it onto the dildo. The girl was drenched, juices flowing freely as she attempted to buck against her hand. 

Nodding quickly, Sarah bit her lip. This was what she’d been hoping for, to be fucked by a dominant woman, and now her wish was coming true. It was better than anything she could have imagined. 

“Just remember, if it gets to be too much, use your safe word.” Agatha reminded the girl, her own hand slipping beneath her waistband. She had her legs spread, fingers gently stroking her own protruding clit as a damp spot formed in her underwear. 

Wanda glanced back, taking in the sight before smirking briefly and wiggling her backside slightly as if to say, ‘enjoy the show.’ Then, she turned on the toy to a medium setting. Making sure the dildo was fully lubricated, Wanda teased the entrance of Sarah’s pussy. She wanted to hear her beg, and looked at her expectantly. 

“I- please. I really want you to…” Sarah trailed off, Wanda nudging her clit with the toy and sending bolts of electricity through her. She refocused, eyes widening when the redhead tilted her head again. “Please fuck me, ma’am. I really want you to. Really, really badly.”

Taking in the girl’s pleading expression and sweet words, Wanda uttered a quick ‘good girl’ before thrusting the toy all the way inside Sarah in one, quick movement. Agatha moaned at the same time that Sarah did, although the girl writhing on the bed was much louder. 

Setting a relentless pace, Wanda watched in fascination as the young girl beneath her quickly started coming undone. It was like all shame and embarrassment had left her, the only thing on her mind was how good she felt and how badly she wanted to cum. Pulling her own consciousness from Sarah’s, Wanda focused all her attention on bringing the girl’s orgasm to the surface. 

Agatha slipped two fingers inside of herself, surprised by the wetness she found. She hadn’t expected to be this turned on, but something about Wanda’s dominant nature was just so… arousing. Watching closely, she fucked herself at the same pace that Wanda fucked the young girl. Her own orgasm rising, she held it off as Sarah’s moans became slightly louder, her wrists pulling desperately at the restraints. 

“Ask for permission.” Wanda commanded, and the words came tumbling out of Sarah’s mouth. She begged like she had been starving for days, and her appetite could only be sated by food fed to her from Wanda’s nimble fingers. Her words flowed freely, syllables overlapping as her voice became breathy from the effort it took to hold back her orgasm. 

Eventually, the words ran out, still flowing inside her head but unable to be spoken as Wanda worked her closer to the edge. Thrusting steadily, the redhead enjoyed the unspoken pleas as the girl’s hips twitched as her muscles contracted in anticipation. 

With a few final strokes, Wanda brought the young girl to the edge, and allowed her to fall over it. Overwhelming pleasure coursed through her, and Sarah forced deep breaths of air into her lungs as she shook. Wanda’s fingers danced over her clit, prolonging the pleasure as victorious moans sounded out. 

Distracted by a quiet gasping sound, Wanda turned her head slightly with the intention of asking Agatha how she liked the show. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Agatha simply smiled widely at her as she trembled from the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Pulling her soaked fingers out from her pants, Agatha let Wanda enjoy the glistening juices that dripped down her knuckles for a brief moment, before sucking her own fingers into her mouth and moaning quietly. 

Working her jaw slightly at the sight, Wanda refocused her attention on the girl now squirming beneath her. Setting the vibration slightly higher, she let a slow smile spread across her face as the realization set in on Sarah’s face. 

Overstimulating the girl, Wanda forced orgasm after orgasm out of her aching pussy. By the end, Sarah was practically limp as the last bits of pleasure were drained from her overused body. Her clit sent painful jolts through her nervous system every time Wanda so much as grazed it, and she was positive that she would be sore for days.

With a kind smile, Wanda cleaned her up using a warm washcloth and soothing words. Agatha helped strip the bed as Sarah felt those same hands that had brought her insurmountable pleasure running over her back, now clothed in a thin robe. Closing her eyes, she leaned into the touch, feeling herself return to reality. 

Sarah had never felt better. 

—-

“So…”

Wanda sighed, sinking further into her chair. She stared into her glass, swirling her wine around  as she tried to collect her thoughts. Agatha had taken over once she’d realized that Wanda had gotten stuck in her own head. Ensuring that Sarah had a ride home and paying their tab at the bar, she’d whisked the overwhelmed redhead home before popping open a bottle of their favorite red wine. 

It smelled faintly of cherries. Wanda sighed and took a sip. 

“I suppose I’m just confused.” That was all she could manage for the moment, and even Agatha couldn’t make any sense of the thoughts swirling around in the redhead’s mind. She nodded slowly, taking a sip of her own wine as she threw her thoughts back on the events of the evening. 

“I mean,” Wanda paused, her eyebrows scrunching together slightly. Agatha wanted to run her thumb over the wrinkles. She blinked, where had that thought come from?

Running her fingers around the rim of her glass, Wanda continued. “I really enjoy being your submissive, but I was able to control my powers and emotions better when I’m the one in control.”

Agatha could practically feel the young woman’s mind trying not to split itself in two, waging a war between its dominant and submissive mindset. Moving forwards and setting her wine glass down, Agatha moved to kneel between Wanda’s thighs. She reached up, her hand gently resting on the redhead’s jaw as she waited for green eyes to meet her own. 

“You can be both. People aren’t just one thing, hon.” 

Realization dawned, Wanda’s skin smoothing over as her eyes widened fractionally. “Oh.” She felt a bit foolish, but Agatha must have still been in her head, because she chuckled and shook her head. 

