#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.

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Dramatic Ending Epilogue

Dramatic Ending Ch. 25 His Side Story

Thank you @passthechloroform for providing the video for this chapter!

Tanzanite, with its god gone, did not change overnight.

People still revered Azel, and the markets were lined with commemorative coins and statues of him.

But to say that nothing had changed would also be untrue.

Before, every three steps you took in the city would lead you to a divination shop, but now their numbers had dwindled.

Instead, you could stumble upon bookstores, which had been impossible to find before, no matter how much you wandered around.

(Just as the letter said…)

(Tanzanite now presents a golden opportunity for booksellers to expand their market.)

*flashback*

Akatsuki: You want to do business in Tanzanite?

Emma: Yes. I thought that if we open a sales channel now, we might be able to establish a Tanzanite branch eventually.

Emma: Wouldn’t it be easier for the Owner, who travels to every country on the continent, to operate with several bases?

Akatsuki: …That makes sense.

Emma: Right? Actually, it seems Tanzanite is making a national effort to attract booksellers…

Emma: I think it’s a good opportunity to make a lot of money.

Akatsuki: Do you want to go?

Emma: If you’ll allow it.

Akatsuki: I’ll allow the business.

Emma: …!

Akatsuki: But, I won’t allow any unhealthy relationships before marriage.

Emma: Wh-What do you mean?

Akatsuki: Your objective is the dead god.

Akatsuki: He even sends you letters every time. How unsightly.

Emma: …Then, would you allow a healthy relationship?

Akatsuki: …

Akatsuki: If anything happens to you, I’ll kill that god.

*flashback over*

(I can’t tell the Owner about that night, not even if my mouth is torn apart.)

Just remembering it made me blush, and I shook my head as if to dispel those thoughts.

My objective today was market research –– to assess the demand and see what kind of books were needed. That was my job.

(Huh? There’s a crowd over there.)

(It doesn’t seem to be related to bookstores, but this is also part of market research.)

(I might be able to learn about the current trends in Tanzanite, so let’s go.)

I never imagined that my casual decision to join the crowd out of curiosity would ––

––lead to a tragedy later on.

-

Azel: …And?

Emma: …It was a soap shop.

Emma: They sell soap made by a famous perfumer, and it seems to have a reputation for smelling very good.

Emma: I thought I’d like to try it too… so I reached for it.

Azel: There must have been other selling points besides it smelling good.

Emma: ………… That it can captivate the person you’re interested in.

Azel: Sigh… Why do you fall for such obvious traps?

Emma: Because I wouldn’t think something like that would be sold openly in the city!

(This sense of déjà vu… I remember this.)

When I used the soap I bought at the market in the bath, my body started to feel strange by the time I got out.

The enchantingly pleasant scent gradually induced a feverish heat, making my skin unbearably sensitive.

The mere rubbing of my negligee against my skin made my stomach tingle strangely, and my heart pounded like a drum.

I felt like I could faint from shame at any moment.

Azel: Listen, Tanzanite is famous for its songs, dances, and harem.

Azel: It’s not uncommon for people from the harem to sell shady goods in the city to earn some extra money.

Emma: …I didn’t know that.

Azel: Think of “captivating the person you’re interested in” as a catchphrase for aphrodisiacs. It was a good lesson, wasn’t it?

(I never thought I’d experience this feeling again.)

The effects of this aphrodisiac seemed to be even stronger than the perfume mixed with the aphrodisiac ingredients from last time, and if I let my guard down, indecent sounds would escape my lips.

(…I want to cry…)

Azel: Hey, don't make that face like you're about to cry.

Azel: The quickest way to get rid of an aphrodisiac is–

*flashback*

Azel: In reality, an aphrodisiac will naturally leave your system with time.

Azel: All you can do is sleep or distract yourself, those are your two options.

*flashback over*

(I’ll just hide in the kitchen like last time, that’s what I’ll do.)

(I can’t let Azel see my unsightly behavior.)

In the middle of his lecture, I turned my back on him and reached for the door as if to escape.

Azel: Where are you going?

Emma: To cook.

Azel: Huh?

Emma: I’m going to cool my head, so please don’t mind me and go to sleep, Prince Azel.

Emma: Good night!

-

Emma: …Why are you following me!?

Azel: …I’m not following you. I’m thirsty.

Azel, who had followed me to the kitchen without a care in the world, poured water into a ceramic cup, just as he had said.

Even after taking a sip and wetting his throat, he showed no sign of leaving.

Azel: Do you want some too?

