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hobivore · 3 months ago

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Transient | LMH

— Lee Minho x reader (f)

Growing up in the casino business, you—now standing at the head of your family’s imperium—know all the tricks of the trade. Rule number one: don’t gamble. It would be such an easy rule to follow if it weren’t for your company’s most trusted lawyer, Minho Lee, who loves nothing more than to raise the stakes.

AU/Trope: lawyer!au, smut (minors DNI)

Warnings: sub!minho, rope bondage, sensory deprivation (blindfolding), impact play (face slapping), wax play, knife play, one small drop of blood, choking, spitting, light cockstepping, no aftercare, power dynamics, complicated ‘relationship’ (two people using each other because they’re bad at feelings)

WC: 4.8k

A/N: This piece was originally uploaded to my old sideblog linoguistics and written for the s! week sub!skz event by @skzseasons, check them out for more. Many thanks to the wonderful @hesperantha for beta reading. ILY!

— SKZ masterlist | Ask box

“Will that be all, boss?”

Boss. The word ricochets against his teeth and rolls off his tongue like a caged bird set free. Only Minho Lee could make a title sound like that: like a prayer, a taunt, a pet name, a challenge.

The tilt of his head tells you he already knows this isn’t all. Of course he knows; it’s nearing 1 a.m. on a Tuesday, and you wouldn’t have him come over to your apartment only to deliver you the most recent news on the acquisition of Full House Entertainment. Sure, it’s an important step for your company, but acting the herald is way below his pay grade.

No—Minho is here for something else entirely, and his feigned innocence is all part of this cat and mouse game the two of you have been playing for years now.

He waits for your answer, shoulders straight, something subversive to the set of his mouth. You let your gaze travel down his figure, stretching out the silence until it thickens the air with tension. Your fingers play with the silver necklace around your neck, lingering on the edge of your collarbone, and he swallows.

You suppress a chuckle at the familiar, telltale sign betraying him. In a way, you and Minho have grown into your roles in the company alongside each other. It had been your father who had hired him—although he probably wouldn’t have, had he known the man would end up in his daughter’s bed—when Minho was fresh out of law school, stiff-collared, hungry, ready to take on the world.

To Minho’s credit, he remains still, and when your eyes meet his again you see a hint of that same fervour behind them. But rather than a spark of wildfire, it’s the burning of a furnace; calculated and controlled, white-hot.

“Drink?” you inquire, more command than question, walking towards the cabinet and opening a whiskey decanter. He follows your movements, watching closely. Even when you turn around to pick up a glass you know his gaze never travels below your shoulders. His self-restraint is admirable.

“Tell me,” you hand him his drink and he takes it, clinking the edge of the glass against yours. “What do you think of Nick Blake?”

Minho narrows his eyes. “He’s a fool.”

Nick Blake is the current chief financial officer of Full House Entertainment. You’ve been told that although he may be new to the position, he shows promise, so you tilt your head in interest at Minho’s response.

“I’ve heard other things.”

Minho swirls the liquor around in his glass and shrugs. “Whoever you heard that from is wrong. You should’ve asked me.”

You raise an eyebrow at his brusque tone. Few men would have the guts to say something like that to your face—or behind your back, for that matter. But Minho has never been anything but forthright with you, quickly becoming one of your most trusted employees. And he knows it; knows he can get away with a lot more than the average member of your staff.

You decide to challenge him, to push back a little and see if he stands his ground. “Last time I checked, this was my company. I’m perfectly capable of deciding who to seek out for counsel.”

“It is. You are. But none of us benefit from mistakes. I don’t trust him.”

You sigh. Ever since you took over from your father the company has grown explosively. The profits are great, but with diverse lines of business comes an increased difficulty in oversight. You find yourself needing to rely on others more and more—something you don’t particularly like.

“So you think I should fire him?”

Minho takes a swig of his whiskey, eyes meeting yours. “I don’t know, aren’t you the boss?” he retorts, defiant, one brow raised.

You snort—an ungraceful sound—and he grins. You put your glass down on the cabinet and give him a small nod. “Thank you for your honesty. I will reconsider Blake’s position.”

A silence falls between the two of you, not unwelcome, some of the earlier tension permeating the air again as your eyes fix on the curve of his cupid’s bow. The anticipation feels familiar in a way that puts you at ease, makes you relax.

Minho is not the type for small talk and useless chatter. It's one of the things you like about him; he's astute and straight to the point. He doesn't waste your time.

And unlike most others he doesn't try to flatter you. It's a welcome change from the sycophants that come with your position. Instead, Minho has always relied on his wits and his sharp tongue. Navigated his way through the muddy water of rules and regulations until he knew them like the back of his hand. Knew how to bend them and how to break them.

There was a certain softness to him at first, back then; but much like you, he’s always been quick to adapt, quick to change.

You don’t pry into his personal life. You don’t ask and you don’t care. Just like you don’t care how he gets things done as long as he does them—because you know he always delivers, one way or another. He doesn’t keep to his luxurious office, preferring the grimy underbellies of your casinos instead, not afraid of getting his hands dirty.

Still, it’s all too easy to picture him as a deer-eyed, grubby-kneed kid, growing up watching the same programs on TV as you did. Fast-paced animations, colourful heroes saving people and serving justice. And then, later, the hours spent behind stacks of books, in courtrooms, for a good cause, only to end up here—

But Minho isn’t innocent. Every move and every choice he makes is deliberate. He, like no other, knows the world isn’t black and white. He wades through the grey fog, always mindful of the lines he should not cross.

It seems you are his only exception.

There’s an irony to it, its taste bittersweet on his tongue every time you kiss. An acidity to the both of you circling each other as you take his glass, your fingertips brushing against his skin.

“What do you want?” you ask, putting his drink down next to yours. You wait for him to say the word, confirming that he wants this as much as you do.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, and it’s out of line, teetering on the edge of mockery if it wasn’t for the honesty in his eyes. His long lashes caress his cheeks when he blinks, twice. “Venom.”

There’s a beat of silence as the word hangs in the air between you, followed by his look of surprise when the flat of your hand connects with his cheek. The expression lasts only a second, quickly overtaken by something darker as his skin flushes pink.

“I asked you a question.” You step closer, grabbing his jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft flesh of his cheeks, distorting his grin. “Answer me.”

It’s a deflection, an attempt to steer away from his admission, and it works: the immediate effect it has on him, how it makes his pupils dilate and his breath hitch in his throat.

“Please,” he says, barely audible, mouth forced into a pout by your hold on him, “make it hurt.”