“It’s alright if you like being dominant more, sweet cheeks. Whatever makes you the most comfortable will make your partner the most comfortable.” Agatha returned to her seat, sipping her wine as she studied Wanda’s face. 

She was nodding, her red hair falling slightly over her shoulder as she did so. Her fingers still absentmindedly played with the rim of her glass, her eyes focused on the carpet in front of her. Taking a quick peek into her mind, Agatha was pleased to see that Wanda was sorting through her thoughts, placing different emotions into boxes. 

Confusion, in a box. Relief, in a box. Curiosity, in a box. Clarity, in a box. Understanding, in a box. 

The storms in those green eyes cleared, and Wanda looked up with a small smile on her face. “Well,” she drawled, taking a sip of her drink as she met dark blue eyes. “In that case, I quite enjoyed that experience.”

She finished her wine, her mind already swirling with ideas. She could feel Agatha’s smug look from across the room, the woman looking far too pleased with herself. Flexing her fingers, Wanda recalled the way she’d left bruises on the young girl’s hip as she gasped into her ear. 

Looking up, she mirrored the smirk Agatha wore. “I’d quite like to do it again.”

A wild cackle sounded throughout the room, sounding every last bit like a gleeful witch as wine flowed as freely as Wanda’s newfound love of dominance. That night, a new string of fate was formed, connecting a powerful redhead on the verge of revelation, and a young girl, still trembling from the feel of a gun in her hands.

---

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Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine

[moontyun]

Pairing: prince!Jungwon x peasant!reader Genre: romance, lost friends, attempted humor, attempted angst?, childhood friends to lovers Synopsis: People out grow each other all of the time. That was the natural process of life, but not for him. Everywhere he turned you were there. You were always someone he could not leave behind again. He'd lost you once, he wasn't going to lose you again. Word count: 1.0K Warning(s): Using stage names but otherwise none

Once Upon a Time...

Days had turned into weeks and weeks were turning into months, Jungwon would sit and wait for you to come back to feed the ducks with you. Every evening, just as the sun was about to set, you would sneak into the palace garden to feed the ducks. As soon as he laid eyes on you, a smile would light up his entire face. He would rush over to you, bread in hand. It was a time he had begun to look forward too every day.

Being a prince was lonely for someone his age. Isolated from all things that his parents had not deemed appropriate for a prince to be involved in. His whole life had revolved around sleeping, class, and dancing lessons. The evenings with you, was the only time he had to feel normal and not be completely isolated.

You, on the other hand, had a very different life. You were allowed out to the market to get whatever you family had needed to eat. You worked on the family farm, feeding the pigs and goats. You didn't have class to go to, your family couldn't afford it. Never mind, dance lessons. There was more freedom for you than there ever was for him.

Winter had come, the ducks had migrated to the south. That hadn't stopped you from sneaking in and out of the garden to visit your friend. You loved spending time at the pond, having a friend with you was a bonus. Seeing the little fish swimming around, darting away as they spotted the two of you. "Who's your friend, Wonnie?" A voice had come from behind the both of you. There stood a beautifully, tall woman, decorated in gorgeous jewelry. Her dark brown hair put in a bun, her dark red dress dragging behind her. You supposed this was his mother.

Jungwon jumped as he heard her voice, he swallowed harshly. He seemed nervous. Being young, you did not understand why he was nervous. He didn't answer her, so you chimed in, "His friend, (name). Pleasure to meet you, ma'am." His mother gave you a look you couldn't quite decipher.

She cleared her throat, "Well, (name), I think it's time you go home. Your mother must be worried about where you are." You looked to Jungwon, making sure it was okay for you to leave. He nodded and you took towards where you had come from. His mother took his hand in hers, taking him back to the palace. She was upset with him and he knew it, "Secure that area better. Make sure (name) never comes in again." She scolded a guard as they walked in.

-

Twelve years had past since the last time he had saw you. He had grown, he had changed. He was a different person than he was when the two of you were eight. He wasn't a shy boy anymore. He was more confident in himself. He had more friends than what he had when he was younger. Yes, friends with the guards and the servants but still friends, nonetheless. But not a day had gone by where he hadn't thought about you. He hoped you were well and thriving. He had hoped that you were happy. You deserved to be.

Today, he was out in the fields, practicing his archery skills. He took aim ready to hit the target, just as he released the arrow, a loud obnoxious sneeze was heard close by. He missed. Jungwon spun around to look at the culprit. "My bad." Jake had said as he approached his friend, wrapping his arm around the younger's shoulders.

Jungwon sighed heavily, "Yeah, your bad." He elbowed the other. "What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be conning people in town?"

Jake tsked, "I missed you."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, "No, you got caught didn't you and ran back to me to bail you out yet again, right?"

Jake rubbed the back of his head, sheepishly, "You know me so well. This is why we are friends."

Jungwon shoved him off of himself, playfully. "You're going to have to own up to it eventually." Jake agreed, he knew better. He was adult enough to know better. "This is the last time."

Jake approached the table filled with different types of bows and many arrows, "Upset about something?" He asked, twirling around an arrow in his finger tips. "You're only out here when you are." He looked back towards Jungwon.

Again, he sighed, "Not really. Just...thinking."

"About?"

He stayed silent. He knew exactly what the older was going to say. Whenever he brought you up, Jake would suggest that he go out and look for you. But Jungwon felt differently, he figured you hadn't wanted to see him after you got kicked out all those years ago. He assumed you were angry with him for getting caught being with him at the pond.