Emma: …

(Last time, you confined me here and left on your own.)

(…Thinking about it now, that was probably an act of mercy to prevent anyone from seeing my embarrassing behavior.)

(I’d like you to show me the same mercy this time…)

Azel: What is it? You’ve been staring at me.

Emma: You know what I want to say, right?

Azel: Not at all.

Emma: Leave me alone.

Azel: This is my castle.

Emma: Are you okay with being attacked by me?

I tried to push Azel out of the kitchen, but–

(H-He won’t budge…!)

He looked at me with a mixture of amusement and pity.

Azel: What are you doing?

Emma: You wicked god– Ah, no, you’re not a god anymore.

Emma: Um… Wicked person!

Azel: Congratulations on increasing your debt through insults.

Emma: …I understand. You don’t want tomorrow’s meal, then. It was going to be a special dish with meat.

Azel: If that’s what you wish, I’ll obediently return to my room. Goodbye.

(This tactic was the most effective after all.)

Azel briskly headed for the exit, but he turned around before leaving the kitchen.

Azel: However, you should know what an aphrodisiac is.

Azel: It’s actually easier to let it out than to endure it.

(…I know.)

My body, forcibly heated by the aphrodisiac, was aching to the point that I wanted to scratch it, and I unconsciously followed Azel's hand with my eyes.

(If I could just have his hand touch me…)

I slapped my cheeks with both hands as if to resist the temptation and shook my head.

Emma: Thank you for your concern. But I’m fine.

Azel: Why are you so stubborn?

Azel: We’ve already crossed the line.

Emma: …That’s true, but…

Emma: If you touch me like that night, I’ll probably become a mess.

Azel: It might be a good lesson.

Emma: …If Prince Azel were to hate me, I wouldn’t be able to recover.

Azel: Why would that happen?

(Because…)

Emma: You don’t have good memories of aphrodisiacs, do you?

*flashback*

Emma: In the first place, I’ve never used or even seen an aphrodisiac, so I don’t know what it’s like…

Azel: Huh? You’ve never seen one in your life?

Emma: Of course not!

Azel: There are people like that?

*flashback over*

(Because of his position as God, people around Azel-sama tried every trick in the book to get him interested in women.)

(I’ve never asked for details, but I’m sure he’s been tormented by unwanted aphrodisiacs.)

Azel: …Indeed, as you said, I’ve been through a lot with aphrodisiacs.

Azel: I have nothing but unpleasant memories of being forced to watch women lose control in front of me.

Emma: Then–

Azel: But you’re not…

Azel: …

Emma: …Prince Azel?

Azel: ..............

Azel: I hate being attacked.

Emma: I think anyone would.

Azel: That’s right. So I came up with a great idea.

(Huh, the atmosphere suddenly became ominous.)

Even though he was supposed to be heading outside, Azel came back to me for some reason.

When I casually tried to move away, he wrapped his arms around my waist.

Emma: Ah…

An unfamiliar sensation set my entire body ablaze with shame, and I reflexively pushed back against his chest.

But instead of moving away, Azel brought his lips to my ear and breathed a sigh.

Azel: It’s fine to attack before you’re attacked, like this.

Emma: That’s not good, not good at all… Mm!

My ear was nibbled, and indecent gasps melted into the kitchen air.

Emma: No… This really… won’t end well… so… Ah.

The hand that had been resting on my waist slid down and slipped between my legs, along with my negligee.

With just a light touch, my vision went white, and my body trembled as my strength gave out.

Azel: How could you say you were fine in this state?

Azel lifted me up as I collapsed on the floor.

Emma: …I could… evaporate from embarrassment right now…

Azel: If you haven’t evaporated yet, you’ll be fine.

Azel carried me outside and headed for his room with quick steps.

Even the wind that enveloped my body brought me slight pleasure, and I felt a sensation of honey dripping from my lower abdomen.

Emma: ………… Prince Azel.

Azel: It’s not unpleasant or uncomfortable.

Azel: …You’re different from other women.

Just as he said, Azel didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. In fact, his slightly unfocused gaze seemed to reveal his true feelings.

Azel: I can stop if you’re seriously against it.

(Honestly, I’m scared… but…)

(…If… Azel… doesn’t mind…)

I grabbed Azel's clothes and exhaled as if to release the intense heat within me.

Emma: …Touch… me… please…

-

As soon as we returned to the room, Azel stripped me of my negligee and sat me on the bed, embracing me from behind.

Emma: Gasp... Ah...