His words trickle down your skin like molasses and settle deep in your belly. You press your lips against his, tasting the rich, smoky flavour of the alcohol you’ve been raised on, coupled with that sweet taste that’s so unmistakably him—

Minho lets out a sudden moan as you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and you swallow the sound, letting go of his face, not missing the way he sways into you as you lean back and tap one finger on his suit jacket. “Follow me.”

There’s a shift in the air as you enter your bedroom, a place he’s seen countless of times—a privilege reserved to only a handful of your lovers. You can feel his presence behind you, heat radiating off him in waves, feeding your own excitement.

“Take off your clothes,” you instruct, walking towards a large wooden chest beside the bed, “and get on your knees.”

When you turn back around, a long piece of red rope in your hands, you’re surprised to see him kneeling on the thick rug already. His eyes are trained on the floor and his clothes lay next to him, neatly folded.

“Someone’s eager tonight,” you smile and grab a fistful of his dark hair, tilting his face upwards.

“Just making it easy for you,” he grins, “for now.”

You tighten your grip and he shivers at the pinpricks of pain tickling his scalp. “You’ve always liked to play with fire.”

He tilts his head, as much as your hand allows. “A man can hope.”

You crouch down in front of him, noses almost touching, catching his half-lidded stare. “Show me you deserve it.”

Rising to your feet again, you instruct: “Arms in position.” He puts them behind his back, forearms parallel to each other, fingers grazing his elbows.

You carefully wrap the rope around his forearms, then twice around his chest, right above the pectoral muscle. Putting your hand in his, you ask him to squeeze it. “Good?”

He confirms, voice low, and you bring the rope together at the back to tie it to the loop on his wrists, locking the box tie with a sturdy knot so his upper arms are confined against his body. Your fingers adjust the hemp where needed, your own body remembering the familiar motions. You wrap the leftover rope around his torso, this time just below his pectorals, across the sternum, and fasten it at the back.

You check his range of motion one more time before stepping in front of him, admiring your handiwork. His arms are pulled back, chest rising and falling steadily, pushed forward by the rope. The red hemp forms a striking contrast to his skin and when your fingers skim the side of his shoulder he shivers, the muscles in his thighs tensing.

With a pleased hum you notice his responsiveness to your touch. Your gaze drops down to where his cock hangs between his legs, already half-hard. The sight of him on his knees, wrapped up and presented to you like an offering, sends a lick of heat down your spine and you fight the urge to reach out and touch him again—there’s a time and place for your own desire, and it will have to wait for now.

You walk back to the chest and take out a bottle of massage oil and a silk sash, sifting through the chest’s contents until you find a small white box holding a collection of candles: massage candles, coloured soy flakes, and plain white paraffin candles. You know Minho prefers the latter, their heat more intense, the hot wax contrasting the colder air in the room. For a moment you consider starting with the massage candles just to rile him up, to have him writhing in his restraints and begging for more—but tonight’s not a night for such patience.

You take the necessary precautions for his safety and return with the items, displaying them on the carpet in front of him.

He watches you pour some of the oil on your hands and tilts his chin towards the candles. “Looks like it’s my lucky day today.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.” You kneel down in front of him and smooth one hand over his chest. “I haven’t started yet.”

Expertly, you massage the liquid into his skin, enjoying the warmth of his body underneath your fingers. When his chest and stomach glisten in the muted lighting you move behind him, lathering his shoulders with copious amounts of oil. Minho’s silent except for the occasional sharp inhale when you graze your nails over his skin, the subtle scent of sandalwood filling the air.

“You’re sensitive today,” you murmur as you trail your fingertips down his nape, gooseflesh erupting in their wake.

“It’s—it’s been a while,” he groans, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip when you press your front against his back, reaching around to rake your nails over his chest. “I’ve been away for a long time.”

You ignore the implications of his words—you know he could have anyone he wants, anytime, anywhere—before they can unravel the frayed edges of your chest, forcing yourself to focus on the sharp press of your nails.

“Good,” your breath ghosts the shell of his ear as he shifts under your rough touch, “more fun for me.”

You stand up and move to face him again, tutting when you notice he’s closed his legs a little, looking for some friction on his aching cock. You nudge one thigh with the toe of your shoe. “Keep them spread.”

He obliges, albeit reluctantly, and you bend down to adjust the ropes around his torso a bit, making sure to linger in front of his face. His eyelids flutter, gaze briefly flicking up to your chest, and you chuckle.

“Like what you see?”

“Always,” he says, amused, despite his impuissance. “I told you I’ve missed you.”

You smile at his words, their intent unmistakeable this time. And it’d be a lie to say you didn’t enjoy this, this back-and-forth between the two of you, even though you know he doesn’t mean half of what he says; weaponises his words and uses them to try and get a rise out of you. He’s a lawyer, after all. A good one.

And all good lawyers lie.

“Don’t make me hit you again.” You give the ropes a last tug, straightening your back.

“Now that—” Minho shakes the hair out of his eyes, looking up at you, “—that would be a real shame.”

“Absolutely,” you confirm, picking up the black sash, mirroring his smirk. “You’d like that way too much. Besides,” you tie the fabric around his head, “you haven’t earned the right to look at me just yet.”

Minho opens his mouth, witty response dying on his tongue as your oil-slick palm, unseen, wraps around his cock. “Fuck—” he curses, and you squeeze him, once, before removing your hand again. He groans. “That’s not fair.”

You bring your face next to his, lips brushing his cheekbone. “Nothing in this world is fair, Minho. You of all people ought to know that.”

Crossing the room, you grab the dressing table chair and put it down in front of him. His shoulders tense at the sudden sound; it’s the only reaction he shows, putting on a false display of nonchalance as you sit down and light a candle.

At first glance he does appear at ease, but you notice the small signs of tension: the quickening rise and fall of his chest, the tautness in his shoulders, the tremble that runs down his body at the soft click of the lighter. His head is slightly cocked, turned towards you, trying to catch any sounds you might make when you dribble some wax on your own arm to test the heat.

When the first drop hits his skin he hisses sharply, wax trickling down his chest. You know it doesn’t hurt when drizzled from this height, not really, a mild sting at most—but being blindfolded and unable to anticipate your next move is enough to have him on edge.

You pour the hot wax on his shoulders, his chest, his arms. The room is quiet as you work in silence, adjusting the heat and intensity by moving the candle closer or farther away from his skin. He bites back a whimper as some of it drips on a nipple, trying to stay focused, trying to predict your next move.