"Is it about that (name) person again?" He tossed down the arrow he was playing with back onto the table. "Find them and don't say no cause they hate you. I guarantee they don't. They have no reason to. If anything they hate the witch that is your mother. I've told you that I don't know how many times."

"Not that." He lied, "About the coronation in a few months."

Jake nodded his head slowly, he knew how much that was stressing his friend out. Jungwon had been trained his whole life to do. To be prepped to take on his father's responsibility of being king. He'd never wanted to be king. He wanted to live a free life and Jake knew that. "It's going to be fine. You'll do great as king." He reassured the other, "I won't let you lose yourself like he did, I promise."

Jungwon looked at him like he was a dog with two heads. That was the most affectionately encouraging thing Jake had ever said to him, "Are you okay? Do you have a cold?" Jungwon smacked his hand immediately to the others forehead, checking for a sign of a fever.

Jake ripped his hand off, "Yeah, it felt gross coming out of my mouth."

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[berriblossom]

Jing Yuan x Fem!Reader |Suggestive stuff, sex but not very descriptive, fluff, lazy evenings with the General. mentions of marriage, and cooking lessons.

✄---------------------------------

Jing Yuan was a well-received man among the Xianzhou Luofu, not only as the general within the seat of Divine Foresight but also as the general of the Cloud Knights, and a beloved one at that. But even with the dozing general's behavior within the past few weeks despite his occasional need to rest his eyes, some of his dear soldiers found him a bit off.

The general seems out of it, even more than usual. His eyes would drift off, his voice would sound as if he was hardly present, and his sleeping habits? Usually, it was a few naps here and there, but the Divine Commissioner Fu Xuan pondered if the general was going senile. He would completely knock out on his desk, barely speak, and only mumble about needing to head to the market about something.

Was he trying to prepare a feast? When Fu Xuan asked Yanqing the general's junior, "What in the world is going on with the general? He is needed immediately for some reports and a few details about the Xianzhou!" The sage mirrored Yanqings already confused face. "I don't know where he is.." Yanqing offered with a shrug. The poor boy didn't know either. Where was Ying Juan?

....

"Now add more water. Not that much!" You semi-shouted. Jing Yuan faulted his movements and stopped adding the water from the pitcher. You checked the large pan to see if the mixture was too diluted or not enough. Taking the wooden spoon you tasted it a little more. "Add some more chilies and some more salt." The general listened to your command accordingly and added a few more grounded chilies and a pinch of salt. You sprinkled some sugar into the tomato-based mixture. Giving it a taste some more, you handed the spoon off to Jing Yuan.

With a satisfied grin and lick of his lips a signature grin formed on the lips of Jing Yuan. "Is this is? Do we add the eggs now?" The excitement bounced off him and made you smile back too. Shakshuka isn't a fairly hard recipe, but it's somewhat new to the people of Xianzhou. You handed him three large eggs and let him crack them into the pan. Letting the egg whites warm and finally cook to a good temperature you quickly set the table and prepare some plates and other sides made earlier.

Jing Yuan smirked as your eyes lit up as you congratulated him on successfully creating another dish. It wasn't that he couldn't cook, he was partially and ok-cook. However, your family has owned a restaurant within the ship and it was becoming popular due to the somewhat foreign dishes presented to it. So much as so, the General of the Cloud Knights asked you to personally cook for him more often. Was this his way to get an excuse to see you more often rather than the beautiful women behind the counter of one of his favorite new places to eat? Yes. Yes, it was. Was he ashamed? Nope.

However, when you instead asked if you could teach him to cook some of the dishes since he was so adamant about eating your food. So badly you felt like he needed to learn how to cook. Hence how the deal was formed. Jing Yuan would spend a pretty penny on getting some ingredients that he had to hunt for on the Luofou, including certain spices, herbs, and even certain types of milk. Every night he would welcome you into his home and fill his kitchen with all the ingredients on the list you would send him. In return, you'd teach him and even let him have some recipe cards or coupons for your family's restaurant. Plus he got to spend more time with you. But night after night and lesson after lesson, Jing Yuan didn't want to let you go.

Each time you'd hold him tight and compliment him on his growing skills or your star-like eyes when you'd taste his newly refined dishes was enough to make the general feel a lovesick grin on his lips. The nights he wanted to ask you to stay a little longer, to taste more of the food he wanted to give you. He wanted you to hold him close again, smile at him with those lips he wanted to taste the food off from. To taste you fully was a wish he buried within his chest and mind every night when you two would bid farewell until the next evening. For nights he would lay awake and wish you were next to him. His heart couldn't;t take it every time you'd smile, or how when you want to know something is too hot, you'll stick your tongue out like a cute puppy.

Speaking of animals, Mimi loved you! You'd spend a good thirty minutes just relaxing and cuddling Mimi, Jing Yuan from his kitchen would peak out and check on the two of you. At first, you feared the lion but the moment you realized she was similar to her owner in a more special way. It was keen that the two of you would be close. Which was a win in Jing Yuan's book. The times you'd gather at the table with him, handing her some food specially made for her (cat food but make it for lions oml), Jing Yuan didn't think of a more perfect situation with the two of you.

This night after the shakshuka was finished, Jing Yuan helped you make the table and set the table again, but this time he felt it would be the last time. The tone of the evening wasn't as light or as airy as before. This time he could sense a bit of sadness behind your smiles, a bit of anxiety behind your voice. Tonight it would be the two of you again, Mimi was off in her own world with her bowl of food, but even when you greeted her it was different. You sat down beside the general and begin eating the portions he served you, his eyes watched you analytically. He was trying to figure out what was on your mind.