The mere act of his palm cupping my breast sent a jolt through my core, and when he pressed against my hardened nipple, my vision blurred to white.

Each time his lips grazed my ear, a sweet nectar overflowed in response, and my whole body trembled as his finger, coated with it, slipped inside me.

Even after all this, the aphrodisiac still lingered in my body, and my hips moved involuntarily, matching the rhythm of his finger swirling within me.

Emma: Nn... ...Aah...

Azel effortlessly supported me as I slumped against him, limp.

Azel: Are you alive?

Emma: Barely... alive...

Azel: That's good to hear.

Azel: Learn from this and never touch those "captivate your beloved" concoctions again.

Azel: Besides, even without using such things––

Azel: ...

Emma: ...Even without?

Azel: Why are you so focused on that part?

Emma: Nn...! Don't touch me th-there... aaah!

He hooked a finger around the sensitive swell, now slick with nectar, and another burst of wicked pleasure exploded from my core.

My breath hitched, hot and ragged, and my consciousness almost drifted off into a dream.

Azel: You make that kind of face too, huh?

Azel: ...I feel like I'm the one who's been ravished, even though I'm the one who attacked you.

(I'm... too scared to ask what kind of face I'm making... but...)

Azel's expression as he gazed at me was so alluring it made my heart ache.

That unexpected, worldly expression, so far removed from his usual sanctity—

Our eyes met, and our lips found each other as if drawn together by an invisible force.

(I've had enough of aphrodisiacs... )

(But if it means I can see that look on your face when you desire me... maybe it's not all bad.)

---

(Suspicious Solicitation)

※ This letter has been sent to all booksellers ※

In Tanzanite, a city overflowing with tourist attractions, bookstores are opening one after another.

With the decline of divination, once a symbolic industry of the nation, the demand for knowledge is on the rise.

Furthermore, the nation is currently offering generous support to foreign booksellers, allowing you to start your business immediately.

Tanzanite is now a dreamland where anyone with the skills of a bookseller can easily become a business owner – an opportunity no one in the trade would want to miss.

So, what do you think? It's piqued your interest, hasn't it? It would be a shame to let this big-money chance slip away.

We are currently offering passage to Tanzanite at a special price.

If you are interested in visiting, please contact us at the address below.

P.S. This letter has been sent to all booksellers. Don't try to investigate this offer with your colleagues out of suspicion.

Also, we don't particularly need you to come quickly, nor do we necessarily want a reply.

Don't misunderstand... Absolutely do not misunderstand.

Azel Radwan

--

FIN

.

.

.

Both Endings Epilogue

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[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.”

[alexa-yukiyu]

You know how child!Dokusha often ends up in places she shouldn't be? I think that most of the characters would be understanding of the childs curiosity, while others would scold them for not sitting put.

For example child! Dokusha as mihawks child would get scolded by their father alot for it but he understands that children will be children and be curious. Also the more you tell kids to not do something the more they do it

I feel like shanks would be A father that also let's his crew be fathers. Personally I love the idea that lucky roo is a amazing babysitter, I don't know why

Eat water drink food Alexa 👍

Sneaky sneak ft Mihawk and Lucky Roo

A/N Alright the title is kinda weak but I have nothing, also this is pretty weak especially the part with too so i’m sorry holo 🥲 I am late and lack in

Reader here is replaced with Dokucha for the enjoyment of both reader and oc character readers

Dokucha grinned, realizing the room they had sneaked into was the armory. Their eyes shined in excitement as they examined all the weapons in the room, hopping, crawling, and sneaking around the glittering artifacts until a specific one called their attention.

Grinning, they climbed down from the small ledge they had climbed to take a peek at a bow; they approached the familiar weapon, lips slightly parted in awe as they stood in front of the sword.

"No way…" they muttered gingerly touching the handle of the sword as thoughts raced through their mind.

"It's so beautiful…the best quality leather in the market wrapped on the handle with a lapis lazuli encrusted on the pummel," they muttered, eyeing the large jewel and rubbing the leather, shivering at the supple, slightly grainy texture.

"A half-a-meter gold hand-carved guard with jade and tanzanite on the quillon and the Ricasso," they gushed, eyes twinkling in amazement as their hand lowered to the body of the sword

"A black blade; it could have been his haki, but maybe it was forged like this, put in heat time after time to get such a beautiful obsidian color, and they even added hand-carving to its fuller."

"And it's-

"Not yours to he touching." A stern voice cut in, taking a firm but gentle hold of their hand as it began inching toward the edge of the blade

"Ah! Dad! What are you doing here? " they yelled, their eyes wide as they jumped back from the man, arms now crossed on his chest as he stared them down.