But when you press the sole of your shoe against his neglected cock he whines—loudly—and you laugh. You keep it there, the pressure not enough to satisfy him, and he shifts uneasily under your touch.

“What do you want?” You feign innocence, voice flat and uninterested.

“Please—” he begs, hoarse, “—more.”

“Go on then. Move.” You dribble the hot wax on his upper thigh, close to your foot. He groans in response and rocks his hips, reluctant at first, almost shy, giving in with a choked-off sound. He’s more frantic now: previous restraint gone, the rope spanning taut across his chest, his knees digging into the carpet.

Minho tends to be quiet, holds back his moans as if he’s afraid they’d escape the room. But you know his cursing is only a preamble so you aim to draw out every sound. To coax them from his lips until he can’t keep them caged behind his teeth any longer.

“Look at you,” you muse, in awe of the vision of him, “such a desperate mess.”

It’s a sight few people get to see: Minho Lee bound and covered in wax, quickly cooling, hardening into white strands of pearls on his skin. Your foot is pressing his cock against his lower abdomen, precum wetting the red sole, his thighs trembling with exertion as he ruts against it.

You squeeze your own thighs together in an attempt to find some relief and when his tongue darts out to wet his lips you can’t help but lean in, blowing out the candle and crashing your mouth against his, taking him by surprise. The kiss is messy, feverish; all tongue and teeth as you nip at his lips, a hand tangling in his hair.

He objects, a faint whine, when you pull back and take your foot off his cock. “You did so well,” your voice sounds breathy as you untie the sash, steadying your wobbly, eager fingers, “you deserve a reward.”

Minho blinks, letting his eyes adjust to the light, pupils still blown wide and unfocussed.

“But you’ll have to get it yourself.”

You hike your dress up, spreading your legs, inviting, and he sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of your soaked panties.

“What are you waiting for?” you bait, enjoying the brief, rare glimpse of bewilderment flickering across his face before he collects his bearings and shuffles closer on his knees, until he is mere inches away from your clothed core.

Minho closes his eyes, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing as he leans forward. His skin is still covered in dried wax, which has started to flake, but he doesn’t seem to care—too preoccupied with pushing his face into the black lace at the apex of your thighs.

When he flattens his tongue against the fabric it’s you who has to suppress a moan, nerves set alight with every nudge of his nose.

“Ugh—this—” as expected, it doesn’t take long for him to get frustrated with the barrier keeping him from tasting you properly, “—is supposed to be a reward?”

You grab his hair, tugging at it sharply, noticing the way he hisses in response. “Don’t get greedy now, Minho.” Your index traces the edge of his jaw before giving him a gentle smack on the cheek. It’s nowhere near firm enough to be satisfying, only serving to fuel his impatience. “I can leave you here and go back to my other employees, if that’s what you prefer. Or we can continue like this.”

He narrows his eyes. It’s nothing to him if it isn’t a competition, a dispute, always and everywhere—in the courthouse, at the office, in your bed. You know he would’ve lost interest long ago if you hadn’t met him with the same fervour.

His jaw ticks, determined, and he sits up, taking the hem of your panties between his teeth. You lift your hips so he can pull them down your legs, clumsily yet insistent, until they gather around your ankles. You lift one foot out of the fabric but before you can move the other leg Minho is already back, his face between your thighs.

When his mouth connects with your core he exhales, mumbling, “Fucking finally,” cutting off your reply with the plush of his lips wrapped around your clit. You can feel them curl against your skin at your jumbled words, warning him, a hand tangled into his hair as you hold him impossibly closer.

It’s a little embarrassing how fast the knot in your stomach tightens, only to be unravelled again by the expert teasing of his tongue. “Fuck—Minho—” you gasp, and he pulls back slightly, slowing down his motions until you can feel your high ebb away, just out of reach.

You groan. “Stop teasing.”

He chuckles, the sound reverberating through your body, and you shiver. “Am I not good enough?” He leans back and looks up at you, eyes glinting. “Maybe you should go back to your other employees instead, then.”

His smile is a little crooked, and he tongues the inside of his cheek, as if he’s waiting for you to make a move. Expecting you to lash out or press your heel against his cock, anything—

You won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you bend down until your face is in front of his. “Miller is more than capable.”

His expression falters for a second, morphing into something unreadable before he puts his carefully crafted mask back into place. “M—”

You cut him off with the press of your fingers against his lips. “Open.”

He obliges, eyes falling shut as you grab his tongue between your thumb and index and spit on it, coating your fingers in the mixture of saliva and arousal and spreading it over his already saturated face.

“Go on, Minho Lee,” you tap his bottom lip, ignoring his protest as your fingers leave his mouth, “show me that tongue is good for anything other than fucking the law over.”

This time he doesn’t have to be told twice, working a steady rhythm, paying close attention to the sound of your moans and the involuntary shaking of your legs.

He revels in it: on his knees, restrained, driving you to the edge and turning you into a whimpering mess. It’s a small price to pay for the pleasure that crests over you in waves, the soft strokes of his tongue bringing you down from your high.

Through the distorted blur, stars behind your eyelids, you see his face, still covered in a mixture of arousal and spit. A pleased smile pulls at the corners of his lips and you suddenly feel exposed despite his state of undress.

Rising to your feet, you pull your dress down and flatten the fabric with your hands, eyeing the way he tries to adjust his arms within his confines. “Let me clean you up and get these ropes off.”

You retrieve a stainless steel knife from the chest, kneeling down in front of him and carefully chipping away at the dried wax on his shoulders. It peels right off, the scent of sandalwood filling your nose once more now you’re in such close proximity to him. It’s mixed with something sharper, something you’ve come to associate with him—intimately familiar, a scent you could pick out in any room.

The blade drags across his collarbone and he shifts on his knees. “Don’t move,” you warn, enthralled by the gooseflesh erupting in the wake of the cold metal. A few inches higher, there’s the steady beat of his pulse, pressing against the steel.

“I could kill you.”

The laugh he lets out is soft but complacent, a low rumble deep in his chest. “You won’t. I’m too good at my job.”

There’s a sharp pang behind your breastbone. Does this count as work for him, too? When you call him late at night, is there ever a part of him that doesn’t want you?

“Men can be replaced.”

He turns his face towards you, the curl of his lips turning treacherous. “You like me too much.”

It’s cocky, smug, and you hate it—hate how it’s the truth. In moments like these you wonder if he knows how much power he holds over you, and not for the first time tonight you’re thankful for the pokerface you were taught to wear.