Why not ask, then?

"Something wrong with the food dear?" The nickname came out of habit, more so than Jing Yuan would want to say. You shook your head quickly, and you snapped out of your somewhat of a daze. "No, not at all, I just..ah.." You looked around trying to avoid his golden gaze. A large warm hand held yours gently.

"Hey, [Name]..darling look at me. What's wrong?" He leaned forward a little and tried to use his other hand to direct your chin to face him. Your eyes met, Jing Yuan's eyes were full of life but seemed drained. Making you feel a bit more guilty. While the general was beyond enthralled with your eyes. The color was something he could see a thousand times but yet on you, as your eyes...it was the most beautiful color. To him, it was a work of art, an artist full of life perfectly and personally colored them, full of shape and raw natural beauty. Your lips pulled into a frown as you answered him finally.

"I just feel guilty, you seem a little more distracted lately because of the little lessons and such...plus your sleep is being thrown off because of how late I come by and I don't want you sacrificing sleep or your position.." You were silenced when Jing Yuan's chuckle sounded through the space. (Mimi's small snores also combated that, but let's not ruin the moment)

Jing Yuan took in a breath. Both his hands were now holding your face in place, and his soft smile bloomed against the light of the dining area lamp. The warm colors of his eyes were like little stars waiting for you to make a wish on them.

"You are in no way a bother to me, my job, or my sleep. Matter you make them seem better. I was the one who asked you to cook for me personally. You had more reason to teach me to cook those dishes. Your laughter, voice, and smile make me want to spend all the hours of the night with you. Every night, as of fact."

Jing Yuan, for that time, didn't care really about anything other than your smile. He wanted to know what you wanted of him so he could give it to you. "Please let me indulge a little for tonight...my dear?"

The warm, strong hands held you close as he felt your body press with his. The shakshuka? Forgotten on the table. The stove was off, and the food could get cold, but right now, he wanted to taste, feel, and bring life in your warmth. Your lips connected first as a small peck, a little easy test for what was to come. Then the kisses became more hungry, groans, moans, and the daring touches of his hands moving any which way you wanted them to.

Jing Yuan kissed along your face, down your jaw and neck. His hands slipped underneath your shirt and held the skin of your abdomen and stomach against his sturdy frame. His eyes focused on you, and you only.

When you whispered his name as a pleas for him to continue he corrected you once.

"For tonight and hopefully for every night beyond this, call me Jing Yuan, not general. This time I'm not here for the lesson but for you. My dear, let me get a single taste of you and your love along with mine."

Guiding you beyond the table and into a different room, Jing Yuan layed you down along the bed, his sheets were soft and warm, his hands were a contrast due to the rough nature they were accustomed to. But his touch on you was gentle.

Throughout the night, your moans, his words of love, and admiration gave a bloom of love. Within Xianzhou, the people live beyond what would be considered normal, so marriages were scarce, but at this moment he wanted, no needed you to be his. Every morning to have you by him, with your presence, and every night, he would hold you tenderly while he slept at peace.

"Please, my dear [name]! please stay a little longer with me. Just a bit..."

He would groan into your ears, his voice velvety and his words sweet as honey. Food aside, he wanted to have this course again and again until the time finally came for it to end. But for tonight, and so forth until that day comes, you are his, he will forever be yours.

AN: Sorry, this was a long one oof.

[starfall-spirit]

Smoke and Mirrors

@officialfeysandweek Day 2: Mirrors

Read on Ao3 // Dark Feysand Masterlist // Feysand Week Masterlist

Fic Cover //🎨: @amnevitahdrawsstuff

Summary: Curious as to how Feyre vanishes from her locked room night after night, her father promises the choice of a bride to whoever can piece it together. The problem, with each night of dancing she falls deeper into the thrall of the Court of Nightmares—and the High King has never been one to share.

TW: Dark!Rhys, mind control, non-con, murder, and further manipulation in later chapters. The dove is dead, my friends. Read at your own discretion.

“There was once upon a time a King who had twelve daughters, each one more beautiful than the other. They all slept together in one chamber, in which their beds stood side by side, and every night when they were in them the King locked the door and bolted it. But in the morning when he unlocked the door, he saw that their shoes were worn out with dancing and no one could find out how that had come to pass.”

~The Shoes That Were Danced To Pieces, The Brothers Grimm

Chapter I

Feyre

“What is that?”

Feyre looked back at Elain. “My new mirror. Do you like it?”

“It’s… a statement piece.”

“It’s hideous,” Nesta scoffed from the doorway. “Not to mention ancient. It doesn’t even suit your room.”

“Yes, well, that’s because mother decorated my room, isn’t it?” Feyre snipped back, still slightly bitter even after enduring the bright color scheme for years now. She finished straightening the oddly shaped mirror over her dresser with a slight smirk, one finger following the curve of the border.. “I think it adds character.”

“I think it looks like something out of the Court of Nightmares.” Feyre and Elain turned to their sister in confusion. “You’ve never heard the tale?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a ridiculous story meant to make children behave. In the Court of Nightmares there lives an evil High Lord who demands his sycophants snatch up children who are a terror to their families. The same is said for women who don’t save themselves for their husbands.”