"That is hardly the question here, isn't it?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow, watching as the child began to fidget and look away from the man, trying to put their sight on anything but him.

"I just ended up here; I was going to leave….but then I saw you, and I got a lil distracted."

Mihawk stared at the child, his frown softening until he let out a chuckle. A rare amused smile grew on his face, though he was quick to erase it.

"You know you are not supposed to be here, " he chided, shaking his head as he took hold of his sword. His amusement grew as the move instantly caught the attention of the child.

"However, I will forgive it this time since I see you have been keeping up with your readings," he called, glancing at them; he noticed this caused their attention to switch to him, placing Yoru in its rightful place behind him.

"How about I teach you some hands-on lessons on the art of the swords?" He suggested turning around and making his way out of the room

"Yes!" They hollered, scrambling to follow after the man

"Oi, have you found them yet?!" Hongo called, his voice echoing across the deck, and various negative responses echoed back, much to his annoyance.

"Commander Hongo, do you think they might have followed Shanks out of the ship?" A crewmember questioned, scratching his neck as he looked around the deck for the child

"No, they're a rascal, but they know the consequences won't be light if they leave the Force without permission; they know better," Hongo huffed out.

"This would be so much easier if Yassop were here; he's the only one that can bypass their presence masking," he muttered, calling out to the crewmates to continue their search as he joined them.

"Ha! That's right! Without Uncle Yassop here, they have no chance!" They snickered from below them as they hid on the gun's deck, browsing through the different weapons that were kept alongside the canons

"Oh! They keep the grenades here! Sweet!" They cheered, grabbing the small sphere with a mischievous grin on their faces, until a hand grabbed it from their hands, causing them to shoot up.

"U-Uncle Roo!" they gaped, watching the grinning back as he put the grenade back where they had found it.

"Ha! Ha! That's true, but you still have to find a good hiding spot if you don't want the rest of us to find you," he called teasingly

"You're not supposed to be here," he stated, letting out a small laugh as they just looked away.

"You can't sneak here every time he leaves; you know we are going to find you."

"…are you goin' To tell Dad?"

"Hm, I could! But I could also cut you a deal," he snickered, taking a bite from the usual chicken leg on his hand.

"Deal?"

"You finish your chores, and I won't tell him."

"Ugh!"

I thought I was cookin

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

[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.

[greentrickster]

...hadn't really realized just how negatively people felt about China until recently. While I acknowledge and always will acknowledge that it's a country with many deep-seated issues (that's part of how you can tell it's a country), I've always been fairly positive towards it.

Because one, a super-easy way to get a kid on board with a foreign country is to show them a list of twelve animals, tell them that they get an animal depending on the year they were born, and then tell them that their animal is the dragon. In case you were wondering, yes, this is the way to a young fantasy-lover's heart.

And two, my dad used to go on a lot of business trips there in the 90s (he works in the aluminum industry), and he brought back gifts and stories, and inadvertently de-othered the country and culture for us. The same thing happened with Russia, only moreso, because my whole family and I actually went and lived in Siberia for a good chunk of '97/'98. I learned about inflation in a very real way over there when, while shopping at an outdoor market with our mom one day, my sister and I found a whole bunch of bright, shiny coins just... scattered on the ground. And of course we picked then up, but... we were the only ones picking them up. When I asked my mom why, she told me that it's because they were kopecks coins, and they had so little value that it wasn't worth the effort for anyone to stop and pick them up. Which is a hell of a lesson for a first-world kid to learn out of the blue at age nine.

We nearly lived in China for a bit right after that, too - my sister and I were excited at the prospect - but my mom put her foot down because we would have had to be vaccinated for yellow fever (the actual disease), and she didn't want to risk her kids getting exposed to that.

And... I don't know. I don't know where I'm going with this. Maybe just grateful that I learned so young that countries are not their governments, that they're real places with real, diversely-opinioned people, who have real problems. Maybe just sad that not everyone had this chance.

It hurts to learn you were wrong about what you thought were fundamental concepts of life.

It hurts more to realize that you were purposefully deceived about them.

It hurts to think of just how many people are hurting because of this right now.

[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.

[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

[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.

---

Dm or comment to be added!

