silk perfection


pairing: Jimin | reader
✥ genre: fluff (Barista!au meets Floristau)
✥ word count: 2.325
✥ warnings: none
✥ author’s note: OK SO, I changed my URL from zuberrieee to house-of-seoul for anyone and for my followers (WE REACHED 350?!?!) who might have any questions. As for Saudade pt 3 umm, I’m currently editing it rn. but I just was feeling florist au today and look where we are right now. please love it, raise it, take care of it, and send it off to college. maybe ill make another part to this if y’all want me to.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ don’t hate me <3 <3 <3


Serendipity;                                                                                                        ↪  the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

The frigid winter air curled around the silk petals of the flowers. They shuddered in pleasure as their colours brightened in comparison to the darkening clouds looming above you. From far away, the diverse array of petals looked like the aftermath of an explosion, bouts of confetti splayed across the wooden stall. Closer up, the green foliage rolled off into leaves and the bulbs of colour peeled into layers upon layers, outlining the delicate flora of nature itself.

The pale pink apron flapped against your knees as you scuttled back to your flower stall, away from the reckless gusts of wind. You noticed how some of the stems had become dislodged within the bunch, looking like colourful arrows piercing the air. Your expert fingers tucked them back into place and then ran through the disarray of your hair, quickly trying to smooth back any stray strands. Goosebumps arose on your exposed skin and a shiver tumbled down the knobs of your spine.

It was definitely wintertime in Seoul.

Customers hurriedly ran through the streets, sparing passing glances to the flower stall stuffed to the brim with colour. You would describe the stall as a mirage of beauty in amongst the dullness of the city. The scent was overwhelming, yet so delicate at the same time.

The previously darkening grey clouds were now beginning to burst with speckles of rain. You noticed how there was something else which slipped under the scent of your stall. It was a bitter musk that was sometimes sparkled with sweetness and cinnamon. It slipped through the doors of the neighbouring café and latched onto a gust of wind, travelling over to settle into the splinters of your wooden stall.

You didn’t know a time when the scent was not present. Coffee was strong and overpowering – it was a rush. Flowers were quaint and delicate – it was a gentle trickle through the veins. Coffee and flowers were opposites, but both fit together like a lock and key.

It was late in the afternoon and you were trying your very best to keep the smile on your face. You loved your stall – adored it in fact – but the weather was buzzing too close to your skin and the ever-looming rent to pay was closing in on you. It seemed as if luck was entirely against you when you spotted a young man looking as if he was about to edge his way over when the heavens well and truly opened. Your encouraging smile was washed off your lips when the suited man had scurried down the street before you could’ve even had blinked.

Thankfully, the drooping canopy above covered the flowers from getting water-clogged, all the while, though, the rain was making sure that you would be drenched by the time it had stopped.

You were leaning against the stall, head down and arms wrapped around yourself in a bid to contain some heat, when you noticed a russet-crowned angel tottered over to you. You giggled internally at yourself because since when did angels totter?

Of course, it was not an angel, but in fact a petit, espresso-haired, espresso-smelling, but a fairly light-skinned boy, teetered up to you. You instantly named him espresso, but then had a sudden urge to know what his real name was, because you were sure that that name was not worthy. You did think that, though, the boy could possibly be some type of descendant from God because small hands were passing over a steaming cardboard cup. The heat radiated from it and tingled at your skin. The sweet smell of tea and the tinge of bitterness fused with the smell of lavender and lilac made your heart fuzz with warmth.

He had a small smile on his lips. It was somewhat weak, nervous as if he was worried that he was overstepping the general societal boundaries. It reminded you of a snowdrop. His eyes could only be described as copper against honey and sage. You wondered if they blossomed into a stronger, deeper, colour. His dark brown fringe was pushed across his forehead but the rest was covered by a black hood. He still had his apron on; Café Amour standing stark on his chest in white embroidery.

“I thought you could use a bit of warmth,” the boy said, looking at you with such sincere care.

“You didn’t have to,” you muttered, voice quiet and shy, though still laced with thanks.

“You’re freezing out here in the cold, of course I had to.” The boy said it with laughter behind his tone and a smile toying at the corners of his lips.

He pushed the beverage closer to you, practically forcing it into your hands. You cradled it between your hands after accepting it. The heat was in such contrast to the coldness of your skin that it scalded, tiny pinpricks of pain stabbing at your pores.

“Thank you,” you simply replied.  “I- you really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it, honestly.”

“’it’s my pleasure,” shrugged the boy.

You blew it, mesmerised as usual by the little storm that you created, the ripples in the light brown liquid that pushed to the edge. After taking a sip and sighing in relief as it trickled down your throat, warmth spread through all of your veins until it cradled your head with a lovely haze.

When you looked back up, you saw the boy smiling quaintly at you, hands tucked under his armpits as he hugged himself tight.

“You’ve got a lovely stall here,” he said, eyes scattering glances over the flowers.

“Thanks, it’s kind of my pride and joy, so, yeah.”

“I can tell,” is the reply, along with a knowing smile.