Feyre scrunched her nose, exhausted with the obsession the men in their family’s circle seemed to share regarding marriage. Their father did enough to ensure that, locking them in their rooms the moment the sun set each night. The things she’d give to see a starry sky for once in her life. She didn’t see what use their astronomy lessons were when they’d never seen a clear night sky.  Perhaps that would change with their social debut. She wasn’t thrilled with the concept, but their mother had finally convinced their father that the three of them would soon be deemed too old to be marriageable, particularly Nesta, who would turn twenty-five that spring.

She let herself wonder for just a moment if her husband would let her have more freedom when she was caring for their home or if he would be as fond of the tight leash her father kept. Hope only stretched so far when it came to the “gentlemen” of high society. 

Before she could let her imagination unfold on the subject the door swung open without warning, their mother standing in the doorway with her seemingly permanent scowl in place. “Girls, why is it that I still see three dresses where the seamstress left them this morning rather than on your bodies. Feyre,” she snapped. “My gods, you haven’t even bathed! I should have known allowing you to go to the market this afternoon was a mistake. One I won’t be repeating. I—What is that ghastly thing?”

“A mirror, Mother.” Though she itched to make some quip about the woman’s narcissism, she managed to hold her tongue. “You said I could select something of my choosing for my birthday, did you not?”

Eyes narrowing, she huffed. “We will discuss its removal later. Go,” she ordered. “I want you bathed and dressed in half an hour. Your maid will bring your gown.” 

Muttering something incoherent, she ushered Elain and Nesta from the room. Alis was there a moment later with a wry glint in her eye and a garment bag in hand. “At least the dress will suit your coloring this time.”

“Yes,” Feyre murmured, drawing the gauzy gown from its protective bag. “At least there’s that.” 

It was lovely. Though she loathed to admit her mother had decent taste in anything, formal wear was her strong suit. It seemed Feyre’s debut was important enough to consider colors that wouldn’t leave her looking washed out. The faster she found a husband, she supposed, the faster she would be his burden rather than her parents’. An odd wife instead of an odd child. 

“A home of her own to care for and a taste of motherhood will give her a dose of reality,” she’d once overheard. “She’ll learn her purpose one way or another.”

She was content enough to follow her mother’s command, bathing quickly and donning the dusk blue dress just in time for Alis to see to her hair and cosmetics before her mother returned, a sharp nod the only thing resembling praise that she’d earned. “Good enough. Shoes, then join your sisters in the hall.”

“Yes, Mother.”

She glanced over her shoulder to the back of the room, trying to catch a glimpse of herself before going downstairs for the evening, gasping softly at what peered back at her. “What is it?”

“I—nothing,” she claimed, gathering her cashmere shawl. “I’m ready.” But even as she shook off the unease that had settled over her, she couldn’t erase what the mirror had shown her. An obsidian throne crowned by twin serpents she knew would be deadly if given life, and seated on it an otherworldly male wreathed in shadows of his own design. In that fleeting moment she couldn’t make out much of his face. Only a pair of violet eyes that seemed capable of peering into her very soul. The feeling followed her until she greeted the winter sun.

Ushered into their family carriage, Feyre barely concealed her huff when their mother began rattling off orders for the evening party. Hearing it all before, it took an impressive effort to actually pay attention. 

How the woman could manage to talk through a forty minute carriage ride was beyond her, but she and her sisters didn’t have a moment to get a word in even if they’d wished to. “And most importantly, you are never to reject an invitation to dance. Gods know each of you need every opportunity you can get.”

The door swung open, the straight-backed footman offering a hand to help each of them down, as their father was not in attendance this evening.

“Smiles, girls.”

~~~~~

Feyre had never been so thrilled to hear her door lock behind Alis as she was that evening. After playing the games of the court for hours, all she wanted was a bit of quiet, even from her dear confidant. To think, the next ball they’d been invited to was only days away, hosted by the very man who seemed so keen on getting to know her. Tamlin certainly didn’t seem like the worst suitor, but there still seemed to be something missing.

Unless she was being a foolish romantic, hoping for a love match.

“Gods,” she groaned, moving to her vanity to remove her makeup. “That’s exactly the problem.”

“Long day?”

She shrieked at the silken male voice that filled the room, frantically searching the space for someone who may have hidden in the curtains or under the bed before she was shut in for the night. Cauldron, she was in nothing more than a nightgown and a man was in her room. “Relax, darling. I won’t hurt you.”

“Wh-who are you?” Perhaps if she locked herself in the bathroom she’d be safe, if confined. 

“Now, Feyre, we’ve met already, haven’t we?” She froze, trying to place the voice without a face to show for it. She had never really believed in magic, but now… “I’ve seen your dreams, learned your wishes. I could grant them too.” 

Slowly the pieces began to fit together. The voice with no body, the throne in the mirror, the vendor’s hesitation to sell to her that morning—his superstitions she’d brushed away. “It’s cursed, girl. Every time I try to throw it out it ends up right back in my stall, I swear! Tomorrow morning you’ll think I’ve stolen it from you.”

“I was waiting for the right buyer to claim it,” the voice claimed. “I’ve been looking for you for a very long time, darling.” She could hardly breathe—felt dizzy in her rising panic. “Look at me, Feyre. Look in the mirror.”

Slowly turning, her eyes locked with his. There were no shadows this time, leaving his face and body unobscured. She realized he was likely the most beautiful man she’d ever seen—not that she had much experience with grown men beyond those present at this evening’s ball. But a more important note to make was not how he compared to human men, but to those of his own kind. Because while the contours of his face and broad build might be something one could look beyond, the pointed ears beneath his raven black hair, could not.

She stumbled back, part of her fearing whatever magic he possessed would allow him to breach the glass between them and snatch her from where she stood, virgin or not. “You are a faerie.”

“Now, so quick to cast judgment, darling. I’ve done nothing to harm you, have I? I promised I wouldn’t and if you know anything about my kind then I’m sure you know a faerie’s word is binding. I cannot lie to you, pet.”

“Is this how all fae choose to communicate with mortals, or do the rest find us too plain for their entertainment?”

He chuckled. “All that matters, darling, is that you are worth my attention.”

She swallowed. “And if I do not wish to have your attention?”

His charming grin broadened. “I have been honest with you, Feyre. It’s only fair that you return the favor. If you did not crave my attention you would have been screaming at that locked door the moment I identified myself.”

Feyre pursed her lips. Though his words rang true, she didn’t appreciate being called out. She did crave company, she realized. Even after the exhaustion of the evening, the years of lonely nights outweighed the social strain of a single evening. 

“You have announced your presence, but given no name or title.”

“Darling.” His amusement softened to something she couldn’t quite label. Not that she had much need to. His title wasn’t important at the moment, just that she listened to him. Each word he spoke was true after all. “Much better. You’re a lovely thing once those hackles fall, aren’t you.”

“I—”

“Come closer, little mate. Let me see you.”

Another step brought her to the dresser and couldn’t help but reach up to the glass, her palm flush against the faerie’s. It was the strangest sensation when the mirror’s face rippled beneath her fingers, but the soothing hold over her mind did not waver. That is until her hand met the familiar warmth of human flesh, a calloused palm cradling her soft fingers.

“And now you’re mine.”

That strange hold snapped, reminding her of her caution—the fears born of instinct and stories told, each and every one a warning to heed. “What did you do to me?”

The faerie only smiled, squeezing her hand tighter and pulling her into his dark world.