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

[oh-no-my-hand-slipped]

Under The Apple Tree

An Original Work of Sneezy Smut

****************************************

Subject(s): Original Characters

Length: 3,268 words

Genre: Inducing, Anal

Rating: Mature

Warning(s): Tasteful Descriptions of Sex

*************************************

Septimus was never notified of a new employee taking residence in the Rutherford household. Not that he ever was – he didn’t care too much who the master hired as long as there was still money left over to buy his new editions of textbooks and academic journals.

However, when the tutor noticed the new cook, he certainly caught his attention. Firstly, he was enormous – over two hundred centimeters easily, and a girth to match. How he was able to move around the kitchen, Septimus couldn’t imagine – though he tried to quite often. Sliding past the fireplace, sucking in his gut to get onto the other side of the stove, ducking beneath pots and pans…

The cook was also quite muscular, unlike the short, stout cook that came before him. He lifted kegs over his head with ease, carried countless bottles and jugs up and down the lane, and always kept the kitchen full to the brim. What was he before being a cook that gave him such a frame, such strength? Septimus had many hypotheses. Perhaps he was a sailor, hoisting sails and moving barrels of goods to land. Or a farmer, toiling in the fields, sweat running down his brow. Or some sort of sportsman, training his body to its very limits, awaiting the cheers of the crowd. Septimus often found himself lost in these thoughts, only coming back to reality when it was time for the childrens’ Latin lesson.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one interested in the cook. One of the maids dreamily related to another that his name was Marcus.

“Isn’t that just a perfect name?” she sighed. “If I bear a child, I may name him Marcus!”

“Yes, yes,” the other had said, not paying attention. “Just perfect.”

“And if it’s a girl…well, Marcusina has a nice ring to it!”

“That’s nice, Mary.”

Septimus rolled his eyes. Such a silly thing, young love. His mind was far too occupied to let himself be deluded with such trifles. No, his interest in Marcus was purely curiosity, purely academic.

It wasn’t until a month into Marcus’s employment that they formally met – being on opposite sides of the household, they rarely crossed paths. But, with a list of items from the market for an upcoming banquet in hand, Septimus finally stepped into the hot kitchen.

Marcus was leaning over the stove, hard at work on some recipe or another. His apron was partly off, and was hanging loosely around his large waist. Suddenly, a wave of nervousness came over Septimus. The cook was even bigger up close than he had imagined. His hands were big enough to completely hide the handles of the pots he was working over. Marcus’ shoulders, hunched in concentration, were wider than at least four of Septimus.

But still, the scholar cleared his throat, trying to use his most authoritative tone.

“Marcus, is it?”

Marcus startled upright, knocking into a few pans hanging over his head with a clatter. Rubbing his head, he turned to face Septimus. His shock quickly turned into warm familiarity.

“Ah, yes. That’s right,” Marcus rumbled, glancing at the paper Septimus had in his hand. “Has Master Rutherford asked something of me?”

Septimus swallowed. It was harder now that Marcus was looking at him. “Er, quite. Some things to prepare before the banquet.”

He held out the list, and Marcus took it from him. Even as their hands met, Septimus realized just how large Marcus’s hands were – large and worn with work. And warm, warmer than the powdery, cold hands of the Rutherfords. Small, white scars covered his palms. From what, Septimus couldn’t tell.

Marcus read over the list, eyebrows furrowing with concentration.

“I must go to the market for that,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. “And I need a large dish. Have I…?”

Marcus began to search around the kitchen, pushing aside racks of hanging herbs, towels, and utensils. Septimus, suddenly obsolete, stood in silence among the cupboards. He could feel his face burning, and he grit his teeth. The scholar wasn’t used to being swept aside in such a manner, and he wasn’t sure he enjoyed it. The interaction had been cut much too short for his liking, and on such callous terms! Marcus never asked for any direction, nor any clarification. He was sure to miss something, and then the banquet would be ruined! The hubris! The gall!

“Pardon-” came a rumble, and suddenly, Septimus’s stomach fluttered as he felt Marcus’s warm hands cup around his underarms.

Marcus hoisted the scholar off the ground, as if he was lifting another one of the master’s wine kegs. Septimus, for a moment, felt as if he weighed nothing at all – a feather in the warm, summer wind. His heart leapt in his chest, against the ribs that Marcus was holding so tightly.

Finally, Septimus was placed on a nearby counter. Though Marcus was gentle, the force of the scholar sent a forgotten pile of baking flour swirling around the pair. However, Septimus hardly noticed the white powder settling on his dark clothes.

Marcus, on the other hand, was searching the drawers that had been behind Septimus, only realizing his mistake when he looked up to see a flustered, flour-covered scholar sitting stiffly on his countertop.