You press the tip of the knife into the hollow above his clavicle, a red drop blooming underneath the steel. “For a man so meticulous you’re pretty reckless sometimes.”

If he felt the small cut he doesn’t show it, tilting his head towards the floor instead, angling it away from the sharp metal. “If it isn’t for me, it’s for this ridiculous pristine rug. I know it was a gift from your father. I’ll live.”

It’s there, as always, woven between the threads of light-hearted banter and off-handed sarcastic remarks; something that shouldn’t exist between the two of you, something that has no place in your world: trust. Even if it exists only in these rare moments—fleeting, transient, a gossamer thread.

You shake your head and straighten your back, stepping behind him, worried he’d be able to hear your heart hammering against your ribs. Sometimes it feels as if he can see right through you—it makes you nervous, kept on tenterhooks, your intricate house of cards threatening to collapse.

Busying yourself with prying the last bits of wax off his skin instead, your other hand traverses over his chest and shoulders, feeling the ridges and dips of sinewy muscle underneath. He leans into your touch and heat courses through your body as your own desire flares up again. You untie him and help him to his feet, his fingertips leaving scorching marks on your skin as you realise it’s the first time they’ve touched you tonight, a promise for more.

You swallow thickly. “Get on the bed.” There’s an urgency to your voice that wasn’t there before, and you’re thankful he holds his snarky retort and clambers onto the bed without a word, back against the soft mattress.

When you finally sink down on his cock it takes you all your effort not to moan loudly, hissing through clenched teeth. He’s right—it has been long, too long, and the slight burn as he bottoms out only fuels your arousal.

The tips of his fingers caress your knees, but you allow him, too preoccupied with rolling your hips just right so his cock brushes against that sensitive spot every time you push yourself back on his thighs.

His half-lidded gaze travels over your body and you put your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself as you set an unrelenting pace. His jaw slackens at a particular motion of your hips so you repeat it, bending down to capture his mouth with your own, the faint taste of your own arousal still lingering on his tongue.

“Ah—please,” his brow furrows as if he’s in pain, pleasure overwhelming his senses. “Please let me fuck you.” His hands hover above your thighs, waiting, desperation lacing his voice at the thought of your refusal.

Your fingers graze the edge of his jaw, almost tender—wandering down to his throat, wrapping around it, as you squeeze and tell him, “Then fuck me.”

Minho plants his feet on the bed and grabs ahold of your waist, nearly toppling you over if it wasn’t for the hand around his neck holding you up. You let yourself collapse against his shoulder, his pulse quickening underneath your fingertips as his thrusts become frantic, chasing the high you’ve been withholding from him all night.

He mutters your name into your skin, a Judas kiss, and you feel your body react, disloyal—clenching around his cock, limbs leaden and heavy. Your fingers slip into his mouth, mind buzzing, a half-hearted attempt to stop his perjury.

It’s sanctimonious, though, when you fall apart around him with his name on your lips. He follows suit when you tell him to, hips stuttering before stilling underneath you. There’s a drawn-out silence, only filled by your laboured breaths. Your dress is a welcome barrier between your bodies as his hands fall away from your waist, reluctant, and you resist the urge to hold him, moving off the bed.

You watch him go through the motions you know by heart: bending down to retrieve his pants from the pile of clothes on the floor first, faint imprints of rope still lingering on his skin.

“Stay,” you say, and this time you hope it doesn’t sound like an order, “finish your drink first. You have a long trip back to Oklahoma ahead of you.”

He turns around, wearing that smile he’s mastered for your clients in court, and you already know the answer before it has left his mouth. The familiar words erode all the nights spent together until they slip through your fingers like sand.

“Whatever you want, boss.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this story please reblog, leave a comment, tell a friend, send me a pigeon, launch a mars rover. Your encouragement fuels my inner writer cryptid 👾

#stray kids smut #stray kids hard hours #lee know smut #lee know hard hours #lee minho smut #lee know x reader #sub!skz #sub!idol #sub!kpop #skz smut #skz hard hours #stray kids imagines #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic

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daisieswilted · 2 years ago

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“well we’re both agreed on that front.” though at this point he wondered if someone were to show up in novac promising an end to the outbreak and normal life on the horizon for the small price of giving up his integrity and selling his soul to addiction, whether he'd do it. he likes to think that he wouldn't, that he's stronger than that.. another part of him doubts things will ever go back to the way they once were; far too much had happened for everyone to come back from it.

"i did too. i mean i joined up with a few others now and then, never stuck around long enough for it to mean anythin', and they all had their own places to go to, i just tagged along till i got where i wanted to go, then left 'em to it." he had known better than to put his trust in strangers, knew what people were capable of in end of the world environments, and knew to look out for himself first. he shrugs his shoulders, before speaking again, the worlds somewhat mumbled.

"everyone's a fighter. you just gotta get pushed to that point, s'all."

"right." spoken with approval. he eats the last berry reluctantly. savours the flavour, and then it's gone. "gamblin' ain't never been good for no one." calculated risks only. or so he tells himself. but the risk adam is thinking about - the risk he knows he can't take - does not feel calculated at all. so he doesn't close the gap between himself and matthias.

adam is a coward. and adam knows it.

"i did it alone," he confesses. he hasn't told anyone this before, but now the words come down like rain. he remembers a line from cormac mccarthy - you never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from. not a 1:1, but he likens it to this admittance. adam can tell matthias this, because adam can't tell matthias his other secret. "up until i found this place. i had a bad experience with- guess i'd call 'em raiders, i don't know. after that it seemed like a good idea to avoid everyone. i'm damn quick - can say that much, at least - but i ain't a fighter."

#matthias dawson ; speaks #with ; adam blake romero #arrvw #addiction tw #gambling tw

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thedropsofblood · 2 years ago

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Taming a wild rabbit.

T/W: dubcon/noncon, gunplay, drugging, not yet proofread.

Remake to: A mole was found

(Fic layout inspired by @miyuuuki ^^)

The sky is clear today, thanks to that, Blake was able to buy some desserts. He was in a good mood after his work, even when the corner of his shirt was stained by a small drop of blood. He bought a few slices of top quality cake from many different flavors, paying with his credit card as if what he bought wasn't extravagant.

He quickly heads home after that, opening the door and greeted by a wide hug from you, your arms wrapped around his torso, the leash of your collar dangels as you move. After recovering from his shock a few short moments after, he hugs you back and you said with a wide smile.

"Welcome back, Blake!"

Blake looks at the collar on your neck before leaning in, saying in your ear, his lips curving into a smirk

"I'm home."

"I don't think it's weird..."