~~~~~

Perhaps it was the strange means of travel, perhaps it was her fear. Either way, Feyre was dismayed to find herself waking curled up on a set of silken black sheets, clearly having lost consciousness long enough to be carried into someone else's home. Not carried—abducted. 

She shivered, pulling back the edge of the flat sheet just enough to ensure her clothing was still in place, immodest as it was on its own. Scanning the room to make sure she was truly alone, she scurried across the room to snatch the robe thrown over the cracked armoire. She’d just finished tying the oversized garment when she sensed another presence in the room.

“Show yourself,” she demanded, attempting to be subtle as she scanned the room for anything resembling a weapon. “Enough games!”

“As you wish, darling.”

The space behind her warmed slightly, the solid male form behind her unmistakable. “Who are you?” It was a small miracle, Feyre supposed, that her voice was steadier than her hands as she pulled the neck of the robe together until it pressed flush to her throat. “Why did you bring me here? I have not—I wouldn’t—”

Despite their truth, Feyre couldn’t summon the words that may change the course of her fate. She knew what made a noblewoman valuable on the marriage market. If she could just convince this faerie she hadn’t ruined herself…

“It’s not your virtue I’m concerned with, Feyre darling.” A mark against her childhood stories, if he could be believed. But why else would he abduct a human from her home. “Beastly as most of our customs and traditions may be,” the man continued, “the society I’ve found a home in might be considered progressive in comparison to your human beliefs.”

Feyre turned to face him. “Society.” She retreated another step, praying he hadn’t seen her eyes dart to the fireplace a moment ago—and the iron poker beside it. Which of them would be faster, she wondered, if she could keep her intentions secret long enough to wield the makeshift weapon? What color would he bleed? “You are a lord, then.”

His lips curled into a half smile, as if her assumption of his status was amusing. “Something like it. The caste system you know is a bit different from our own, I’m afraid. But we’ll get back to that.” He took a step towards her, giving her an excuse to draw closer to her goal. The cowed girl he seemed keen on controlling would become a woman with a weapon. “First—”

Feyre didn’t let herself hesitate. The moment her hand closed on the poker she turned the sharp end on her kidnapper with the intent to wound, if not kill. 

Only for her body to fail her. Her mental freedom was claimed just as swiftly, cold talons forcing their way past the brittle wall she had seemed to create through her own instinct rather than practice.

“Oh, my pet.” His thumb pressed into her wrist and her hand spasmed, the iron rod clattering against the wood at their feet. “What are we going to do with you?”

She would have been trembling, if she had control of herself. Perhaps it was a small mercy then, that he had this hold over her. “It doesn’t have to stay this way.”

“What do you mean?” she managed to grit out.

A slow smirk bloomed across his disgustingly perfect face just before he reached for her. His large hands were feather light as they followed the curves of her body, finally settling on her hips. The heat of them could have burned straight through the thin fabric of the robe maintaining her modesty. And the way he looked down at her… she wasn’t quite certain how to describe that look. The claws holding her mind began to retract and at last she could think—could breathe again. 

“So dramatic, my pet.” Her eyes snapped back to his, her demand lingering on the tip of her tongue before she thought better of shouting at him. He had used his magic against her twice now. He could certainly do it again if she caused trouble. “Smart girl.”

“You can read minds.”

“Read them, control them. It does wonders in keeping the unruly… we’ll say compliant.” She shivered again. “You’ll do well to remember, my darling Feyre, that I am always with you.” Because even now, her body once again her own, a shadow had taken root in her mind. She had a feeling it would make itself at home for a good long while. Until she discovered a way to block him out. The faerie chuckled. “Perhaps in a century or two you’ll find yourself strong enough. If all goes to plan.”