“Oh,” you said suddenly. “How much do I owe you, uh…” you posed it as a question, your slow drawl rising in tone at the end.

It took a few seconds for him to catch on, but then he was shaking his head and smiling even more.

“Jimin. My name’s Jimin.”

He held out his hand, waiting for you to shake it, but promptly realised that your hands were currently occupied by the steaming cup of tea and giggled to himself. You found yourself chuckling, too, the laughter from the boy being somewhat infectious.

“Y/N,” you replied in a slightly flushed voice. You cocked your head to the side and smiled widely, nodding your head as a greeting. Jimin just smiled more. The rain was still pitter-pattering around you, but you didn’t seem to notice, let alone care.

“And you don’t owe me anything, think of it as a gift to a neighbour, or something.”

You frowned, “But I have to give you something in return, that isn’t fair.”

“I honestly don’t need anything. Think of it as you helping with my good deed of the day.” He said it with such truth and kindness that you wanted to know why you ever thought the world, people, had changed for the worse.

“Anyway, I have to get back to my shift, but stay warm, yeah?” Jimin said, turning away with a smile.

“Yeah…” you murmured. Suddenly, an idea sprung into the forefront of your mind. You quickly slid the tea onto the counter and scanned the bunches of flowers. Reaching out, you let your fingers wrap around the thin stem and grasp it tightly. You turned around and called out Jimin’s name.

When the boy turned around, water flicking from the tip of his hood and eyes wide, the first thing he saw was the single pink carnation held out in front of him. Its petals were smattered with droplets of water and an edge of an outer petal was curled over, but it still looked pretty as ever. It was baby pink in colour and the petals were wounded together in an intricate design. They were a maze of expensive silk, a perfect mess.

The boy looked up at you in confusion.

“It means gratitude. To say thank you. For… you know.”

Jimin’s eyes flickered between the flower and you.

Uncertainty crept up your neck, causing you to raise your hand and rub at the skin. “It’s not much, I know, and it’s probably stupid but-”

“Thank you,” Jimin interrupted. He carefully took the flower from your fingers and studied it carefully. His eyes were wide and brighter than before. His fingertip prised apart some of the soft petals, ever so carefully and cautiously, as if he was scared to damage it.

A voice scraped through the atmosphere, the calling of Jimin’s name, and the boy was suddenly snapped out of his daze. He gripped the flower as he parted from you with a raise of his hand, and disappeared into the shop.

The rain stopped soon after that.

The weather was dull but the afternoon held faith in the small glimpses of the sun as it peeked out from behind the clouds. You could not help but smile truthfully as customers passed. The breeze was twisting its way in between your hair and the dampness that resided in the air kept you breathing in and out, in and out.

You remembered the elderly man who arrived at your stall no less than ten minutes after opening. His frail fingertips had traced the petals of a lilac, before settling on a bunch of white carnations. You had asked him whether he knew what they implied, and the man had nodded his head with a wry smile. A story unfolded soon after from the old man’s lips, a one founded before you had even graced the earth.

Soon after, customers arrived throughout the day, but you were still stuck with a cluster of now-wilting daisies. You felt good though. Nice could be an adjective to describe it, regardless of how generic and lacklustre it may be.

A waft of sugared air swept under your senses and forced you out of your reverie. It was at that moment you realised that maybe Nice is about to extend its arms to, well, Extra-Nice.

The boy – Jimin – came traipsing out of Café Amour, and you suddenly realised that the skipping of your lunch was not your best idea. In fact, your stomach grumbled at the smell of honeyed treats and other delights.

He was there, in front of you, holding out a maroon cardboard cup and a twitching smile.


“Hello,” is all you could conjure up as a reply.

“I brought you more coffee. Because. Well- I actually don’t know, but- um, here,” Jimin stammered, passing over the cup.

You looked up at him from under your lashes, a small smile playing your lips. The stall was clouded with the smell of flowers, but Jimin was as clear as anything. “Thank you,” you said because you did not know what else to add. It didn’t feel enough, but your words seemed to be stuck in your throat.

You took the drink and held it close to your chest. The weather was not as cold as the last time, but the warmth left a lovely bubble in your chest. Or maybe that was something else, who knows.

“Are you okay?” you asked because the lilac pouches that draped under Jimin’s honeyed irises looked a worrying shade too close to last month’s batch of violets that only lasted a day or two, at most.

The boy shrugged and let out a sigh, unintentionally, you presumed, and tried to smile as best as he could have had. It was lacklustre and weak, but it was something, so you grinned back so hard that a dimple pierced your cheek. In turn, Jimin’s smile widened, so you counted that as a success.

“Enjoy your tea,” Jimin said quietly, before turning around to leave.

Only letting yourself gaze at the retreating figure for a second, you carefully placed down the tea and scuttled down to your stall. There, you picked out the brightest, yet richest, yellow coreopsis that you had.

It happened similarly to the last time; you calling out Jimin’s name, him turning around to be faced with a large, round, scented thing so close to his nose that it tickled.

“Yellow coreopsis: cheerfulness.”

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed as he plucked it from your fingers and inspected the small beauty. He looked up towards you, whose smile matched the flower almost exactly.