"Don't be stupid, who is it?"

Said the two men, both wearing a suit but one in his mid-twenties while the other look to be at least 60 with white hair and a beer belly. You lean against the wall nearby as the two men talked about your next mission, your arms crossed while trying to come up with any new strategy.

You have officially started your job as a spy about a year ago, at first it seemed like a dream job where you get to be sleathy and wear suits 24/7 but in reality, it's nothing different than a gamble to try to gain even the equivalent of a grain of rice amount of information.

It's nothing different than throwing your entire life anyway for "the greater good" to have a slim chance of actually winning or accomplishing something. You would probably be better off actually gambling with the chances that you have. At least you get paid well for every job you take.

Meanwhile, the two men in suits were still negotiating. The younger man was your agent, you wouldn't usually talk to him unless you need his assisstant, while the older one was your client. The moment your agent opened the suitcase to check the amount of money the client provided you, the older man started saying.

"And you know...There's been rumours going aroun-"

The man couldn't finished his sentence before he gets cuts off by another man in suit, the man's face is covered by a black fedora. He walks into the room casually as he asks "What rumours?". The simple question caused the client to panic almost immediately and turns back with a fearful expression, a bang went off in the horror of your eyes and your agent was shot in the forehead, eliminating him instantly. You grab your weapon and point your gun at the mysterious man as he holds the client hostage by a gun at the older man's cheek.

You yelled at him to not shoot, gaining a simple reply and a smirk from the mysterious guy.

"Do you know me?"

You mutter your reply, your tone is filled with cautiousness, a cold sweat runs down your forehead.

"Blake..."

The man simply looks down at you with an annoyed glance.

"You're only here because I escaped, and my boss is furious."

Suddenly your client started screaming and yelling at the fedora-wearing man, to shut up and let him go. Which you admit, was a terrible choice of action.

"Shut up."

The fedora hat wearing man clicked his tongue, pressing the nuzzle against the client's back and fire.

The man doesn't seem to spare you even after killing both your agent and your client, he aims his gun at you at the exact moment you aimed yours at him. You thought this was gonna be a stand off, just for your gun to be greeted with a bullet, the man missed the shot but at least he managed to knock the gun out of your hand.

He exploits the moment of your shock to push you against the wall, each hand holding your wrists back and looking down at you. You could hear him say very faintly, almost like a whisper.

"You have a cute face"

The words don't move you however, you resist the urge to call him a pervert since in this situation when you're facing a guy with a gun, it's best to not provoke any aggressive chain of behaviour.

"Where's your boss' HQ? Tell me and I'll let you go"

The man said. Did this guy seriously think you'll sell out your entire company just so you could survive? Even if you survive, the company would probably find a way to bite you back even harder. In conclusion, this man can suck your dick and go find the information himself.

You replied with just that, "Like I'll tell you, glasses. Go to hell."

However, that seemed to be the wrong answer as the man doesn't say anything at first, he looks at you with the definition of a blank expression before it turns into a frown. With minimal effort, he knee kicked you in your stomach and held you up by your arm, that kick alone was enough to knock you out. If you were a normal person, you would've coughed out blood from that.

"Stupid boy. I wished I could have killed you."

You woke up in a strange place, the first thing that hit your eyes was the dark coloured wall and ceiling. You sit up and try to rub your eyes, realising that you have now been handcuffed. You look around to see where you are, your head filled with questions but no definite answers. The only clue you had was a few tabs of pills on the table nearby and the black fedora hat that the man was wearing before.

The clues didn't help in finding an escape route but it at least let you understand the current situation a little better.

Your line of thought is quickly cut off by the sound of the shower ending, following the sound of the bathroom door opening. From your surprise (are you really surprised though?), Blake walks out from the bathroom, topless while wearing some black pants, a white towel hanging over his shoulder and one of the identical pill tabs in his hand.

He glances at you, saying with a smiling expression.

"Oh, you're awake? Sooner than expected. Is it because I'm getting weaker or you're getting stronger?"

He doesn't even seem to acknowledge your internal panic as he didn't look at you after saying his sentence, his hand popping a pill from the tab before tossing it in his mouth.

Your reaction speed didn't prepare you for the sudden kiss he placed on you, he used his tongue to force open your mouth and push the pill over to you, forcing you to swallow it by forcibly deepening the kiss in by pushing the back of your head in.

Out of self defense, you bit his tongue harshly, hard enough for it to bleed but it wasn't enough to cut Blake's tongue off permanently. As expected, he pushed you down on the bed right after what you did, but he didn't seem upset. He licks his lips, seemingly savoring the irony taste of his blood and saying again, his voice makes you want to punch him square in the face despite it being the same tone as before.

"You could bite back... How adorable, my little rabbit thinks it can scare me. Just a small warning cutie, your struggle turns me on, so stay still and be a good boy, alright?"

You try to cough out the pill he made you swallow, but it seemed to be too late as your mind suddenly went blank, your vision going blurry as if you've knocked down 20 bottles of wine. Tears are already forming in the corner of your eyes, the effect of the pull caused your body to become all weak and shaking. You mutter a question about the pull through gritted teeth, getting a reply from Blake while he holds both of your wrists up.

"Oh don't worry, I didn't poison you. Ever heard of aphrodisiac, my darling?"

Of course, it is that damn thing, makes sense why the tab pills have 'A' marked on it. You let out a deep sigh, sending Blake a glare out of spite. While you weren't paying much attention, he had already started playing with your chest with his mouth, a single lick was enough to harden your nipple.

You were about to cuss at him, but the moment you opened your mouth, Blake pushed his lips against yours again. Your body was already greatly weakened by the pill, so all you could do was frown and let out a few noises to try to get Blake to quit it.

This situation is way more romantic than imagined, you expected him to be rough and thrust inside in one go without any foreplay, at least you won't have to go through anymore pain.

You were turned on your stomach by Blake after the kiss. Your body got goosebumps upon feeling some kind of cold liquid on your crack, a few drops even getting inside you, gaining a small uncontrolled whine from your mouth. Blake kept quiet, his eyes stayed on your hole and you could hear the sound of a zipper.

Blake thrusts two fingers inside you and leans forward to place a kiss on your nape, nibbling on your neck. The two fingers slide in and out of you, the action is surprisingly gentle for a guy like Blake. When he felt you were ready, he gripped both of your shoulders and held you up, aligning your hold with his length. You plead for him to stop, but it seemed to turn him on more as he pushes you down until his tip is inside you. Then he moved his hands over to your hips, slamming you down deep on his dick, causing you to choke on your saliva for a second.