“Ah! I-I beg your-”

He reached towards Septimus to help him down, but the scholar jerked away, his red face seething beneath the white layer of flour.

“In all my years of service, I have never-!” he began, only to be cut off by a quiver in his slender nostrils.

His eyelids fluttered as he reached for his handkerchief, which was also speckled white.

“How vehery…dare-! HaHAH-!”

With one final trembling hitch, Septimus pitched forward, sending more flour into the air with the force of his sneezes.

“hah’KSH’HIIIEW! EK’SHIIEW! EKSH’IIIIIIIIEW!”

With his nose deep in his flour-filled handkerchief, Septimus couldn’t stop sneezing long enough to scold Marcus. Instead, the thoroughly powdered scholar could only lift an accusing finger or gasp out half of an empty insult in between fits. Marcus could only stare at Septimus, his lips parted and a large pan held limp beside him.

Finally, Septimus gave up on his retribution, and retreated from the kitchen, covered head to toe in the offending baking product. He turned back to Marcus before leaving, the lower face of his face covered in his handkerchief. Only his irritated, furious eyes could be seen.

“You bark mby words,” he snuffled, “I’ll seh-see to it you’re neh-! GIHIH-! IKSH’HIIIIEW!”

With that final remark, Septimus slammed the door behind him, leaving a raging white trail behind him – much to the already overworked maids’ dismay. Not that they didn’t find a sort of cruel joy hearing him sneeze and sniffle and groan from his quarters all evening.

Marcus, meanwhile, didn’t attend to his duties for most of the afternoon. Instead, he stood in front of an unlit stove, only moving to wipe the sweat off of his forehead or to hurriedly adjust the front of his apron. The cook didn’t dare turn around until he was sure he could keep himself under control. The last thing he needed was his new employer to see him like this. But whenever he thought about that gaunt scholar trying to keep his composure and yet failing, completely at the mercy of that slender nose that wasn’t used to the filth of work, eyes watering and fluttering and rolling…

Needless to say, Marcus had to take some time to himself in the produce larder before getting back to work again.

*************************************

That wasn’t the end of the injustices Septimus faced.

That following morning, no sooner had he gotten the last of the white out of his uniform did the master give him most disgraceful orders. The gardener, in her age, had fallen ill, and the trees in the orchard had to be pruned before the banquet’s guests arrived tomorrow. Septimus’s father was, after all, a botanist for the Rutherfords, and neither the maids nor the errand boys could possibly be trusted with his prized apple trees. And the children, as they were on a day trip with their mother, wouldn’t require their lessons.

As outraged as Septimus at being treated as a common laborer, the more he mulled it over in his mind, the more content he was with the prospect. News travels fast in the Rutherford household, and everyone had been staring and snickering at him all morning. The last place he wanted to be was among the gossiping staff. Or, more importantly, that blasted, blasted cook.

Yes, some fresh air away from the house would do him good.

Septimus took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves into a neat fold, and put the shears under his arm – though he did make sure to brandish them as he walked by a group of giggling maids, who quickly returned to their dusting and polishing.

The day was clear, and the new spring sun shone on Septimus’s pale cheeks. It wasn’t often that he was needed outside the home, and he wasn’t too keen on traveling when a good book about it did just as well. However, Septimus could already feel his sour mood improving as he began climbing the gardener’s wooden ladder to prune the first tree.

He was scraping at the bark, checking for dead branches, when the sweet fragrance of apple blooms wafted into his nose. Septimus lifted his head, indulging himself by sniffing the air –

Only for his long nose to become buried in a burst of pink and white blooms.

Septimus stared cross-eyed at his compromised nose, as well as the yellow, powdery centers of each flower. With already trembling nostrils, he suddenly remembered why he didn’t spend much time outdoors. Septimus breathed through his mouth, trying not to stir the delicate flowers – or his sensitive sinuses. If he could lower his head past the blooms without knocking any pollen off of them, he would be in the clear. But one stray sniff…

Septimus held his breath as he leaned backward, holding his breath –

“Ack!”

Septimus cried out as his weight made the ladder lean backwards, causing him to lose his balance and to drop the shears. To save himself from falling, he jerked forward, bringing the ladder back against the trunk with a loud smack. The entire tree shook, bringing a shower of leaves and flowers down onto Septimus. A yellow cloud soon followed, pollen covering anything it touched.

The scholar scrambled for his handkerchief, but it was much too late. His eyes had already begun to water, and his once-slim nostrils were flaring with every ragged breath Septimus took.