“And, well, I think you need cheering up, so- yeah, here.”

Jimin’s eyes flittered down to the flower. His eyelashes were thick and long, fanning over the sunny petals. He leaned down and breathed in the scent. Warm stripes of brown cut through the black veil of his lashes as he looked back up at you. “Thank you,” he said with true sincerity, eyes glittering.

You just smiled because, hell, somehow you have moved from Nice to Extra Nice, to Downright Happy.

You sighed happily as you remembered your sweet grandmother. Whenever you visited her, you would carry, hobble, and walk her out into the back garden where rows and rows of flowers blossomed from the soil. As a young child, the smells and colours made you one of the happiest kids around. Somehow, though your grandmother knew that it was more than just the aesthetics.

The clouds today were high and the air was dense.

The petit man cradling a cup of tea appeared yet again today, only this time, his eyes were dulled with a shroud of darkness and his lips had been sewn with a certain downturn that alerted your conscience.

“You’re stressed,” you stated because it was true. Jimin’s foot was shifting restlessly against the stone pavement and his first fingertip of his right hand was tapping rhythmic patterns against his bicep. His eyes flitted from places to place.

Jimin looked surprised at your words. Finally, focusing his eyes on you, he looked almost relieved. A sigh heaved from his body and his shoulders slumped into slopes for his stress to tumble down.

“Yeah,” he said, voice raspy, “I really am.”

You leaned back and took a sip of the tea. Jimin pushed his fringe off his face, body still tense, as your eyes searched his form noncommittally. “Anything I can help with?”

Jimin smiled wryly and glances up the street. “If you can perform instead of me at my dance recital tomorrow evening, then yeah, you can help me.”

You scrunched your face up and feigned thought. “Just give me time to put some shoes on my knees, straighten my hair, and re-watch the High School Musical series, then yeah, I think I might just be able to help.”

Jimin’s mouth cracked opens into a humoured smile. His eyebrows raised involuntarily and his eyes ignited with the fizzle of peace.  Unable to hide his glee, a giggle bubbled from in between your lips.

Once Jimin’s laughter has spiraled out, he shook his head at you. His eyes were lighter than before. A twist was still curled at the corner of his lips, and it was evident that his action was not done in a sardonic sense, more so disbelief.

“You’re sure are something, aren’t you?” he posed, although it was more of a statement than anything.

“Anything to help,” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders and an overzealous grin slicing in between your reddened lips like a white Amazon lily in between a flock of red celosia.

The two of you stared at each other, taking the time to let your eyes drawled over his soft features, memorising every line on his face.

“I should probably go,” he said, without any conviction whatsoever, “I’ve got coffee to pour and cookies to steal for later when I have my inevitable breakdown at two in the morning.”

“And I’ve got to pretend to preen the flowers even though I’ve already done it about ten times in the past hour.”

He smiled, “Sounds like hard work.”

“The hardest,” you answered, smirking through your smile.

The breeze whistled in the background as you two just stood there, staring and smiling quietly. After a moment, a while, Jimin spoke. His tone was soft and quiet, timid, almost. “Thank you.”

You merely smiled at him before you nipped around the other side of the stall, eyes roaming the many colours. Your fingers curled around the correct stems and pull them gently from their bouquet. Blanketing the two single flower stems with his heated palm, you meandered back around the stall and approached the still-waiting Jimin.

“Here,” you offered the two flowers to Jimin.

His eyes glanced down and swirled around the heads of the flowers. They flit back up to you before returning to the beauties, dusting the petals with his attention. “What do they mean?” he enquired.

“The iris is for inspiration and the black-eyed Susan is for encouragement. Thought you might need them.” you said, shrugging your shoulders and pressing your lips together, suddenly coming across somewhat shy.

“Thank you,” Jimin repeated, staring at you with great sincerity and true honesty. If his eyes were a smell, they would be vanilla frosting on cinnamon cupcakes; warm and comforting, true care and true kindness.

You smiled back and replied, “Good luck, Jimin.”

With a blink, a smile, and a nod, Jimin turned and wandered back into the coffee shop. And if you spent an inordinate amount of time staring at an iris and trying to figure out just what made it so Jimin-like, then, well, nobody has to know.

My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen,

Welcome! I am Charls, the renowned Veretian cloth merchant. You do me great honor by patronizing my humble establishment, be it due to my recent notoriety in my association with their Majesties, Laurent of Vere and Damianos of Akielos, or of course my long established good taste and extensive selection! Whether for the discerning eye in search of the perfect Varennes silk for an impeccably tailored Veretian suit or the bold tastemaker acquiring the crisp Isthima linen for a daring chiton in the Akielon style, I am pleased to offer my distinguished clientele a wide array of textiles of the finest quality (at the fairest prices, of course!). And for those who have yet to make up their minds, I humbly offer any advice and expertise my years and experience can provide. I am committed to bringing you, fair visitor, the most exclusive and up-to-date information on the latest fashions - guaranteed to turn heads from Arles to Ios.