He bites on your shoulder and buries his face in your neck, leaving back marks of all sizes while also giving you a few seconds to adjust to his size. Until your breath has stabilized, he moves you up and down by gripping your hips at a fairly gentle pace at first. His breath also fastened, continuing to bite your neck to muffle his groans and occasional moan. Both of your bodies are hot and sweaty, harmonizing together despite technically being enemies.

Finally, he pushes you down on his dick, filling you up with semen and letting out a satisfied grunt. He breathes heavily, brushing his damped hair back before he pushes you down on the bed again and caresses your cheek with his hand, saying with a cocky smile and letting out a chuckle at the end.

"Not yet, darling. You don't get to leave me until I'm fully satisfied."

Blake kept his words and kept you with him, both of you fucked like bunnies in heat for the weekends and fucked daily when Blake needs to go to work. He made sure to 'train' you 24/7 in any way possible, using sex toys to please you when he's not with you and abusing aphrodisiac.

A small flame from a lighter lights up the dark alley, Blake leans his back against the wall and huffs out the smoke from his cigarette before glancing at the blond haired man nearby. Both of them are in suits, but in contrast to Blake, the blond haired man seemed much more serious as he approached Blake and said with a frown.

"Where did you take him?"

The question caused Blake to slightly lower his head, the black fedora covering his eyes. Then Blake replies vaguely, his lips curving up to a smile.

"Well... I turned a stubborn brat into an adorable kitten."

"You..."

Blake said before shooting the blond haired man on his arm, glaring at the man.

"He's mine now."

Blake leans down to kiss you on the lips, which you return the kiss with delight, your arms wrapping over his shoulder. He pulls you into the bedroom and ignores the bag of dessert he had dropped.

He grips your hair and pulls your head in his crotch, pushing his dick deeper into your throat with one hand while removing his tie with the other. He glances down at you, his eyes darkened for a short moment.

When he had pushed you down onto the bed, he seemed to be in a rush to relieve his stress since he buries his head in your shoulder the moment you laid your back on the bed, one of his hands playing with your nipple. He muttered about how harsh his day was at work.

When he is distracted, your eyes sharpen with bloodlust. Your hand grips the razor that was hidden behind the pillow and aligns it over Blake's neck. No matter how hard Blake tries, you can never forget what he had done, even then your higher up won't even care since he works for the enemy.

Before you could take action, Blake pointed a gun at your chin and continued to kiss your neck. It started to dawn on you that he expected your retaliation, the timing of the blond hair guy-your colleague and your sudden obedience was too suspicious to pass over. He hums, his other hand continues to play with your body.

"What do you think you're doing? I was genuinely turned on, darling. I saw one of your damn colleagues around this area, the one with blond hair..."

Your eyes widened, the only colleague you have with blond hair is Luka, your highschool best friend. You were about to speak up but he turned you on your stomach and held the gun in front of you, saying with a sickly sweet tone. You recognise the gun as the one he used to kill your client before.

"I was planning on killing you with this, but I missed the shot, I believe that's the best decision I could've made. Now, lick it, darling. If you don't wish for your dear friend to disappear forever."

Having no other choices, you obeyed the order and sucked the barrel of the gun, your body slightly shaking from fear of the trigger pulling any moment. He watched in satisfaction as his other hand moved to play with your underbody, preparing you for nightmare.

After what felt like an eternity, he thrust himself inside of you, but leaving you no time to adjust this time as he focuses on pounding into you like a machine. He holds both of your wrists back to pull you deeper into his cock, ignoring any pleas and any noises you make, even when you are overstimulated and sobbing on the pillow.

When you're on the verge of passing out, he has finally finished but he doesn't seem so tired, just pure satisfaction. He puts his glasses on and before your vision goes dark, you hear the clicking sound of a collar on your neck as well as feeling a kiss on your forehead.

#idk what tags to add #orginal post #vel fic #oc x male reader #bottom!male!reader #bottom male reader #male reader #mlm nsft #mafia au #original character #gun play #x male reader #male reader smut #male reader insert

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darksaiyangoku · 6 months ago

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RWBY Christmas Tales

Blessing of the Hunt

It was Christmas Eve in the Kingdom of Vale and Jaune, Blake, Sun, Scarlet, Sage and Neptune all gathered around a table inside the Crow Bar tavern. Each of the boys guzzled on a large pint of beer, much to the concern of Blake.

Blake: Jaune, that's the fifth beer you've chugged down. Let me get you some water.

Jaune: Nononono, *giggles* I'm fiiiiiiiiine~

Blake: Jaune, sweetie, you're drunk.

Sage: Ah lay off him! *hic* After being dragged by that Nevermore, he's earned himself a treat!

Scarlet: Barkeep! Another round for my friends! *smashes cup on the floor*

Blake: *shakes head* I don't think so. *carries Jaune* Come on, Jaune.

Jaune: Wha? But we're having fuuuuuunnn!

Blake: You've had quite enough fun here, Mister. Besides, I'm not cleaning up after you again.

Jaune: Don't worrrrrrry, I got it *burp* all under control!

Blake: *groans* Let's just get out of here.

Blake waved goodbye to the SSSN Knights and carried her drunken boyfriend outside. She felt a cold tingle on her nose and looked up to find that it started to snow. She and Jaune trudged along the path to their house, with the snow falling faster and heavier. Soon the air turned biting cold and a low howl rumbled in Blake's ears. Her eyes shrank and her breath became sharp. They needed somewhere to hide. Fast. Blake's eyes darted around the landscape and they fell upon an icy forest. It wasn't perfect, but it should suffice for now. Blake quietly grunted as she trudged along, dragging Jaune. As she continued stepping forward, the howls grew louder and they were followed by the violent galloping of hooves. Blake had no time to think and hurled herself and Jaune behind a nearby tree.

Jaune: B-Blaaaake? Wha-

Blake: *covers Jaune's mouth* Shhhh. We have to be quiet. Otherwise we'll be seen by them.

Jaune: *whispers* W-Who?

Suddenly, a loud bang cracked the air and a pale horse appeared right in front of the couple. It had ghastly, glowing blue eyes and sat atop it was a cloaked man wearing a crow's mask and wielding a sword and chain Slowly, he turned his head and growled.

Wild Hunt Leader: Well, well, well. Looks like some travellers dared to venture into our forests. This place is off limits to mortals, I'm afraid.

Blake: *gulps*L-Listen, o' honourable leader of The Wild Hunt, we were only trying to escape from the snow and-

Wild Hunt Leader: I don't want to hear your excuses, dear. Those who trespass here have to pay the toll; your lives. *points sword* Don't worry, I'll be sure to make it quick.