She tensed. “To plan?”

“Later, little one. For now—” One hand slid to her front, fingering the knot keeping her stolen robe closed. “—I’d like to strike a bargain.”

~~~~~

Rhysand

“A bargain?” the girl sputtered. “You really think you’ll get away with this? My family—”

“Your family doesn’t believe in magic, darling. Who's to say their wild little rebel didn’t learn how to pick her bedroom lock and run into the night to avoid a loveless marriage? If they aren't convinced in the beginning, persuasion is my specialty as you now know.”

His little mate didn’t need to know the truth behind his curse. It wouldn’t change the fact she belonged to him—would remain here at his side in the end. Stubborn as Feyre Archeron may be, Rhys had never picked a battle he couldn’t win.

All this victory would take was persistence and a firm hand. The rest would fall in place on its own, starting with the girl and ending with her fool of a father.

“Please,” she began to beg.

He tutted, pressing a finger to her lips. That wouldn’t do. At least not yet. “The details,” he finally purred in her ear, dropping one hand to cradle the same wrist he’d gripped to force the poker from her hand, sweeping a thumb tenderly over that trigger point until she shivered against him. She may not be aware of their bond, but she responded to it all the same. “Each night when your handmaiden departs, you will let the mirror bring you here. Two wraiths will greet you in this room and prepare you for the evening’s activities.”

“Activities?” she whispered, her warm breath grazing his cheek.

“You will dance for me, darling. Some nights before my court. Others may be for my eyes alone, here in this very room. You will be painted with the symbols of my court, dressed in my colors, drunk on my wine.” Her eyes widened when the back of her knees hit the bed, apparently not having realized he was slowly guiding her across the room. “You will belong to me from dusk till dawn, starting tonight.”

Her thoughts were overridden with panic, limbs flailing the moment her back met his sheets. “If you fail to comply, you will lose your privilege to return to the human realm. If you fail to arrive I will cross the veil between us and drag you here myself.”

“You can’t do this!” she cried, still attempting to break free of his hold, even as he successfully immobilized her.

“I’m the High King, darling.” Leaning down, he licked up her neck, delighted when she once again shivered beneath him. “I can do anything I please.” ~~~~~

Feyre

High King. Feyre wasn’t quite certain how different that was from a regular king, but she did know one thing. She had finally found the sort of trouble she couldn’t slip free of. “I—” She choked on her words, startled by the fingers that grazed her clitoris. “What are you doing?”

She tried to wriggle away, only succeeding in further stimulation.

“Providing some encouragement.”

“I’d be ruined.”

“Say yes, pet, and that can be prevented.”

Those talons once again breached her mind, this time gentle, encouraging, as he suggested. “You’re cheating.”

A snap of his fingers and her clothes were gone. “Yes,” he purred into her mind, that cruel mouth leaving a hot, wet trail of kisses from the soft spot behind her ear all the way down to her shoulder. “And I have no intention of playing fair until you agree to my demands. You’ll dance for me, darling. One way or another.

“You. Are. Mine.”

Two thick fingers sank into her and she gasped, kicking and squirming until she felt him brush her hymen. “Please,” she panted, closing a hand around his wrist, not that she had the strength to stop him.

“I’ll give you ten seconds, darling. Agree to live between my land and yours and I will wait to claim you. Try to defy me…”

She would belong to him in every sense. “Ten.” She’d be trapped in this realm every hour of every day for the rest of her pathetically short life. “Nine.” The High King’s whore. “Eight.” Serving his every whim before his court. “Seven.” To agree to the bargain would bring her back into society’s marriage machinations. “Six.” Likely standing at the altar before she turned twenty. “Five.” She may end up loathing her husband rather than loving him. “Four.” But what kind of person would she be if she left her family entirely? “Three.”

“Wait.”

“Two.” His fingers pressed a little farther into her.

“I have conditions!”

He chuckled against her breast, those clever fingers dragging just so. “Of course you do, darling. Do begin.” His hot mouth closed over her nipple and she whined. She should hate this. She should really, truly hate this.

“I’m waiting, Feyre.”

She loathed him. Why could she not loathe his touch just the same?

“You can’t—y-you—”

She was already lost to the pleasure of his touch. She had no chance now of forming a coherent sentence. His teeth pinched down hard on her nipple and she cried out. Better then, to embrace that mental connection. To submit to it. It was a lovely feeling, trusting the talons tightening by a fraction, those subtle shadows from before fading to make room for their solid counterparts.

She let the thought flit across her mind, that he would not leave his realm with the intention of harming her family.

“As you wish, little mate. So long as you come to me and keep our little secret, your loved ones will be safe.” Her left arm warmed slightly, from her fingertips all the way to her elbow. “Now you bear my mark,” he crooned, his satisfaction crystal clear.

An odd feeling niggled at the back of her mind. Saying that this was wrong. Offensive. She couldn’t quite grasp why. Any smart man lays claim to what belongs to him, doesn't he? The more obvious, the better. “That’s right, darling. It will remain glamoured to human eyes. Except for yours. We can’t have you forgetting for a moment who you belong to.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @whatishowedyouinthedark // @sajirah // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