“N-No, no, I…I musn’t…gihih-! Hihih-!”

Septimus laid a knuckle beneath his nose, one itchy eye squeezed shut. The ladder wobbled.

“W-Where’s…where’s by hanker- handkerchihiiih-! Hiiih-!”

He patted his pockets with his other hand, to no avail. His cheeks puffed as he tried to keep his nose at bay, just for a moment, until he was safe on the ground again. His reddened nose protested, and his nostrils flared ever wider.

“Hihih-! Hihihih-! HIHIH-!”

Septimus leaned back, making the ladder sway. He reached for a branch to grab onto, but his watery vision caused him to miss it entirely. His chest heaved one final hitch before -

“GKSHH’HIIIIIIIEW!”

The sneeze sent Septimus tumbling over the ladder. He blindly reached out to break his fall, managing to grab onto one of the trunks before landing in the groove of the forked tree. He gasped for air, all the wind being knocked out of him upon painful impact. Unfortunately, he was only just big enough to fit between the trunks of the tree. Even a quick inhale brought his ribs against the rough bark of the tree.

Once he had caught his breath, Septimus attempted to squirm free, first using his hands to leverage himself, then his feet. Either way, though, the tree was much too tall, and he was stuck far too snugly between the trunks to slide out. Using a branch to lift himself out was also out of the question – nothing had sprouted that low on the tree.

What was worse, now that the shock had passed, Septimus’s nose had taken the calmness as an invitation.

“Please…hehlp-! KSH’IIIIEW! IH’KSHOOO!”

Every sneeze brought a dull, throbbing pain to his sides, and his cries for help grew more desperate.

“G-God, sobeone! I can’d…EHHK’SH’HIIIEW!”

Finally, Septimus hang helpless between the trunks, exhausted. He prayed for someone, anyone.

One of those large errand boys, he thought. Or Melanie. She does heavy work. Oh, God, I beg of you, deliver me from this misery…

“Sir? Sir!”

A booming voice called from beside the manor. Septimus lifted his heavy head, his hope soon being replaced with exasperation.

Godamnit.

Of all the inhabitants of the manor, it was Marcus, who had tossed the barrels he was carrying aside and was now lumbering down the hill with surprising speed. His apron flapped in the wind as he ran through the orchard and came to a sliding halt in front of the scholar.

“Sakes alive, don’t tell me you’ve fallen?” Marcus asked.

Septimus gave a weak, wry smile. “Oh, nod ad all. The physician recobbends I do this every morning. Good for the circulation, you dow.”

Marcus ignored Septimus’s sarcasm, walking behind the tree to get a better look at their predicament.

“Like a cork in a keg!” Marcus exclaimed, leaning over Septimus. “But a good twist ought to-”

Marcus put his hands on Septimus’ lower back.

“Hah~!”

Septimus clasped his hand over his mouth. Marcus quickly withdrew.

“Ah, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Septimus cleared his throat. His face felt like it was turning maroon.

“N-Ndo. Just, er, startled be, is all,” he stammered.

“Don’t you worry. This won’t be long.”

Marcus put one hand on Septimus’s left shoulder and another on his lower back. Septimus bit his lip, managing to stay silent. The cook tried to press both in the opposite direction to twist Septimus’s body out from between the trunks, but he was too tightly trapped.

“You’re stiff as a board,” Marcus said, leaning further over Septimus. “You’ve got to-”

“Oh, dear, p-pardon meh-! HIH-!”

Septimus’s reddened nostrils flared again. Marcus’s eyes widened.

“Are…are you-?”

“HIHKSH’HIIIIEW!”

Septimus pitched forward, jerking back into a startled Marcus. He groaned, sniffling thickly.

“Mby apologies…th-this god-forsaken pollen…I’b seeb to be alleheh-! HKSH’IIIEW!”

Septimus’s back end was now firmly planted onto Marcus’s crotch, shuddering with every sneeze. The excitement the cook already felt before was overwhelming, but now, he couldn’t help it anymore. He stumbled back from the tree, grabbing the end of his apron, trying to adjust it –

“Barcus…?”

Septimus had stopped sneezing now, and was gazing back at the embarrassed cook. Marcus rushed out from behind the tree, trying to splutter out a reply.

“I - or, er, you’re - I’ll fetch the - the gardener, and she’ll…”

Septimus looked up at Marcus with a dazed look.

“Barcus…please…don’d leave…”

The sharp tone that Marcus was used to from the scholar was gone.