The Wild Hunt Leader raised his sword to hack at Blake, but Jaune quickly rose up and grabbed the blade, wincing at cuts in his hands.

Jaune: Grrrr! Don'cha *hic* lay a fffffinger on herrrrrrr.

Blake: Jaune, no! What are you doing?!

Wild Hunt Leader: I'd listen to your beloved if I were you. No one has ever dared to fight us and survive. You're completely outclassed.

Jaune: Whooo ssssssaid anyshing abou fightin' ya? *giggles* I gotta bedder idea!

Blake: Oh for the love of- *facepalm*

Jaune: You and I play tugofwar! If we win, we go bye-bye! If you win, you can lemme be a while hunger!

Wild Hunt Leader: *chuckles* I assure you that we are not that desperate for new members, especially the living.

Jaune: Oh come onnnnnn! You chicken? Bawk-bawk-bawk.

Wild Hunt Leader: *laughs* Very well. *gives chain* We'll go three rounds. Good luck.

The Wild Hunt Leader gave one end of the chain to Jaune as he held onto the other and rode far away to other side of the forest. Blake was in complete shock. Jaune was impulsive and reckless, but she never known him to be this stupid. Her blood was boiling with anger and her brow furrowed.

Blake: What the hell were you thinking?! How could you gamble our very lives like this?! You do not stand a chance against him, you know that! Why would you even-

Jaune: *covers Blake's mouth* Shhhhhhhh, I has a plans! Look.

Jaune wrapped the chain around the tree trunk several times, gritting his teeth from the heavy weight.

Jaune: Watch this. *shouts* Ready!

From the distance, the Wild Hunt Leader tugged hard, making the chain rattle. However, it still stood wrapped around the tree. He tried again, but the same thing happened. The Wild Hunt Leader roared and tugged again for a third and final time. But the chain still stood intact. Blake looked at Jaune, who grinned at her.

Jaune: Neat, huh?

The Wild Hunt Leader rode back and found out what happened. He dismounted his horse walked towards Jaune. Jaune backed into the tree and felt his heart race. He was going to die. He knew it. But then something peculiar happend happened. The Wild Hunt Leader took the sword from his belt and placed it Jaune's hands.

Jaune: ....huh?

Wild Hunt Leader: You have bested me, mortal and for that, I congratulate you with this gift.

Jaune: B-B-B-But I cheastesd.

Wild Hunt Leader; No you didn't, you beat me. Battle is not just about strength, it's about wits too. That is what truly keeps you alive. I honour with this gift; the sword Crocea Mors.

Jaune: *smiles* Shank you! *bows clumsily*

Wild Hunt Leader: Farewell, mortals *mounts horse*and Merry Christmas.

The horse gave a booming neigh as the Wild Hunt Leader rode off to join his troops. Blake gave a warm smile and wrapped Jaune in a loving hug.

Blake: *giggles* This is the last time you're drinking, mister. I mean it, no more.

Jaune: Awww, okays. *hugs her*

Blake: *kisses Jaune* Merry Christmas, sweetheart.

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storiesofsvu · 1 month ago

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WIP Roundup!

Alright, I've completely cleaned out the inbox and deleted "all" messages that I didn't respond to/that were "ghost" messages driving me insane saying they were there when they weren't.

Which ALSO means I've gone through my entire WIP folder and narrowed things down. Some got deleted, some I'm going to sit on for a little bit and see if something sparks, others I went through and added nearly 3000 words of blurbs/notes/ideas on how the fic is gonna go. The creativity is *flowing* so here's what we're working with now!

Addison Montgomery: A twist on the Seattle Grace prom ep. This time it's Addi off in an on call room cheating. She knows she shouldn't, that it's wrong and tells reader this, who agrees with a laugh. Problem is Addi knows it's not gonna be the last time. Amanda Rollins: her girl is supposed to be her gambling good luck charm. Amanda's not very happy when she ends up being someone else's and takes her home to be punished. Barhoun: 1 angst piece delving into one version of how/why they break up for good. Why things would never workout between them. 1 poly!fic where they frequent a high end sex club in the city and see a little timid thing that needs *guidance* (will end up w multiple parts) 1 poly! pure smut fic where they've both had long weeks and need someone to take it out on. Alex Blake: a minor hurt major comfort piece. Reader is hosting the team for post case drinks, but the case hit hard and she gets incredibly overwhelmed with the environment in her apartment. Blake is the one she trusts and wants around. Sonny Carisi: 1 hurt/comfort of him having to deal w his cop wife being undercover. He's now the ada and can't be on scene to help her/protect her and man does he ever hate that. 1 hurt/comfort potentially related to s26. Sonny needs someone, he needs to be comforted and taken care of by someone he trusts completely, someone he can relinquish all control to. CM Ladies: 1 comfort of reader coming out as bi/coming to terms with it and feeling a little bit insecure about it because she's only dated/been with men. Reassurance from the rest of the girls 1 mega smut club sandwich: Reader is friends with JJ, she's casually dated a couple other members of the team over the years and everything is on good terms. When she gets invited out for a night of drinks she meets the newest team member and is conflicted about how her night will end. Naturally, one of the girls comes up with a much spicier idea. One that reader doesn't need to make a choice. Elizabeth Donnelly: 1 mini series where Liz's relatively new gf starts to see the way other prosecutors act around her gf, how often Liz drops things to attend to their needs and how much she mentors them. She starts to get jealous/insecure about it and their relationship, wondering if she's enough or if Liz deserves/wants more. Emily Prentiss: 1 hurt/comfort in s17. Instead of getting high, emily devolves even more as she starts to spin out. It's only when reader shows up to yank her out of it that she finally gets a reality check from someone who cares and is worried about her. 1 smut. a continuation of "Seventeen" if you will, where em has tried to be good and play by the rules but she can't help it. Work's been busy and she's *needy* Olivia Benson: 1 mommy!olivia smut 1 that's a 5 times + 1 style of Olivia secretly dating Elliot's younger sister. Sara Kingsley: 1 either multi part-er or a 5 times where Sara has a crush but doesn't want to admit it. Joe Velasco: a 5 times one i've been working on for ages. Where he and reader have been sleeping together for a while but are in denial of all feelings and pretending their fling is a secret when.. yeah... everybody knows.

There's 20 all together in my WIP folder, but some I am sitting on to see if they develop something that might be deleted so I didn't include them.