Your humble and obedient servant,
Charls, the Renowned Veretian Cloth Merchant


// Hi there! Welcome to my Charls ask blog! I’m glad you’re here :) I’m Mem, your friendly neighborhood fashion historian. My intention is for this blog to be a blend of fun, in-character shenanigans and historical clothing reference for the Captive Prince fandom. Fashion history is a surprisingly small field and research isn’t always easy, and I want to be a resource to you all! Feel free to ask me for either (or both) - I am happy to RP, and I will always do my very best to cite my sources for historical information. So ask me anything!

Day 11: Syaoran/Sakura

Sakura smiled to herself, unseen by the audience as she twisted around the silks. Her grip was perfect, she could feel it. She was going to be able to do the trick that she had been practicing for months. Below, the crowd held their breath in collective anticipation as the music crescendoed. The lights, bright and blinding to her, followed her progress as she gracefully climbed, and then turned to the music, the dance flowing through her as she swung back, and pulled the hanging silks up with her, and then-


She spun down the length of the silks, only to come to a, the crowd gasping and time slowing as the silks let her body slide downwards. She was going so fast, and the crowd’s screams grew as she didn’t stop. 

Until the last possible moment. At the exact second, she gripped with one arm, and let her body go limp, following the cues of the music. Her feet hit the ground, and the song ended. 

Around her, all she could see was bright lights and glitter. Waving, she listened to the crowd roar.

Later that evening, Sakura, now with a robe over her costume, but not yet changed, relaxed behind the curtain. The show was finishing up out there, and she’d have to go out for their final bows, but for now, she gripped her water bottle and pondered.

Across the backstage area, busily stacking boxes, was the handyman around the lot. He’d been there for years, and for years, Sakura had admired his brown eyes and kind smile. He was quiet, insanely so, but for a while, she’d thought there might be something between them - something in their caught eyes, and unspoken glances. Then, he’d begun dating his friend Ryuuou, and she’d been happy for him. But, since they’d broken up (amicably, she was glad to know) months ago, she’d started to have those thoughts again. And tonight, she thought she’d talk to him.

Setting down her water bottle, and wrapping her robe around her waist more firmly, and walking over to him in her bare feet. She waited until he’d set down his box, and then smiled.

“Hi,” Sakura said, and Syaoran started, staring at her like she was a ghost.

“Sakura! Uh… hi,” he said, his face growing dusky. Smiling a little wider, though she was blushing too, Sakura put out her hand.

“It’s a shame we haven’t talked before. I’m Sakura,” she said, though he’d already said her name. Syaoran was flabberghasted but shook her hand. His hands were larger than hers and callused.

“Syaoran Li,” he said faintly. “Uh. Can I… do something for you?”

Sakura shook her head, her feathered headdress from the show fluttering. “Oh no, I was just wondering if you were… well, if you were doing anything later?”

She pushed down a stutter, but couldn’t hide the blush. Syaoran returned it.

“Probably cleaning,” he said, and Sakura giggled.

“Well, if you want to skip it tonight, I was thinking about going dancing. Would you like to come with me?”

Syaoran nodded mutely. Sakura nodded back, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Okay then. After curtain,” she said, and he smiled. It was sweet and lovely.

“Sounds good.”

And later, after they ended up dancing on the patio of a club to slow music, Sakura gathered every inch of courage she had and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.

anonymous asked:

For a prompt (I dunno if you do smut or not but) Ereri praise kink ?? It's the literal best thing ever

“Look at you,” Levi says, sitting back. There’s a predatory look in his eyes, one that has Eren’s own eyes falling shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“Don’t be shy,” Levi murmurs, fingertips ghosting over Eren’s ribs. “Your body’s incredible… look at the way it reacts to me.”

As if to prove his point, he brings his hands lower, running over the sensitive skin of Eren’s inner thighs.

“Levi,” he moans, fingers twisting further in the pillows. He both hates and loves when Levi talks to him like this.

“I could stay here all day,” Levi drawls, running circles along Eren’s skin. It’s so hard not to react, not to roll his hips upward, to seek out more–

“You’d like me to, wouldn’t you?” Levi’s voice is pure silk, his touch perfect sin. Eren’s legs are shaking, chest heaving, and–

“I’d gladly sit here and worship your body,” Levi murmurs, bringing a hand to Eren’s face. He can’t help but turn, a small whimper escaping him when the rough pad of Levi’s thumb brushes his lips.

“All you have to do is ask,” he breathes. Eren’s heart thumps wildly in his chest. “Just ask me, Eren. Ask me to touch you everywhere, kiss you everywhere.” Levi leans down, kisses his collarbone. “You know you’re perfect, don’t you? So tell me, Eren, tell me how beautiful you are. Tell me how you need me to show you.”

This the worst, when Levi tries to get him to say stuff like this– he can’t, absolutely can’t, but his body betrays him, jolting upwards into Levi’s touch when he wraps a hand around his cock.

“Ah– Levi!”

“Tell me,” Levi repeats, husky and broken. Eren can’t stand it anymore.

“I need you,” Eren gasps out, hands flying toward Levi, gripping at his arms. “I need you, I need you, show me how you need me–!”