The first couple of you that I tagged aren't normally on my list, but I added you because you've been so invested in my snippets. Let me know if you want to be removed or kept on permanently.

[siremasterlawrence]

Red Carpet: Extravaganza!

This year we are introducing a new event for all to enjoy a Red Carpet: Extravaganza life no other as celebrities hot, bothered and of a certain height looking quite amazing to me at this point. The reporters and paparazzi lit up when star of television shows Teen Wolf, as well as Superman and Lois Tyler Hoechlin walks in you can see how annoyed he is at the flash from the camera descending on him. Something is off as the reporters jump over the gate ready for him racing upwards to him with the microphone in his hand holding it to his mouth and the flash of one more man’s camera goes off. His whole world stops as the prefect game of instant celebrity is completely unleash on to the world where the market for taking full ownership of slave celebrities has begun for us.

“Mr. Hoechlin! How are you ?”

“I …am…fine”

“Excellent! So Handsome as usual “

“…..”

“Are you free to date?”

“I am single”

“I mean forever “

“I am what you wish “

“Give me a smile “

“Of course “

“Do you comprehend what’s happening to you?”

“I am commodity and property of the people?”

“Yes! You are valued by many”

“But owned by one “

“Do you know who?”

“You!”

“I wish “

“Follow me!”

Zach Efron is next stepping up to the cue of the red carpet extravaganza unfortunately for him the evening events will not end up any better then the last guest and soon he will learn. His ultimate life lesson came through for him when the camera men surrounding him in a sea of crazy flashes his eyes disappearing in a smoke of crazy airy sounds penetrating his senses and all is lost. All he can do stare in to my eyes endlessly in to the day and night for hours on hours for a etch of time and with one action he wipes his hand to the side of his face as he falls backwards on to the red carpet as his whole world fell. A mindless Tyler grabs him by his waist as he knelt down slipping his lower half on to his shoulders he returns to his height as he walks up to him and guides him back to the back room of the hotel.

“My goodness! What a good job?”

“Thank you Master!”

“Shut up!”

“Place him on the chair “

“Good boi”

“Kneel before me “

“What’s my reward?”

“You disrespectful…”

“Sorry! Please listen to me”

“What boi?”

“I love you”

“I just want your attention “

“You are jealous “

“Your reward is to suck me off”

“Yes Master with pleasure “

“I love you boi”

“Sir Yes Master I love you too Sir”

“God! You are everything to me Master”

“Hey Taron over here and over “

“I am not in the mood today “

“Hey shrimp”

“Asshole! Get over here”

“Are you going to hurt me short stop?”

“Short stop !”

“You heard me”

“Bring it on “

“Man! Aaaahhhh”

“What do you just spray me with ?”

“The mist of hypnosis “

“The….”

“Mist of hypnosis “

“You are now beginning to feel my serum take over .”

“Entering your veins”

“Like a heat seeking missile “

“You are compelled to obey “

“Sir Yes Master Sir”

“Dustin down here”

“Is that crack at my height?”

“Sure hot stuff”

“I am not…”

“What gay?”

“Then stop staring in my eyes “

“Ok sweet heart “

“Sweet heart?”

“You have to make me”

“Sexy as fuck!”

“Some is handsy”

“Only the best for you “

“Is that so?”

“I want to hug, worship and be controlled by you “

“You are black owned “

“I am so in to this “

“In to you “

“I love your perky ass and all”

“Colton Haynes arrives”

“Mr. Haynes”

“You look amazing “

“Thank you ! If you say so”

“Not vain I see”

“Such a turn off “

“Not your style?”

“Never”

“Have you seen this interview?”

“What inter…”

“Your mind and heart are slowing “

“Your thoughts are vanishing “

“All you can do is hear me”

“Look in to my eyes “

“You crave to submit and obey”

“I am the love of you life “

“Your man “

“Your God!”

“Robbie your next”

“Yes, of course “

“Join us! Let’s do a collaborative interview “

“As you wish “

“I am your focal point “

“Your eyes are beautiful “

“I am aware”

“You love then”

“Absolutely, completely and it’s kismet”

“You both are my lifeline”

“You both love me”

“Madly in love”

“Especially you Colton”

“Master”

“Do you love me Robbie”

“FUCK”

“Excuse me!”

“Sir Yes Master Lawrence Fuck Me Sir”

The end

[smokingtomas]

Some random Smoke/Tomas HC

Tomas' favorite sparetime is reading. Fictions, non-fictions, he doesn't limit himself to a certain genre. He'd take whatever he can get from the Lin Kuei library.

He has this reading glasses with thin, silver frame he keeps on his nightstand. He often reads before bed, too.

The most well-knowledged brother.

He reads because it's the most effective way to get rid of his disturbing thoughts of Enenra. Storylines and character analysis really occupy his mind.

Being the adopted/younger brother out of 3, he's always being told what to do that it irritates him most of the time. He knows his brothers are looking out for him, but this habit dies hard and makes him rather a rebel.

He's interested in normalcy. Since the way he used to live and the life he's living now wouldn't be considered so (based on all the fictions he read), he would sneak out of the Lin Kuei temple to just stroll around the market, go to the public library, sit in a coffeeshop, etc. He really likes to learn about people's different habits and how they behave.

He goes with precautions, of course. Normal, casual clothes, medical masks, anything to appear normal and out of sight.

It's no rare occasion when he gets in trouble for doing so. He'd do something stupid like not paying enough for an orange and ran away. Oh Bi-Han was furious when he found out.

Did he learn his lesson? Yes. He's a quick learner. Did Bi-Han's anger stop him? Absolutely not.

Part 2: with gender neutral s/o

Part 3: in bed with Tomas (NSFW)