That gives you a nice idea of what style/who is in the wip folder and what y'all have to look forward to!

Requests remain OPEN, so feel free to check out my pinned post and prompt lists to get some ideas. I generally DO like to get more than just the prompt as a request, send me even just a pretty vague setting/thought/what kind of situation they're in/how they got there. It helps me come up with someone more and there's a higher chance of it not getting deleted further down the road lol.

Happy Wednesday! <3

#addison montgomery #alex blake #barhoun #rita calhoun #rafael barba #joe velasco #amanda rollins #olivia benson #elizabeth donnelly #sonny carisi #emily prentiss #law and order special victims unit #criminal minds #grandfathered #WIPS #my wips #what to expect #writing update

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whencyclopedia · 4 days ago

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Interview: Her Lotus Year. Wallis Simpson in China

Wallis Simpson (1896-1986) is often remembered as the wife of King Edward VIII, the Duke of Windsor. British monarch for less than a year in 1936, Edward preferred to abdicate the throne to be free to marry Wallis, an American woman who was considered unfit for the role of queen consort due to her previous two divorces. Before meeting Edward, Wallis spent a year in China, a period of time around which many rumours have spread. In this interview, James Blake Wiener speaks to Paul French, author of the book Her Lotus Year: China, The Roaring Twenties and the Making of Wallis Simpson (2024). Paul French is a British writer and journalist who worked in Shanghai for many years.

JBW: Wallis Simpson is often remembered for her role in the British abdication crisis of 1936, but Her Lotus Year reframes her as a more complex figure. Paul, what was it which motivated you to reexamine Wallis’ sojourn in China and write this title?

PF: I lived in Shanghai for many years and visitors would often ask about all the infamous rumours surrounding Wallis’s time in the city. The British tabloids particularly repeatedly bring up rumours of her sexual infidelities in Shanghai, suggested involvement in everything from prostitution to gambling rings, liaisons with opium dealers, horse nobbling gangs, posing for pornographic photographs, numerous affairs etc. I thought it was time to look a little closer at these allegations – which did so much to ruin her reputation in 1936 around the time of the Abdication Crisis.

Additionally, the year she spent in China – summer 1924 to summer 1925 – was an incredibly turbulent and politically fractious time of strikes, warlordism, and banditry. It’s a really pivotal year in China’s modern history between the end of the Qing and creation of the republic in 1911 and then the Japanese onslaught on China in 1937. I thought it would perhaps be interesting to show that year and its events through the eyes of someone a western audience perhaps has some familiarity with.

JBW: You have long specialized in Chinese history, and it is clearly a passion of yours. While researching this book, what discoveries or archival findings most surprised you as to Wallis’ time in China? Is there any single discovery or fact that we ought to know about in particular?

PF: Well, the rumours were all false. But, the stories all really did happen, just to other people. The British Intelligence officers who compiled the so-called ‘China Dossier’ on Wallis knew their Shanghai and old Beijing underworlds!

About Wallis herself I think the major revelation to me (the rumours of her in Shanghai never sounded right to me) was that she had come to Hong Kong initially with her husband (her first husband Win Spencer), a commander in the US Navy stationed there. He was a violent drunk who physically beat her repeatedly and she had to escape him. I don’t think that, whatever you think of Wallis Simpson, many think of her as an abused woman forced to flee a violent man into the dangerous hinterlands of 1924 China.

JBW: As a woman on the verge of divorce in a foreign country, Wallis faced the conflicting pressures of social conformity and personal ambition. In many ways, she was concurrently a product of her time and a woman ahead of it. Would it be fair to say that Wallis’ time in China served as a force in a personal transformation that would later color her life as the Duchess of Windsor?

PF: Absolutely. It took her a long time, and a lot of fights and beatings, before she left Spencer in Hong Kong. Her genteel Baltimore upbringing was adamantly against divorce and always assumed the breakdown of a marriage was the woman’s fault. But she finally plucked up the courage and left him. She went to Shanghai thinking she could get a divorce at the US Consulate there. She couldn’t as it transpired, but by then she had made the break and was in China.

After Shanghai, Wallis went to Beijing and fell in love with the ancient capital. It was here she had a genuine and passionate love affair, mixed in diplomatic circles, both foreign and Chinese, lived on a hutong in a charming courtyard house and really transformed into a more cosmopolitan woman able to mix in international society. She also developed a love of Chinese style – cheongsams, jade, embroideries, furniture etc – which stayed with her forever and wherever she lived afterwards.

JBW: Her Lotus Year vividly presents expatriate life in China during the 1920s. You also highlight Wallis’s interactions with other colorful characters. How representative – or exceptional – was Wallis’ experience compared to other Western women in China during the 1920s and 1930s?

PF: Independent western women were surprisingly common in 1920s Beijing. I think there’s a number of reasons for this including the many single (often widowed after WW1) intrepid European and American woman, the extension of the ocean liner routes to northern China, and the fact that in a Chinese city (as opposed to a colony like Hong Kong or a foreign-controlled treaty port like Shanghai) they could be entrepreneurial. They simply weren’t governed by the rules and social conventions of their home countries in Beijing. I think this is similarly why so many gay male aesthetes congregated in Beijing too. It almost became a kind of Asian outpost of the famous Lost Generation we normally associate with Paris in the ‘20s.

JBW: Your background in narrative nonfiction and storytelling is evident throughout this work. How did you balance historical accuracy with crafting a compelling and humanizing portrait of Wallis Simpson in Her Lotus Year?

PF: In my two previous books – Midnight in Peking and City of Devils – I’ve tried to reconstruct true crimes in inter-war China using literary non-fiction, by which I mean that I do all the research and then write it up using the techniques and style of the novelist. But I never invent characters, names, places or events. So I footnote, and list sources. You can check my research. But I want to write compelling narratives that take aspects of Chinese modern history to a wider audience than those who would buy a more straightforward history book. Let’s be honest, Chinese history is tough for many western readers, however fascinated they are by the place and the times – China has a LOT of history, the names can be tough for western readers, the places and events (who does any Chinese history in school in Europe or America?) unfamiliar. But perhaps wrapping it around popular genres like true crime or royal biography I can entice in a wider readership, but always making sure that the China history crowd feel they’re getting something original too.

JBW: Paul, we thank you very much for lending your time and expertise to our readers! On behalf of World History Encyclopedia, I wish you many happy adventures in your research.

⇒ Interview: Her Lotus Year. Wallis Simpson in China

#History #Beiijing #HouseOfWindsor #KingEdwardVIII #WallisSimpson #WHE

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