Levi groans, shifting forward, bodies pressed together - ‘such a good boy’ - the whisper against Eren’s skin is enough to make him shiver, his hold on Levi tightening. He wants to be good, wants Levi to know he’s good - and Levi does, Levi does know. His touch is everywhere, his lips everywhere, and Eren sinks into the pillows, head fuzzy, skin thrumming.

Seduce (Jimin x Reader Slight Smut)

Part 2

I was gonna post a fluff but guess not slight smut it is lol

You sat on your friend’s, Park Jimin, comfy couch with a huge bowl of popcorn in your arms as you watched Jimin insert the movie he had chosen into the DVD player under his TV. It was that time of the week again, you guys would have a movie night either at your place or his place and that person would also be the one who picks the movie for the two of you to watch. Tonight Jimin insisted for it to be his place because he had just gotten this action/drama flick and he really wanted to watch it. You agreed even though action/drama wasn’t your favorite genre of film, you would much rather prefer a comedy or even a horror flick. But rules are rules and you couldn’t do anything about it.

Keep reading

Red Queen Abilities


  • Animos~ Can enslave the minds of fauna (i.e. House of Viper)
  • Blood Healer~ Can heal themselves (i.e. House of Blonos)
  • Burner~ Pyrokinesis (i.e. House of Calore)
  • Cloner~ Can replicate themselves
  • Eyes~ Precognition (i.e. House of Eagrie)
  • Greenwarden~ Botanokinesis (i.e. House of Welle) 
  • Magnetron~ Ferrokinesis (i.e. House of Samos)
  • Nymph~ Hydrokinesis (i.e. House of Osanos) 
  • Oblivion~ Can cause explosions by contact (i.e. Houses of Lerolan and Titanos †)
  • Shadow~ Light bending (i.e. House of Haven)
  • Silver~ Cyrokinesis (i.e. House of Gliacon)
  • Silence~ Can nullify other’s abilities (i.e. House of Arven)
  • Silk*~ Perfect balance and enhanced agility (i.e. House of Iral)
  • Singer~ Can control people using their voice, though eye contact must be present (i.e. House of Jacos) 
  • Skin Healer~ Can heal anyone but themselves (i.e. House of Skonos)
  • Stoneskin~ Can transform their skin to stone (i.e. House of Macanthos)
  • Storm~ Can manipulate weather (i.e. House of Nolle)
  • Strongarm~ Super-strength (i.e. the Houses of Carros and Rhambos)
  • Swift~ Super-speed
  • Telkies~ Telekinesis (i.e. House of Provos) 
  • Whisper~ Telepathy, can control and read minds (i.e. House of Merandus)
  • Windweaver~ Can manipulate wind (i.e. House of Laris)


  • Energen~ Can manipulate different types of energy
  • Timer~Chronokinesis
  • Shield~ Generate force fields
  • Gravi~ Manipulate gravity
  • Magician~ Manipulate and create illusions
  • Dreamer~ Can manipulate dreams
  • Techno~ Manipulate technology
  • Breather*~ Can breathe anywhere
  • Tox~ Manipulate poison

*= Not technically a power

Feel free to add some to the possible section!

above parr

i think every mormon ward has one:
the creepy family who are so mormon, they
make other good mormon families look like
the kardashians. at the time, i didn’t think they were creepy.
the parents were just…strict.

sister parr didn’t like her daughter,
cynthia (not cindy, oh no), who was my same age,
playing with me.  sister parr had a sort of sixth sense about
bad kids, of which i was one. “bad” meaning
i said what was on my mind, always.

and i had a lot of interesting things on my mind, back then.
i was the only girl in the ward who didn’t get
invited to her birthday parties.

but i liked cynthia. she was a sweet kid.
when the ward higher-ups figured i’d be better suited
grouped in with older kids
(i was a bad influence on the youngins, apparently)

i got put in classes with cynthia’s older brother,
chuck (charles, but we could call him chuck).
he was a pretty nice kid, too. he had a great smile.

so why were they so creepy, as a collective whole?
well, there were, like, 5 or 6 of them. all girls except chris.
and they all had the exact same features—
perfect, corn silk, golden, blond hair—
the girls had old-fashioned curlers put in at night—
you could tell by the uniform ringlets and
tell-tale crimp in the hair at the
base of the curl. picture blond shirly temple hairstyles.

and all the parr kids had
round faces, dimples, full lips, chubby cheeks.
they all looked exactly like their mother, only her
corn silk hair had darkened
to a non-descript taupe-brown. she was very quiet,
sister parr. very deferential. all the kids had her beautiful smile.

they all looked like porcelain dolls.
chuck wore bow ties:
male version of a porcelain doll.

and the girls were all dressed like dolls.
i remember at 10 or 11, i wanted to wear nude “pantyhose”
and shoes with heels. cynthia and her younger sisters
wore short, white, frilly-at-the-top socks, mary-jane shoes,
and i swear to god, their dresses and skirts had petticoats.