“I-I’ll return as quickly as I am able, I just can’t -”

“Ndo…”

Septimus let out a shuddering sigh.

“Please…do keep going. It feld…so…”

Marcus swallowed. “I…I truly beg your pardon, I mustn’t’ve…”

Septimus sniffled thickly.

“Please…you bust…I can’d let anyone see be in this state…”

Between Septimus’s quiet pleadings, his vulnerable posture, and his red, quivering nose…

Marcus moved behind the tree again, craning his neck to see if anyone was in the orchard. Once he saw there was no one, he positioned himself over Septimus again, reaching his arms around the scholar.

“Oh god, please,” Septimus gasped.

Marcus took one finger and began to trace Septimus’s nostrils. The other hand grabbed the scholar’s waist. Septimus moaned, his sensitive nostrils already flaring and his waist bucking from the cook’s touch.

“Nngh~!”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Marcus whispered, tugging on Septimus’s belt. “May I-?”

The scholar nodded fervently. Marcus set to work unclasping Septimus’s belt, then his work pants, then his drawers. All of this was met with various pleasured noises from the front of the tree. The cook then got himself ready, though he had the good sense not to completely disrobe himself in case someone walked by. His apron, rather than being taken off, was simply swished aside like a lover’s curtain. Finally, Marcus slowly, gently inserted himself, leaning onto the tree’s trunk for support.

“Not so-! Haah~!”

“Are y-you…mmph…shall I…?”

“Yes, God, yes. But, don’d go too quickly…I mbay…then someone mighd hear…huuh~!”

Marcus bit his lip, slowing his rhythm. Meanwhile, he began tracing Septimus’s nostrils again, feeling them quiver between his fingers.

“Huh~! Y-You’re…going to bake mbe…hiiih-!”

Septimus began to hitch, each one widening him from within. Marcus tried to keep both urges of the scholar under control, but with his own pleasure mounting higher and higher, that was becoming more and more difficult. And as quiet as they both tried to be, occasionally, their pleasure all but overwhelmed them, and they became more fervent in said pleasure.

“Just…just a little-! Hungh~!”

“I’b really…really-! Hih-! Going to - HAAH~!”

Marcus now had one hand on each trunk of the tree, his eyes closed in concentration as he went deeper and deeper into Septimus. Septimus, on the other hand, unabashedly hitched and moaned as both his nose and his sex threatened to overtake him at any moment. Finally, his stammered warnings and pleas grew more desperate, and Marcus knew he couldn’t stave the scholar or himself off any longer.

He reached up, plucking a few blossoms from a branch above, and leaning over Septimus one last time, but the flowers under the scholar’s trembling nose. The effect was immediate.

“Oh, G-God, I…hihih-! HIIIH-!”

Marcus leaned back, putting both hands on Septimus’s waist, and, with his last ounce of self-control, gave one final, deep thrust.

“HK’SHSSSH’HIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEW! Hah~! HAAH~!”

Marcus’s back arched as Septimus closed in around him. All his inhibitions left him as a wave of pleasure crashed over his body.

“GMPH~! GAHAAH~!”

The cook shuddered, leaning over a still heaving Septimus, and they both rode out their passion as one, completely giving in to what they had been trying to hide for so long.

After a long moment, Marcus withdrew, breathing hard. Septimus hung limply between the trunks, just as the cook had found him. Having left quite a mess behind the tree, Marcus began to wipe Septimus down with a corner of his apron. The scholar twitched, moaning softly.

Such a sensitive soul, Marcus thought, getting the lower half of the scholar dressed, and then himself.

Just as he had tied the back of his apron again, a yell came from the top of the hill. It was one of the errand boys, who had just gotten back from the market.

“Y’alright? Take a tumble, did he?”

Marcus, with one hand below the scholar’s chest and another at his waist, was finally able to lift Septimus out from between the tree with a hard tug. The scholar hardly made a sound.

“Aye,” Marcus said, holding Septimus close to his chest. “He’s had a bit of an accident. Go tell Master Rutherford, would you?”

The errand boy was off like a shot – likely more excited to tell the other members of staff than Mr. Rutherford.

Marcus began to carry a dazed Septimus up the hill.

“This is the state you’d rather be seen in?” Marcus puffed.

Septimus lowered his gaze and lifted his eyebrows. “Would you have rather walked into the manor in the state you were in?”

Marcus face darkened, and he squeezed the soft part of the scholar’s side. Septimus gasped, still shuddering at the slightest touch.

The cook chuckled, taking a rag from his pocket and wiping the scholar’s still trembling nose.

[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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