the oldest sister, she wore opaque white tights and longer,
modest dresses. the oldest girl had been allowed to
grow her hair longer. still, ringlets, pulled back in a modest barrette.
she resembled a character out of a laura ingall wilders book.

even then we all knew the parr children didn’t socialize.
their parents had them in rigorous music lessons.
and every kid had to play a different instrument.
the eldest daughter? piano. chuck? trumpet (a masculine choice).
cynthia? violin. and so on.

so when they
performed in church, it was this mini-symphony of
porcelain dolls, playing pleasant, pretty, plainsong—

they excelled academically.
they were way above par, all.
back then, they were just “the parrs.”
weird, but, you know. part of the weirdness that
was a mormon-saturated community.
as i look back, i can’t help but think
“stepford” and “creepy,” though.

i remember their father’s face. he was not a friendly man.
his countenance was sort of…dusty, as if you could
blow on his skin and reveal a healthy, peach glow.
dusty, and dark. brooding.

i remember sensing an exacting cruelty in him.
i also had a sixth sense, and i could feel and smell cruelty
off a person like when a dog’s ears prick at rustling

i tried finding cynthia online once. she’s gone. disappeared
into the bowels of mormondom, as surely all her female
siblings are. no social media presence.
no professional affiliations.

but i would love to talk to her again—
tell her that back in the day, i thought she was all right.

it’s funny—
when i looked for chuck, i found him. it was easy.
as expected, unspoken but somehow
assumed by all, he is a prominent utah doctor.

i found him online in a physicians group. he’s
a specialist. i looked at his face, one i haven’t seen for
over 30 years. i was surprised.
i no longer saw his mother in him; he’d even lost
her beautiful smile.

who i saw was his father: a fine, dark dust
covering his face.
an exacting glimmer in his eye.

i had an impulse to call him.
i wanted to call him and say, chuck, do you remember me?
how are you?
what is that dark dust you have
covering your face? why does your smile turn
down at the corners, now?
are you happy, chuck?

i wonder what he would say.
i wonder if he would even know what to say.

© j.a. carter-winward 2016


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It's Dark Next Door: Dom!Ashton Smut- Part 3

A/N: Here it is! Told you I would give you what you wanted ;) This is where things get a little rough so PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH S&M/ DADDY KINK/ KINKY SHIT IN GENERAL. Okay cool ily enjoy



Requested: Fuck yes




 He pushed me back gently, further, further, until I felt the first step of the bed platform against the backs of my heels. He stopped and put a hand in the crook of my knees, lifting me into his arms bridal style. I could barely breathe, and I loved it. I let him pick me up and carry me up the shallow steps. He laid me down on the bed, like I was a delicate china doll, and crawled on top of me. He spread my legs with his knees and began to kiss my neck with his hands on my hips.

Suddenly, I realized that he was moving me around like a wilting flower, moving me anywhere and anyway he wanted. I wasn’t a virgin, I had my fair share of experience, and I wanted to show him I could make him feel as weak and on edge as he made me feel.

I wrapped my legs around him and started tugging on his dark golden locks, but he immediately stopped his sensual assault on my neck.

“Rule number one, Y/N” he spoke gravely, “I’m the one in control. That’s how this works, kitten.”


His tone made my breath hitch, and I cautiously retracted my hands from his hair and my legs from his waist. He took my wrists as I lowered them and pinned them above my head, sucking a hickey into my collarbone and grinding himself into me. I let out needy whimpers, his tone, tanned body felt like liquid gold on my exposed skin. He pulled away from me and stood up to the side of the bed, and I was left wide-eyed and panting, wanting more.

“Do not move.” he said authoritatively, “And take off your sweatshirt.” I nodded my head slightly and slipped my sweatshirt over my head as I watched him walk to the other side of the room.

To the display of whips and ties.

He scanned his selection for a moment, tapping his chin.

“Hmm, what should we use on a gorgeous thing like you. Leather perhaps?” he seemed to speak out loud to himself, rather than me.

“No, this is only your first time, we need to be gentle with our little doll.” It was like his Dr. Jekyll and Mr.Hide that hid within him were bantering over how to play with me.

“Silk, silk is perfect. Soft, rare and beautiful. Just like our Y/N.”

He slipped two silk ties off their hooks. They were a dark hot pink shade, and looked well made and expensive. They looked like they did their job well. I gulped.

He sauntered over to me again, taking my wrist in his large hand. He began to tie it to one of the bars in the headboard.

“We won’t tie your legs this time, wouldn’t want you to pass out on me.” He chuckled lowly.

What the hell does THAT mean?

He made his way to the other side by crawling over me, leaving a quick kiss on my lips in the process. He began to tie my other wrist.

“If you want this to end at any time, say stop.” He said in a comforting tone, something I hadn’t heard from him before.

“And the safe word is Vegas.”

“Vegas?” I asked, my voice faltering slightly.

He smiled and shrugged.

“I like it there, it’s stunning at night.” He smirked at me. “Maybe if this continues and goes well, I’ll take you sometime.”

I bit my lip at the thought and watched as he finished tying me up and crawled to hover over me again.

He spoke into my neck, kissing it in between sentences.

“You will do as I say, doll. You may make noises so I can hear your pretty sounds, but you may not speak, except when I tell you to. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Yes, Daddy?” He dug his nails into the top of my thigh below my ass.

“Y-yes, Daddy” I whimpered out.


He ran his hands along my sides and I shivered, closing my eyes. I snapped them open again when I felt the pads of his fingers go underneath the waistband of my sleep shorts.

Suddenly, he cupped my heat, fondling me and I breathed out harshly. My body was tingling like crazy and I wanted to touch him.

But thanks to these wrist ties, I couldn’t.

And I kinda liked that.

“So, so sweet….” He whispered, slowly pulling down my shorts and underwear and leaving kisses on each new inch of exposed skin. He threw them to the floor, smirking up at me as my breathing became erratic. He took my thighs, which looked so tiny in his manly hands, and spread them apart, kissing the insides.

I whimpered at him.

“Aw doll, so ready for me, I love it.” He kissed my core lightly, and the spread my folds with two of his fingers and sucked once on my clit. He then licked up and down my slit quickly, making me cry out as his tongue worked on me.

I could barely take it.

“Oh my fucking god, Ashton!” I cried, bucking my hips closer to him. He pulled away slowly with a dark gleam in his eye.

“Oh no, doll, you broke the rules so soon…” He said in a voice like he was speaking to a child.

“But if I let you off with no punishment, you’ll never learn.”

Before I knew it, he grabbed my bottom half and flipped me onto my knees as I let out a gasp. My arms were crossed over each other, and he pushed my top half into the pillows so my ass was in the air.

“I know you couldn’t help my tongue sucking your sweet pussy, so I’ll go easy on you this time, but next time I won’t be so forgiving, kitten.” he tutted. I felt his hot breathe on my back.

“And you better count for me.”

I had no idea what he meant until I felt the first slap on my bare ass.

“Ah!” I yelled out.

Now all the late night screaming made sense.

“I said count for me, Y/N”  his breath was in my ear as he rubbed my tender ass cheek.

“Okay, one.” I said shakily, my head dropping into the pillows.

“That’s a good fucking girl.” He purred. He lifted his hand back and another slap sounded through the room.

“Two!” I screamed, and I couldn’t help the surge of pleasure that rushed through me.

He slapped me hardest the third time.

“Fuck! Three!” I yelped. He rubbed my ass harshly and came to speak in my ear again.

“You’re not supposed to cuss at Daddy, kitten. I guess slapping your pretty ass isn’t going to teach you to be good.”

I heard the sound of rustling fabric and then skin slap skin.

Suddenly, I felt his tip on my throbbing core.

“You already broke the rules, so you better say my name.” He growled into my neck.

Without warning, he slammed into me, pounding in and out without mercy. I hadn’t seen his cock, but I could tell it was huge by how it filled me to the brim and then stretched me ever further.

“Ashton, fuck! Yes!” I bit into the pillow as I felt his rough finger shove its way between my legs and rub my clit furiously.

“You like that, dirty girl?” He panted, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back. He wrapped my long blonde locks around his fist and pulled me down to meet his every thrust.

He smacked my ass again.

“Tell me how much you love my fucking cock.” He growled at me, digging his nails into the place on my ass he’d smacked.

“I love it so much, Ashton! I fucking need it!” I moaned out, sounding pornographic.

“When I’m deep inside you, I’m not Ashton. I’m your fucking Daddy. Say it.” He growled again, raising his voice as he continued to fuck me mercilessly.

“Oh fuck, you’re my D-daddy. I whimpered.

“Good girl, that’s it.” He cooed in my ear, returning his fingers to my clit, rubbing figure eights.

I felt myself begin to clench.

“Oh yeah, come on me doll. I wanna feel you, tight on my cock.” He growled again, and I could tell he was close too.

With a few more thrusts and another smack to my ass, my vision turned white and I screamed at the top of my lungs. The strongest orgasm I ever had crashed onto me like a Malibu wave, and I felt Ashton grunt loudly and quickly pull out, shooting his load onto my smooth and sweaty back.

“Ahh, fuck.” He cursed as he came down from his high. I collapsed onto the bed with my hands still tied and Ashton fell on top of me, kissing my back with his open mouth before rolling off the bed and standing up.

“You’re fucking perfect.” He whispered, caressing my deliciously sore ass, and I smiled but couldn’t find the strength the lift my head.

“Let me get something to clean you up with, then I’ll untie you and we can talk.” He said sweetly, walking naked to the other side of the room.

I was still panting and shaking, and I could feel in my gut that Olympian Hill was about to get a lot more interesting.

One busy evening in JC2, I was walking around school, preparing to go home. Just then, I saw a classroom still in use, and I decided to take a look at who it is. Turns out to be Amanda, my CCA friend, who I suppose is a lesbian.
Amanda is about 158cm, rather petite, and boasts an ultra-killer figure of 33D-22-29. Yes, she’s top-heavy, she works the fats off her bums. Her breasts seem to always be firm as well. It was very apparent from the VBL that she was wearing a bra with an X-strap. The only other encounter with her was a very brief kissing in a toilet.
She was sitting in the room all alone, concentrating on her work. I went up to her and cupped her breasts from behind, and it turns out that her 33D does not lose to my 38E in any way. The breasts were indeed firm and not jelly at all. They were perfect, there was no sagging to be felt. Oh by the way, I was wearing only an XL T-shirt.
She was too stunned to react on the spot, so when she turned around I started kissing her. Turned on by the brief fondle of her perfect jugs, we had a really passionate kiss to start off the tryst. We were held in that position for a good three minutes, doing nothing but hugging each other’s head and do our tongue exchange, which was by far the most perfect lesbian kiss I had. Our mouths kept salivating and these fluids overflowed the sides of the lips, while the tongue were as if they were fighting for a pussy to lick. That’s how well trained her tongue is. We would be dead meat if anyone walked in!
After the typical introduction and lubricating our main weapons of the day, I hurriedly locked the doors and drew the curtains of the windows (luckily, that classroom had a curtain). Then without any delay, I flung my shirt off in one action, revealing to her my just-as-firm E-cup busts, and a slightly inferior figure. She wanted to remove her clothes, but I stopped her and asked to do it for her, which she of course agreed. She was still sitting on her chair, by the way. So I proceeded to kneel down and opened up her legs, where I encountered a pair of FBT shorts inside - what a rare sight in JC. I had to take off the shorts in her skirt, slowly and graciously, and let it slip right down from her knee through her satin-smooth legs, revealing a pink bikini bottom.
The panties was made of silk, and was perfect to lick on. My tongue worked its wonders on her panties, giving her the most pleasurable moans and screams. She was trying to unbutton her shirt, but her actions were impeded by my stimulation. It was uncoordinated, on and off, and she only managed the top two buttons when I stopped the tongue work, enough to show her large cleavage.
As I stood up, she gave me a part two of kissing to take in some of her panty essence. I chugged our breasts together, and started unbuttoning her school uniform, and when it was done, a nice lime green bra was in full view, beautiful and mesmerising when coupled with a D-cup like hers. Steadily, I pushed the cups of the bra aside, and the two firm jugs came out of their shell, presenting small, pink, and pointed nipples on very, very tender and soft areolae. Soon I was licking her breasts with her bra still hanging, which she gently removed and dropped it to the floor.
With her breasts wet enough from my licking, it was time to do her pussy. I pulled down the pink panties in one decisive action, and stuck my whole fist into the hairless (she waxes), tight yet inviting hole. An exclamation of joy came out of her, as I slowly picked up my speed of fisting in her opening, as if it was a thrusting cock. Amanda is still virgin by the way, and I saw some blood coming out. With the pain, she looked down, and realised that her hymen broke. “Never mind, Charmaine. Continue. Harder.” She demanded.
I fisted her until orgasm, as evidenced from a loudest scream. I didn’t slow down after that, as I kept on going and going until she squirted at least twice. That was a good 10-15 minutes of just fisting. Of course, we talked about everything under the sun like long-lost friends, and talked dirty about all our lesbianism. Amanda, I found out, is a true-blue, out-and-out lesbian, as are all her sisters.
After she squired the second time I pulled my hand out, all filled with her juices and a little traces of blood from her broken hymen. I went to get my 20-cm dildo and and got her to kneel on the table and rode on it like a cowgirl while it vibrated really violently. I went onto the table facing her, and true lesbian kissing part 3 began, and so did breast work. Before long, she came again after a few climaxes. She was already exhausted by now, but had to fulfill the obligation of letting me take something away from this session too.
Amanda got off the table and took off her skirt, showing her really really fit bottoms, while she pulled me down and turned me around on the table too, with me lying on the tables, face up. She quickly inserted the dildo all the way into my vagina, and turned up the vibration too. I almost forgot that this was the one with the sperm function, which could shoot water into your vagina when a button was pressed. Since I was used to the vibrating speed, I still could talk normally, and asked Amanda to: 1, lick my pussy for more stimulation, and 2, slowly squeeze the ‘sperm’ out of the dildo.
She did so at the right times and pace, and I squirted really quickly, probably in a record time of under a minute. Gasping for air, I requested “69, Amanda.” I helped myself to the floor and so did she, with the dildo not leaving my pussy and not stopping the vibrations.
At my pussy side, her job was more or less just to control the vibrating momentum. For the other clit, I made a concurrent action of fingering her opening and licking the area, making her let out sounds of pleasure again from her double stimulation. It was the finale of the episode, and in a mere few minutes we both squirted on each other’s faces, and Amanda finally took the dildo out of my sore pussy.
We dressed up respectively, while I urged, “Amanda, go commando.” She agreed for once, and relished the chance let her jugs free and her steaming cunt cool down from the air-con in the MRT. That Friday evening, Amanda and I had a similar session in a boy’s toilet, and after which, invited me back to her house, which was a whole new world I was about to discover.
Amanda has three elder sisters, the oldest of them being 26, who all have a minimum of C cup. It seems like I’m one of the only few to pass her family’s entry test into a house where I became a regular customer.